Architecture is often associated with what it produces: the walls, windows, and spaces that become a part of our everyday life. But before a building exists; someone must imagine it.
For two young women from the Wits School of Architecture and Planning, imagining took them beyond Wits and into Vienna, Austria, after they were selected to attend an international architecture summer school.
Jaimini Ranchod and Maimuna Dadi Patel, two third-year Wits students, were selected to attend the annual Vienna Architecture Summer School, a week-long programme that brings architecture students, graduates and young practitioners from all over the world together to one of Vienna’s largest social housing estates in the former laundry hall of Sandleitenhof.
For Ranchod and Dadi Patel, the invitation was based on their studio work and great academic performance. It became an opportunity to learn and exchange ideas alongside young graduates and practitioners from different parts of the world, including Estonia, Italy, and France, among others. “I think this opportunity has allowed me to be so much more open-minded, being able to see things from multiple perspectives, and understand other people especially when they come from cultures and contexts different from mine,” shared Dadi Patel.
Architecture student Maimuna Dadi-Patel hanging up photographic prints. Photo: Richard Pobasching
The opportunity
Being exposed to people and work from across the world encourages students to understand that cross-culture allows them to question any ideas they may have taken for granted, said Dr Sandra Felix, lecturer at the Wits School of Architecture and Planning. “The exposure to other ways of practicing architecture makes these students aware of the way in which South African architects practice,” she said. For Ranchod and Dadi Patel, it means returning home with new understandings and global perspectives.
And interacting with young women specifically, interested in the same things as them, but all coming to the opportunity with different ways of viewing the same abstract ideas was particularly enlightening. “It feels that although we are from different contexts, we are almost cut from the same cloth,” said Dadi Patel “We share the same struggle of being women in a male dominated field.” The sense of being “cut from the same cloth” shaped how the students could think and interact with their identity in their designs, and how who they are influences what they choose to preserve, change, or build around them.
TheWitsedge
Ranchod’s path to Wits was not straightforward. She started in biomedical science and realised it wasn’t a space she wanted to be in. After taking a year out to study interior design, she ventured into architecture. Her initial plan was to study at UCT, but she chose to study at Wits. “Wits has built a reputation as one of the best places in South Africa, and I think the continent, to study architecture.” she explained. Beyond the institution’s legacy, being close to her family in Johannesburg mattered to her, because they are her support system.
For Dadi Patel, studying at Wits was intentional. “I started architecture at Wits because it was one of my top choices, and it is close to home.” Along the way, she doubted herself, and felt anxious about managing such a demanding course, where students have to do everything from designing by hand to physically constructing models Over the past two years, that doubt turned into passion, shaped through her work and her interest in thinking about things differently. Understanding the architectural space as something broad that encompasses people, environment, and context has helped her grow into how she sees herself as a young architect.
The sense of growth is reflected in the field itself. South African architecture has traditionally been a profession dominated by white men. However, the narrative has shifted, with women of colour leading in some of the most celebrated architectural spaces. Women like Yasmin Mayat, co-founder of Mayat Hart Architects and an accredited heritage practitioner, and Sumaya Vally, founder of Counterspace, who became internationally renowned in 2021 after becoming the youngest architect ever to design London’s Serpentine Pavilion, have paved the way. Nadia Tromp, owner of Ntsika Architects, became the first African woman in 2017 to win a World Architecture Festival Award for her Westbury Clinic among several other awards, and Dr. Huda Tayob, who focuses on research in migration and identity in the architectural space, are examples of women of colour in architecture who are reshaping the field. Through their work, students can see that change is possible.
The shift was clear to the pair in Vienna, with Maimuna sharing that the workshop was more female dominated. For both, representation matