In a city chasing world-class status, Johannesburg’s alternative youth measure this goal not through politics or wealth, but by how freely the city’s residents can express themselves and live the lives they choose, no matter how unconventional.
On a Saturday night in northern Johannesburg, the faithful gather not in pews but under the pulsing lights and sloped ceilings of the Sognage night club. The room is dark and hot, with the only light illuminating the members of a band called Cape Cross Delusion. A metal riff from the guitarist fills the room like a hymn, and bodies move in rhythm, their arms raised and heads bowed as they headbang to the beat. Around the mosh pit, the crowd is draped mostly in black, donning leather jackets, fishnets, and heavy boots that thud as they stomp their feet. Many of them are adorned with piercings that glint when the light catches their faces, and dark eyeliner that frames their eyes locked onto the stage. Mbali Ntuli (25) will remember that night forever, her first metal concert, which she describes as a kind of baptism. She laughs when she says this but insists that that night felt almost religious. “It felt like church, or like a sanctuary almost,” she says. “You just feel so good, you know. You just feel so bloody good.”
Johannesburg’s leaders have spent decades chasing the dream of making the city “world-class, the phrase a nagging promise in city plans, political speeches, and tourist slogans. This vision is typically built on the idea of what success looks like in other major hubs such as London or New York. But these cities are not just iconic because of their economic prowess. Their status is also founded on their immense cultural capital, which is something built from the streets up, not from the elites down.
Ntuli’s Johannesburg is loud, expressive and unapologetically different. The alternative subcultures in the city ask the question: what if being world-class was about something deeper? So much of South Africa’s history and identity is about freedom. So why not measure the city’s world-class status by the freedom to be yourself – to dress how you want, love who you want, and exist without fear? For those in the city’s alternative scene, that kind of freedom is what truly defines Johannesburg.
Unapologetic and authentic is how Baitseng Mello (20) describes Johannesburg. It’s a city where freedom of expression is enjoyed by young people who choose to live outside the “norm”. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
British punk to Joburg resistance
The label “alternative” means opposing dominant cultural norms. It’s an umbrella term for several subcultures that define themselves as breaking away from what society deems as normal or appropriate. Punk, goth, emo, and sometimes queerness are the core alternative archetypes that stand opposed to mainstream ideals of fashion, music, love, and other forms of self-expression..
This rebellious posture has its roots in the punk movements that emerged in 1970s England. The Museum of Youth Culture in the United Kingdom describes punk as a “way of doing”, informing everything “from music through design, fashion, artwork, writing and performance.” It arose from disillusioned British youth who had little faith in their government to address rising inequality, working class exploitation, and labour movements that saw mass strikes and growing unionisation, especially in mining. Young Britons saw punk style, with its distinctive black leather, silver chains, studs, spiky hair and brash makeup, as a way of signalling that they didn’t align with Britain’s social and political conservativism.
Helgard Olwage, bassist for The Burnouts, performs at Rumours Lounge in Strydom Park. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
At the same time, South African youth were going through their own anti-establishment movements with the rise of anti-apartheid student activism, notably punctuated by the 1976 Soweto Uprisings where police killed over 170 students. Amidst this resistance, South Africa’s multi-racial punk subcultures emerged, rebelling against conservative Afrikaner nationalism that sought to dictate both racial and socio-cultural norms. Their main outlet was music. The country’s first multiracial punk band, National Wake, was formed in 1978 in a student commune in downtown Johannesburg. In his article, ‘Punks of the Witwatersrand’, journalist Chris Webb describes the neighbourhoods of Hillbrow, Parktown, and Yeoville as sites of “political organising, multi-racial collaboration, and artistic exploration”. While the punk era of 1970s South Africa didn’t totally mirror its British inspiration in form and style, rebelling against the apartheid government, even just by making music or living together, was very punk.
Listen to a new bonus episode of the We Should Be Writing podcast to discover the little-known world of rebellion and resistance within Johannesburg’s underground punk music scene.
Freedom, worn out loud
In today’s alternative Johannesburg, fashion is the first language of freedom. It’s how authenticity, creativity, queerness and belonging announce themselves without a word.
Baitseng Mello (20) believes self-expression isn’t just about looking different, it’s about refusing to disappear. Sitting at a table outside the Matrix, a small retail hub inside Wits University, she stands out in an all-black outfit, complete with an oversized leather jacket, chunky boots and a silver spiked necklace. She tells the story of her sheltered upbringing in Pretoria. Being the only daughter in her family meant that there were rigid guidelines for self-expression. This has changed dramatically since coming to study in Johannesburg. “Today, I dress how I feel. Sometimes I feel masculine, and whenever I [would] express that through my clothes my dad would ask me: ‘Why are you dressed like that? Are you gay? You’re not a boy.’ Even for family events, he would buy me dresses and skirts so I would look more feminine,” she says.
“It’s crazy that being in Joburg has helped me express my femininity more. Back in Pretoria at home, they tried to suppress me and I hated it,” she says. “When it was being forced on me, I thought, no, I’m going to reject this because you’re forcing it on me.”
Mello says coming to Johannesburg gave her freedom to shed the expectations of femininity that were instilled within her family growing up. She uses her newly-found freedom of expression to experiment with femininity and masculinity in her everyday style. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
Sitting near the library lawns on the university’s East Campus, Joburger Tyreece Garach (21) shares that it was her mother’s support that empowered her rebellious style. “I appreciate her because I could not imagine being the type of child [where] when I leave the house, I’m wearing a whole different outfit and then I get to the bus stop and take it off.”
Among the throng of students shuffling to class, you simply can’t miss her. Garach’s matching brown crochet tank top and mini skirt are accentuated by fishnet tights and thigh-high leather boots. Black lipliner frames her smile and the geometric pattern inked on her forehead draws you towards her eyebrow and septum piercings. A spiky neo-tribal tattoo covers her back, topping off her edgy look. Her style not only expresses her personality but her queerness too. “The way I dress, it’s to express my sexuality as well. I’m a lesbian. The way I dress may seem to be for the male gaze, but my eye makeup, all these piercings, it tells them to stay away!” she laughs. “It’s for the women. This is the expression of alternative people and for me, alternative people are the gays.”
Style and sexuality intersect, for born and bred Joburger Tyreece Garach (21). For her, alternative fashion signals both her personal style and her sexual identity. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
The risks of being seen
While Johannesburg is largely experienced as an accepting and inclusive city, it isn’t immune to the challenges facing the rest of the country. For alternative women, their self-expression doesn’t shield them from misogyny. In many ways, it heightens their visibility as a target for it.
Garach and her partner, both femme-presenting lesbians, have frequently had their relationship invalidated because of how they present. Men have flirted and pushed for their cell phone numbers, despite the women reiterating that they are queer. “When we go out together, often men don’t take us or our relationship seriously. Everything is so deeply rooted in patriarchy,” she says. “At the same time, in Braam [Braamfontein] specifically, men are a lot less pushy about it. I think that’s because this is such an accepting place. People are very aware of all these alternative people living alternative lifestyles,” she explains.
Garach cheekily describes her style as “edgy, 1980s hoochie mama.” She refuses to shrink herself, choosing to wear as much or as little as she pleases. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
Beyond their relationships, alternative women also use clothing to assert who they are, despite the judgment that follows. “Sometimes before I leave the house, I ask myself, should I tone it down, should I cover up, and the answer is no. I never tone it down,” Ntuli says. “You could walk around wearing a short skirt and you get people calling you a slut. They start calling you names, which is annoying.”
Despite experiencing the heavy metal scene in Johannesburg as a kind of sanctuary, Ntuli knows that the ugliness that exists in the rest of society can bleed into what should be her safe space. “Metal is a male-dominated industry, so the scene can be like that as well. When you go to these gigs you need to make sure you’re in good hands because this is South Arica, after all. I love my community but that doesn’t mean that gender-based violence doesn’t happen with us as well,” she says. Regardless of these risks, she’s not letting them stop her from finding solace in the heavy metal scene. “I tell all my female friends that if they haven’t gone to a metal show, that they need to. It is the best experience. It gives women a space to express their strength and just rebel.”
Johannesburg isn’t perfect. For alternative women, standing out can mean harassment and judgement from society. While this is a lived experience for just about all women, being different can heighten your visibility in unpleasant ways. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
Africa’s alternative youth, beyond Joburg
Unlike many of its African counterparts, Johannesburg is often considered to be more accepting and inclusive. The diversity in the kinds of people that are drawn to the city and make it their own is something unique. For other African youth, their experience of alternative self-expression can be bleak.
Akon Areet (20) knows this first-hand. She is the eldest daughter of South Sudanese parents who fled to Kenya when the Sudanese civil war began in 2023. After a short stay in a refugee camp in Kakuma, the family settled in Eldoret, where they already had a few relatives. Areet’s parents have since moved to the United States to work and send money back to support her and her siblings.
She began experimenting with alternative fashion last year as a way to express herself and her sense of style, which she describes as goth. She has silver piercings on her eyebrows and lips, and her hair is a shaggy pink wolfcut, with the bottom layers dyed grey. Her thick eyeliner accentuates her eyes, making them standout further against the white makeup that covers the rest of her face.
While she feels more authentic than ever, her new identity hasn’t been received warmly. “Kenya is a really conservative place. There’s not really a lot of alternative people here and when you’re different, people will ostracise you,” she shares. A sore spot for Areet is that her self-expression is considered white-washed, especially her piercings. “People tell me that I’m trying to be white because of them, but my piercings are the most African thing about me, in so many ways,” she says. “As Africans, we have a lot of body modifications. We have tattoos, piercings and scarification. I love my piercings because they actually bring me closer to my roots.”
Akon Areet is one of the only alternative people living in her conservative town of Eldoret, Kenya. She finds community online, connecting with other goths within and outside of Africa. Photo: Akon Areet/Instagram
She hasn’t let family pressure stop her, despite sometimes feeling isolated. The alternative scene in Eldoret is virtually non-existent. “There are no goth clubs here. I barely see alternative people. I’ve never met an alternative person from here.”
This is in stark contrast to the sense of community that alternative youth in Johannesburg say they’ve found through their self-expression. “When I started expressing myself, that’s when I found my community, my people,” Mello says of her experience in Johannesburg. “If I kept myself stifled, I wouldn’t have found the other queer and alternative people that are like my family now”.
Freedom is the heart of this city
When contemplating if Johannesburg is a world-class African city, freedom of expression rarely comes to mind. The city’s glaring structural challenges often overshadow the resilience and boldness of its people. But to them, self-expression is a part of what makes living in Johannesburg a world-class experience. “Having a city where acceptance is a big part of the way we live shows we have a mindset of liberation. That’s something really unique to Johannesburg,” Garach says. “I think Joburg is a world-class city simply for that fact that it allows everyone to be themselves. Even if there are people judging in silence, as long as they’re not projecting onto you who they think you should be, who cares!”
This city isn’t perfect nor is it immune to challenges like misogyny and queerphobia that threaten freedom of expression. But even with its imperfections, it gives people the courage to be unapologetically themselves – a truly world-class freedom.
FEATURED IMAGE: For Tyreece Garach (21), Joburg is a city where liberation is a mindset embodied daily by its residents. Photo: Mbali Khumalo.
For some, adding the environment to the laundry list of concerns about the future is too much to handle.
More immediate concerns like unemployment make it hard for young people to prioritise fighting climate change.
Global warming is impacting mental health, causing eco-anxiety and ecological grief.
Young people are at a crossroads, unsure if they have it in them to take up this cause.
It’s 2018 and Ayakha Melithafa is a teenage girl like any other. Her school days consist of laughing with friends and teasing each other about their latest crushes, trying to pay attention as teachers drone on about Shakespeare and trigonometry. Occasionally, her mind will wander to her mother, still in the Eastern Cape.
On the phone, Ayakha tells her about Day Zero, and how Cape Town has worked itself into a frenzy. The taps are still running, even if the water is a little dodgy. She asks her mother how she’s doing back home. “Oh, I’m fine, everything here is fine,” she tells her daughter. The drought there has spread, but they’re managing, she shouldn’t worry.
For Ayakha, the end of term can’t come soon enough. She says goodbye to Cape Town, and travels east, back to the small farm that is her childhood home. Over the phone, her mother had put her mind at ease. In person, though, Ayakha can see that the worry in her eyes betrays her words of reassurance. The extent of the drought can’t be ignored. Fields that should be green are cracked and brittle. Livestock, once healthy, look thinner as they meander slowly on sparse grazing land. Her mind is full of questions for which she has no answers.
She returns to Cape Town, her heart heavy with the fear that things are changing for the worst. Just two weeks later, her life sciences teacher would hand out pamphlets for the YouLead initiative, a youth programme by climate justice organisation Project 90 by 2030. That would be the moment her climate activism is born.
Young activists, like Ayakha Melithafa, have taken the challenge of fighting climate change head-on. Photo: Afribeing.
The fight feels too big
Today, the feeling of despair that Ayakha felt is what experts are calling eco-anxiety. For her, it lit a fire to act. But for others her age, it is breeding a quieter response: tuning out or convincing themselves that the climate crisis is someone else’s problem. Young people are caught in the tension between fear and indifference, searching for ways to reconcile that their inheritance is a burning planet.
For South African youth in particular, climate change is just one of many looming threats to their futures, and caring about them all can be too much to shoulder.
“I’m not big on worrying about things that I can’t control. If I think of all the things that are happening in this country that are scary and that I know are going to affect me in the future, I ask myself what am I going to do about that? I see climate change the same way,” said Ntokozo Seoka, a first-year engineering student.
“Am I going to stop the rain, am I going to stop the floods? I could start an organisation or something but it’s going to take a much bigger collective action to change anything, so I don’t even bother,” she candidly shared.
For Ayakha, this disillusionment is understandable, but still disappointing. “That mindset is a little bit scary. As young people, there’s always going to be something else that we’re focusing on and prioritising. But if we don’t look towards the future, then we will always be in survival mode,” she said.
Rather than allowing the climate crisis to demoralise her, Ayakha insists that the solution is to tackle this issue head on and try to find the opportunities in it, as others have. “In the global north, these young people have clocked it. […] They’re developing climate tech and coming up with advanced ideas, while in the global south we’re still trying to understand what climate change even means,” she said. “It’s not about trying to be them, it’s about being in a state of readiness.”
Research shows that young South Africans have several climate-related concerns. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
The human toll of a warming world
Humans often forget that we’re of the earth, not just on it. Climate change is not something we’re seeing happen around us, it is also happening to us, on a physiological level. Plastic pollution is a clear example. “People on the frontlines, scientists, have found microplastics in blood, air, even human placentas,” said Hellen Dena, Project Lead for the Pan-African Plastics Project at Greenpeace Africa. She insists that environmental crises are also human health crises.
Darshnika Lakhoo, clinical researcher at the Wits Planetary Health Research Division, has found that the impact on the mind is far more nuanced than just a passing concern about dry rivers or melting ice caps. “Psychoterratic syndrome is a term that encompasses a lot of ecological related mental health impacts of climate change,” she explains. “The terms under this umbrella are eco-anxiety, ecological grief, which is the mourning related to the change in your environment and the loss of the natural world. There is also solastalgia, which is stress caused by environmental changes.”
Environmental justice organisations see this within their ranks. “Eco-anxiety is very real among young people. There’s a lot of fear and frustration, and also just grief about nature as a whole,” said Keletso Malepe, co-founder of the South African Youth Biodiversity Network. “We’re experiencing drought, floods, heatwaves, even wildfires. […] These climate risks don’t exist in isolation. They interact with all the other vulnerabilities that young people face like poverty and high unemployment,” Malepe said.
A generation at a crossroads
The youth are left in a climate catch-22. The task of reversing the damage done by older generations is so daunting that some would rather avoid it altogether. However, to do nothing only increases the risk of worsening their physical and mental health, as this crisis continues to destroy livelihoods and displace communities.
For those like Ayakha, there was no choice. Climate change didn’t knock on her door, it kicked it down. Stories like hers mark the test the youth face today. “Each generation had a great challenge,” said LLB student Aiden Chetty. “Ours is the environment, and to avoid it would make us the first generation too cowardly to embrace its cause.”
Students at Wits University had their say on how the climate crisis is impacting their wellbeing. Video: Mbali Khumalo
FEATURED IMAGE: Climate change has become a generation-defining fight for the youth. Image: Chris de Beer-Procter.
Platforms like OnlyFans are reshaping how South Africa’s youth navigate money and survival.
A growing number of the country’s youth are turning to online platforms to earn a living through adult entertainment.
Agencies are cropping up to help OnlyFans creators plan their content, manage their money and taxes.
Entering the industry is not a decision to be taken lightly, and big paydays are few and far between.
Work usually done under the cover of darkness, on dimly lit streets has now found a new avenue online. A ring light, Wi-Fi connection and a whole lot of hustle are the tools of a new generation entering sex work. Behind these profiles are young entrepreneurs navigating risk and profit, while trying to survive in Ramaphosa’s economy.
Naked ambition fuels a new era
Just as other industries have adapted to the digital age, the sex trade has also evolved. One platform has brought it into the mainstream – OnlyFans. Ironically, the app didn’t begin as the adult entertainment mecca it is today. Launched in 2016, founder Timothy Stokely envisioned OnlyFans as a place where audiences could financially support creators like singers, actors, and artists through tips or monthly subscriptions. The app sought to democratise the entertainment industry, cutting out middlemen that took a chunk out of creatives’ earnings. OnlyFans boasted over 30 million users in 2020, and has paid out over $5 billion (R87 billion) to creators to date.
For much of the late 2010s, OnlyFans became the site of an adult entertainment ‘gold rush’, with thousands flocking to claim their share of the spoils. However, like the gold rushes of yesteryear, not everyone who showed up, shovel in hand, would walk away a millionaire. Only a handful of creators struck it big, many of whom had sizeable fanbases before joining the platform. Still, that hasn’t stopped hundreds of young people in South Africa from joining OnlyFans to try their luck or simply make a little extra money to survive.
SA creators turn clicks into cash
Hoes and CEOs, a Cape Town-based OnlyFans talent management agency, was founded by former sex worker Rhiannon Gouws in February 2025. Gouws turned to OnlyFans after three years of “traumatising” sex work that led to her being hospitalised in a mental health facility. “It tore my soul into tiny pieces that I had to pick up and I’m still picking them up to this day, but I am so much better than I was,” she told her nearly 9,000 Tik Tok followers.
“Unfortunately, healing does not pay the rent, so I created an OnlyFans [account],” Gouws said. After working with four different managers, a pattern emerged – they were making more money off her body than she was. “I didn’t start Hoes and CEOs to be a boss. I started Hoes and CEOs because I didn’t want women to be managed by men,” she explained.
Gouws says the company isn’t a money grab or a lifestyle brand. It’s a lifeline for the girls and gays who are in the same position she was in, “broke, hot, and confused, still trying to survive”.
Gouws knows that this isn’t a profession entered into lightly. “Most people who are in the sex work industry don’t want to do that and I believe that with my whole soul,” she said. “They’re doing it because they need to get out of a situation, they need to buy a car, pay off their debt, who knows. They just need to survive; they just want to have food on the table. They want to be financially free.”
Hoes and CEOs is a jack of all trades, helping newbies set up OnlyFans accounts, plan content, and even track their taxes. “We keep you accountable and most importantly, we stop when your goal is met,” Gouws said. “This isn’t a forever thing. You come in, make your money, hit your goal, and then you leave.”
The data shows where South Africa’s creators are based and how their earnings are split with OnlyFans. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo
An emerging hierarchy in the digital brothel
Unlike other online businesses, sex workers can’t simply up their marketing to attract new customers. This industry is built on discretion, and not just because it’s taboo, it’s still criminalised.
Enter digital ‘pimps’. The companies they run are structured like management agencies, offering representation, guaranteed clients, and discreet marketing – all for a cut of the profits, of course.
Founded by Australian OnlyFans star Mike Sanchez (AKA ‘Mike and His Banana’), Vixin Management represents adult entertainers in South Africa. His agency promises big returns, fast. Sanchez declined to be interviewed, but Vixin’s Instagram page alleges that no model in the agency has earned less than R50,000 in their first seven days on OnlyFans.
Vixin’s notable earners include one top creator who purportedly raked in R278,910 between April 22 and April 28, 2025. Another creator took home R142,740 between March 21 and March 27, 2025. Non-disclosure agreements keep the identities of his clients confidential, but the agency’s referral programme targets South African girls aged 18 to 22, with a R10,000 payout per successful referral.
Stats SA reports that in 2023, the average South African household had an annual income of R204,359. For the typical citizen, making six figures in just seven days would be life changing.
Big returns are rare in online sex work
While the dream of earning millions on OnlyFans might be alluring, massive paydays are the exception, not the rule. The average creator takes home roughly R2,600 monthly. That’s before OnlyFans takes its 20% cut. Sex work likely won’t make you rich, but for most, especially students, their motivations are more realistic.
“We do see that students are engaging in the trade, especially first years,” said Yonela Sinqu, National Communications Officer at Sisonke, an organisation advocating for the decriminalisation of sex work. “You do get older students, maybe third years, who would engage in sex work to complete their studies. Then you get the ‘older’ generation who would do this to supplement their incomes,” she continued.
“The people engaged in sex work are rendering a service just like any other. The money that they make goes towards the economy of this country. These are small businesses,” Sinqu said.
Most creators on OnlyFans aren’t raking in six-figure sums. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo
Regardless of the modest returns, digital sex work appears preferable to its physical counterpart, where there’s more physical risks and trauma. While it remains stigmatised, the world’s oldest profession isn’t going anywhere.
“It’s not for everyone,” Gouws said. “If you’re allergic to commitment or self-awareness, stay away. But if you have a money goal, a ring light and unresolved issues, welcome.”
FEATURED IMAGE: South Africans are finding both opportunity and risk in the booming digital sex economy. Image: Jufomicheva/Pexels.
Civil society organisations say, “no treaty is better than a bad treaty”, as United Nations plastic treaty talks hit a roadblock.
NGOs applaud UN member states who refused to accept a toothless plastics treaty.
Despite being the foot soldiers of climate action, some NGOs felt sidelined in Geneva, as talks seemingly favoured plastic lobbyists.
Civil society groups say they will persevere, despite the structural challenges they face.
Non-governmental organisations (NGOs) are standing behind the member states that rejected the plastics treaty being negotiated at the United Nations (UN) in Geneva, Switzerland on August 14. The treaty had been debated for 12 days before a deadlock collapsed this round of talks.
The treaty process was initiated in 2022 to establish a legally binding agreement on the full lifecycle of plastic products. Per a draft, this agreement would address public health, emissions, mandatory finance obligations, production limits, and other considerations.
Last week’s talks had intended to be the final set of negotiations.
According to a statement by Global Alliance for Incinerator Alternatives (GAIA), an international coalition of NGOs fighting for a zero-waste world, some of the NGO observers were unhappy that chairperson of the negotiating committee, Luis Vayas Valdivieso, allegedly allowed fossil fuel and petrochemical lobbyists to dominate the talks.
GAIA also claimed that civil society groups, waste pickers, scientists, and youth leaders were denied access to small group and special plenary meetings due to space restraints, even though they had all registered to attend.
“It felt almost like there were hidden agendas at play,” said Merissa Naidoo, GAIA Africa Plastics Program Manager. “It seems like the chair and the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) have failed to set the table for an equitable and effective negotiation.”
Corporate lobbyists also used underhanded tactics to boost their influence during the talks.
“Some of these petrochemical industries are part of the country delegations. Most of the governments who include them are either producers of plastics or oil,” said Hellen Dena, Project Lead for Pan-African Plastics Project at Greenpeace Africa, one of the NGOs that was present in Geneva. “When you’re part of a delegation, you have access to all the meetings and the other delegations, so they can influence as much as they want.”
Plastic treaty negotiations are at an impasse, with no consensus reached since the treaty process was initiated in 2022. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo
The way forward on the treaty negotiations is unclear. Still, NGOs continue to fight against being sidelined in the tug-of-war between climate-conscious countries and profit-driven corporations.
For Dena, the fight for a robust treaty is about more than just pollution. “The plastic pollution crisis is not just an environmental crisis. It’s also a human health crisis. People on the frontlines, scientists, have found microplastics in blood, air, even human placentas. This is about people as well as the planet,” she said.
“It is a win that we didn’t come out with a weak treaty and that civil society put up a lot of pressure. Now we’ll get another chance to get it right.”
FEATURED IMAGE: Climate activists protest at the UN plastics treaty talks, which reached a deadlock on August 15. Photo: Fabrice Coffrini/AFP.
With the world’s biggest polluters shirking their climate commitments, developing nations are left asking whether it’s our ‘turn to burn’.
As America turns away from climate action, countries question whether to follow its profit-driven lead.
Coal still powers South Africa and provides employment, making it hard to abandon immediately.
Resource-rich countries are at a crossroads on how to benefit from their fossil fuels, as developed nations have historically done.
South Africa’s climate efforts are a drop in the ocean if major emitters like the United States don’t meet their climate goals. So, why should we sacrifice if they are doing the opposite?
The talk by philosophy professor Lucy Allais presented this question to a packed audience at the Wits Club on Wednesday, August 13, during the Pro VC Seminar.
The event was the brainchild of Professor Imraan Valodia, Wits Pro Vice-Chancellor: Climate, Sustainability and Inequality. It brought together students, academics, and researchers to question what fair and equitable climate action looks like for developing nations.
For South Africa, deciding to abandon fossil fuels is not only a question of doing the right thing, but a major economic consideration as well. “We derive significant foreign reserves from coal, and we’ve got about 80,000 direct jobs in coal mining and even more indirect jobs. Burning coal is also our main source of electricity,” Allais said.
She also pointed out that for many, expecting South Africa to abandon this key energy source is unfair.
“We haven’t caused the problem and we’ve got resources that we could profit from. The developed world has profited from their natural resources, and from ours. Isn’t it only fair that we get to profit from our resources too?” Allais probed.
That sense of unfairness only grows when looking at the United States, a former climate leader that is now retreating from this responsibility. Allais argued that America’s confused climate agenda did not begin with President Donald Trump – it has long been a nation that often talks left and walks right. “The U.S. under Biden signed historical legislation investing in renewable infrastructure, but also increased oil production,” she said. Biden’s presidency saw the country become a net exporter of oil, with the share price of the Dow Jones U.S. oil and gas index rising by 120% between the first and last year of his presidency.
South Africa and America have vastly different impacts on the environment. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo
Still, Trump has accelerated the rolling back of America’s climate commitments.
Under his leadership, the U.S. has withdrawn from the Paris Agreement, an international treaty to keep global warming below 2°C. Trump has also revoked the country’s pledge to provide green energy transition funding, including R1.5 billion which would have gone to South Africa.
South Africa has not followed America’s lead in abandoning the fight against climate change. Neither have the other 194 countries still signed to the Paris Agreement.
While wealthy nations should be obligated to reverse climate change, Allais disagrees that developing countries have an entitlement to not reduce emissions. “All countries have an obligation to avoid collective catastrophe,” she concluded.
FEATURED IMAGE: The United States is no longer a climate action champion, leaving the rest of the world to forge its own path. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
Ongoing protests highlight the complicity of corporations operating in Israel or funding its military.
On July 25, the Wits Palestine Solidarity Committee and several other organisations picketed against companies supporting Israel.
McDonald’s, Google, Amazon, and Coca-Cola are among the mega-corporations complicit in the genocide.
Protestors spoke of the power of boycotts, divestment, and sanctions to advance the Palestinian struggle.
“Every time the media lies, a little child in Gaza dies!” and “hey hey, ho ho, occupation has got to go!” were two of the rallying cries heard on Friday, July 25, as the Wits Palestine Solidarity Committee led the latest in a month-long series of pickets.
Rainy and cold weather could not keep the group from showing up, again, to protest against corporations accused of funding and supporting Israel by operating in the country.
The picket formed part of the wider Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) Movement, a global, non-violent initiative formed in 2005 to promote divestment and economic sanctions against Israel. Much like the anti-Apartheid boycotts of the 1980s, the movement aims to secure liberation for Palestine through financial pressure.
“It’s so important that we keep on coming out because we know what it’s like to experience apartheid. What’s happening in Gaza has surpassed that, it’s gotten to the point of genocide. We cannot stop fighting. We need to keep on showing up,” said Nureen Salooji, a member of the Palestine Solidarity Alliance Youth League.
A mother and son chant calls to free Palestine. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
Members of South African Jews for a Free Palestine (SAJFP) attended, waving Palestinian flags and displaying banners that highlighted their solidarity.
“We’re here to express condemnation against Israel’s genocide against Palestinians and against the companies and countries that are complicit,” said Julia Hope from SAJFP.
“This week, we’re dealing with the reality of what forced starvation looks like, which is hundreds of children dying in Gaza. This is not just a famine by circumstance, it’s an active forced starvation,” she continued.
The location of the protest was strategic, taking place across the street from a McDonald’s branch and the Coca-Cola offices in Rosebank, on Oxford Road.
Protestors argued that an action as simple as purchasing a Big Mac makes everyday people, many unknowingly, complicit in funding a genocide.
Picketers on Oxford Street hold up signs protesting Zionism and the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
The BDS boycott list includes companies such as McDonalds, Coca-Cola, Amazon, Reebok, and several more food, technology and travel corporations. These businesses operate branches or franchises in Israel that have allegedly provided generous donations to the Israel Defence Force (IDF).
Some support the genocide more directly, with Amazon and Google having previously developed AI technology and computing infrastructure for the IDF in a $1.2 billion contract in 2021.
The struggle for a free Palestine is ongoing, and pickets will be continuing as Joburg residents add their voices to the global call to end violence in Gaza.
FEATURED IMAGE: A sign displayed by protestors calling on the public to boycott McDonald’s. Photo: Mbali Khumalo.
Those living with the misunderstood condition face social stigma and a lack of support in public clinics and hospitals.
Wits students and mental health experts gathered to challenge the stigma and silence around bipolar disorder.
The event revealed that there are serious shortages of mental health resources in South Africa’s public healthcare system.
Personal testimonies from people living with bipolar highlighted why breaking the silence must go hand in hand with upholding their human dignity.
The extreme highs and dark lows of bipolar disorder often make for an isolating experience of living with this condition. To break the silence, Wits Pathology Society brought together students, experts, and advocates to tackle stigma and talk about the challenges of treating this mental illness.
At the event held on Thursday, May 15, experts emphasised that talking about the impact of bipolar disorder is important, but the way we do so also matters.
Dr Vinola Poliah, a psychiatrist at Sterkfontein Hospital and Akeso Crescent Clinic, stressed that using words like “crazy” or “unstable” to describe someone living with bipolar is not only hurtful but also reinforces negative stereotypes.
Another issue that was raised is the limited access to mental health services in South Africa. There is a shortage of psychiatrists, especially in the public sector. Poliah said, “twenty percent of South Africans will experience a depressive disorder at least once in their life.”
“The most frightening statistic of all for me is that twenty-three South Africans attempt or commit suicide every day, and with bipolar disorder we have the highest rates of suicide.”
Many people diagnosed with bipolar disorder struggle to access a mental health professional in times of crisis or to receive ongoing support, such as therapy and sometimes costly medication, which may worsen their experience of living with this condition.
“I have been to hospitals where I can sit an entire day and wait with a person needing psychiatric assistance,” said Mary-Anne Dobrovic, manager at the South African Schizophrenia & Bipolar Disorders Alliance.
“There are just too many patients for the number of doctors. Our doctors in most of the clinics and government hospitals are overrun,” she continued.
The event also provided a safe space for people living with bipolar to share their experiences. Theuns Lombard, a former army nurse and paramedic, shared his story of being diagnosed with bipolar hypomania more than twenty years ago.
He made a point to emphasise that this disorder is not his identity. “I have bipolar disorder, but I don’t suffer from it. I am not suffering. This is a diagnosis, it doesn’t define me,” he said. Monthly counselling sessions and periodic checkups with a psychiatrist to tweak his medication as needed, help keep Lombard more balanced.
The event challenged the idea that bipolar is about mere mood swings. It’s a serious condition that deserves real support, not just sympathy. Change starts with how we speak, but it can’t stop there. It must reach the healthcare system, meant to effectively care for those living with the disorder.
FEATURED IMAGE: An estimated20% of South Africans experience a depressive disorder at least once in their lives, with bipolar affecting 4% of the population. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
Africa brought its own unique take on black dandyism to the biggest night in fashion, blending cultural pride with bold fashion statements.
African stars embraced the 2025 Met Gala theme, Superfine: Tailoring Black Style, and represented our fashion history while doing so. The event celebrated the impact of dandyism and black men’s style on tailoring and menswear.
This year, Africa didn’t just get a seat at the table. It bought the whole thing.
In a historic first, Africa Fashion International (AFI), a marketing, retail and development organisation, was a sponsor at the Met Gala. Founder, Dr Precious Moloi-Motsepe, walked the red carpet wearing custom David Tlale.
Her presence wasn’t just symbolic, it was a powerful statement of Africa’s growing influence on global fashion. As a South African lover of fashion, seeing her on that red carpet made me proud.
My three standout guests from the continent were the African giant himself Burna Boy, songstress Tems, and South Africa’s own Nomzamo Mbatha, who all interpreted the theme through looks that merged cultural pride and global fashion trends.
Styled by British-Ghanaian designer Ozwald Boateng, Burna Boy looked dapper in a sharply tailored red suit and oxblood cape made of eel skin.
He told Vogue that his look was a nod to his roots in the Niger Delta. “The eel and fish in general are the lifeblood of my people. They symbolise survival, spirit, and the flow of tradition through generations,” he said.
Tems stunned in a dramatic blue gown with a mermaid-style hem, also styled by Boateng. The peacock print at first glance reminded me of the traditional shweshwe fabric found in South Africa.
Her braided hairstyle topped off her interpretation of Afro-dandyism. “I wanted to express this theme in a way that was true to me and paying homage to my West African roots,” she told Harper’s Bazaar.
Wearing a bold burgundy two-piece outfit by MmusoMaxwell was Nomzamo Mbatha, who attended as the AFI red carpet correspondent. The crème de la crème of her look was the intricate updo that screamed unapologetically African.
While many guests focused their outfits on European tailoring, these African stars reminded us that black dandyism was never just imported, it’s long been alive in Africa.
In Congo, the sapeurs have turned heads since the 1960s, wearing brightly coloured suits and shoes from designer labels, that they often purchased against the odds.
Their style isn’t just about flair, it’s defiance. A way for men across generations to make a statement of joy and pride amid their difficult circumstances.
In 1950s South Africa, swenkas became a popular subculture among Zulu migrant workers, wearing tailored suits, fedora hats, and patterned ties. They competed in fashion competitions that showcased their dignity, against the backdrop of a dehumanising apartheid regime.
By the 2010s, skhothanes took centre stage. They were flashy and fearless, and known for their dance battles (and those infamous Carvela shoes).
These subcultures show that African men have used fashion to speak volumes, long before any Met Gala invitation.
This year’s theme was about more than just fashion, it was about retelling our history through style.
FEATURED IMAGE: African stars brought their own cultural flair to the Met Gala’s theme of ‘Superfine: Tailoring Black Style’. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
Pope Leo XIV may be American, but his impact will be felt across the globe. He is here to lead all Catholics, not just his countrymen.
As a lifelong Catholic, I too watched the chimney of the Sistine Chapel on May 8, with anticipation. After one unsuccessful vote, white smoke finally billowed, the bells rang, and the Catholic world waited to meet its new pope.
This moment, usually marked by unity and reverence, quickly shifted into a debate.
Not about faith, but about nationality.
For the first time in history, the Pope is American, and this has stoked political anxiety. Pope Leo XIV, formerly Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, has barely had time to settle into the papacy, and his past is already being dissected with a fervour we haven’t seen before, for a new pope.
His voting history and perceived ideological leanings are being examined with a scrutiny that one would expect for a political candidate, not for a faith leader. Those doing the digging are not just internet sleuths or political fanatics. Respected media houses have joined in too, legitimising this politicisation of the new pope.
Al Jazeera reported that according to Pope Leo ‘s voter information, his party affiliation is undeclared, but “he voted in the 2012, 2014 and 2016 Republican primaries”, which implies a connection with the Republican party. A primary is an election that political parties in the United States use to select candidates for the general election. The New York Times, ABC News and NBC News also reported on the Pope’s recent voting record.
This response is not entirely surprising. America has become an extremely politically divisive nation, so a global figure of authority coming from that landscape is bound to be scrutinised.
Understanding the Pope’s views on contentious issues like abortion, violence caused by war or political strife, contraception, refugees, or the role of women in the church is very important. After all, these views will ultimately shape the direction he chooses to steer the church. They will also impact every single member, especially young Catholics like me, who reconcile their faith with modern life every day.
However, it is important that his views are not seen as an extension of the American voice.
The Pope is not a symbol of American Catholicism. He is the spiritual leader of over a billion Catholics across the world. Reducing his leadership to being defined by American political discourse undermines the universality of the Catholic church.
The Pope’s influence is rooted in Rome, not in Washington.
Roman Catholic values should be the foundation of his leadership, not his personal beliefs (whatever they may be).
In his first Sunday address on May 11, I was impressed that he called for a ceasefire in Gaza, boldly saying “I would also like to address the powerful people of the world, repeating the always current call, no more war”.
On May 12, during the first news conference of his pontificate, he reaffirmed the church’s solidarity with journalists who have been imprisoned for calling out injustices. As a budding journalist, this endeared me to him to even more.
I anticipate that he will remain focused on the moral issues of our time, as he should.
The relevance of his leadership will be measured not by his country of origin, but by how well he advocates for justice, dignity for all, and peace on Earth.
FEATURED IMAGE: Mbali Khumalo, 2025 Wits Vuvuzela journalist. Photo: File/Paul Botes.
When degrading women is the punchline, what does that reveal about the audience laughing along?
“Minnie’s pretty bro. Why can’t she keep a man?”
“Bro, I’m telling you man. There’s got to be something wrong with her. Maybe her coochie smells or something. You know this happens, bro, it happens, especially with the hot girls.”
“Mac, what if she can’t cook?”
That’s not an out-of-character quote or a harmless joke gone too far. It’s yet another example of the routine misogyny that fuels Podcast and Chill, the cult-like podcast and online show that’s been trading integrity for views since 2018.
On April 24, Podcast and Chill co-hosts Macgyver Mukwevho “MacG” and Sol Phenduka once again crossed the line between edgy commentary and outright misogyny. While discussing media personality Minnie Dlamini’s recent breakup with businessman Brian Monaisa, the conversation quickly spiralled into provocative territory as the pair speculated on the reasons for their split.
This is not new or surprising. This is exactly what a large amount of South African entertainment has become – a breeding ground for lazy, degrading speech against women dressed up as unfiltered commentary.
The irony came fast and loud when, on April 28, Moja Love condemned MacG’s remarks. Yes, that Moja Love. The channel that built its brand on exploiting poor, vulnerable and black South Africans, suddenly wants to be the voice of reason.
The same Moja Love that the Broadcasting Complaints Commission of South Africa (BCCSA) fined in 2023 for airing scenes of domestic violence on Isencane Lengane without trigger warnings or adequate support for the abused being filmed. The same broadcaster that aired Uyajola 9/9, a show that turns toxic relationships into Sunday night entertainment.
Spare us the moral high ground.
Where are the gatekeepers? Unfazed, it seems. By carrying Moja Love and MacG’s content, broadcasters like DStv fail to uphold the principles of the BCCSA’s code of conduct.
This code protects viewers from harmful content and ensures fair and balanced programming. It states that broadcasting licensees must “exercise exceptional care and consideration in matters involving the privacy, dignity and reputation of individuals.”
The code goes on to expressly state that licensees “must not broadcast material which […] sanctions, promotes or glamorises violence or unlawful conduct based on race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, [or] gender.”
Let’s be honest. Podcast and Chill isn’t the disease, it’s the symptom. The South African entertainment industry has fallen in love with controversy because outrage pays. Misogyny and vulgarity are now marketed as “being real.” The uglier the take, the better the numbers.
Podcast and Chill is one of the most consumed shows in the country, with 1.57 million subscribers on YouTube. Moja Love still pulls audiences despite constant public backlash.
So what does this say about us? Is our appetite for entertainment so bottomless that we’ll swallow anything, even casual violence or gender-based humiliation?
We’re not just bystanders. We’re complicit.
If the South African entertainment industry won’t change, then maybe the public should change the channel.
Or at the very least, ask ourselves, “why are we still watching?”
FEATURED IMAGE: Podcast and Chill co-hosts MacG and Sol Phenduka have ignited another sexism scandal, this time taking aim at actress Minnie Dlamini. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
Ten years after students demanded change, The Fall is back on stage, bringing the unfinished fight for free, decolonised education back under the spotlight.
The play returns to The Market Theatre, features three original cast members and new talent.
Performances ignite the stage from April 9 to May 4.
A post-performance dialogue raised the uncomfortable question “was it worth it?”, as students continue to face barriers to decolonised and accessible education.
A powerful reimagining of The Fall, an internationally acclaimed protest play, opened at The Market Theatre in Johannesburg on Wednesday, April 9. The award-winning production challenges systemic oppression by spotlighting the voices and experiences of students who, in 2015, took to the streets demanding that the government make good on its promise to open the doors of learning and culture.
The play was originally created by eight University of Cape Town students in the aftermath of the #RhodesMustFall movement and the toppling of the statue of colonialist Cecil John Rhodes. Running until May 4, the new production is being presented by theatre company, The Theatre Duo, and Wits Drama for Life. It reunites three of the original student creators with a fresh cast, reworking the script and staging for a new generation of audiences still grappling with access and transformation at universities.
Opening night’s post-performance dialogue brought these issues to life. Wits University student Mzizi Khulu said, “We’re inheriting the same mentality of our forefathers. We’re still complaining, striking, and protesting. Do we really feel that Fees Must Fall mattered at all?”
Conversely, University of Johannesburg student Mpho Moilwa said, “We’ve been trying, we’ve been striking, we’ve been putting our bodies on the line for this movement, and nothing is changing.”
Students have their say on the impact of the Fees Must Fall movement. Photo: Mbali Khumalo
The Fall’s raw, collaborative format brings authenticity to the stage, blending personal testimony with performance. Sizwesandile Mnisi, original writer and cast member said, “When we first wrote this play, we inserted a lot of ourselves, along with research and archetypes that we saw in the movement. Doing this play ten years later, I too feel a sense of hopelessness that it can still speak so loudly. It’s beautiful that it resonates, but it’s also a problem that it does.”
Audience member Philadelphia Sithole emphasised the importance of theatre in recording our history. “We almost forgot Fees Must Fall. This piece is so powerful because it forces us to question what kind of society we want to have,” she said.
The Fall is a powerful reminder that the fight for access and decolonisation in higher education is still unfinished.
FEATURED IMAGE: Drama for Life Creative Research Hub Director, Hamish Mabala Neill, facilitates the post-performance dialogue. Photo: Mbali Khumalo.
Johannesburg's underground punk rock scene has always been about more than simply music. From the beginning, it's been a site of rebellion against injustice and a community for those who dare to go against the norm. In this episode of We Should Be Writing, Mbali Khumalo takes you into this world, with guests from the […]
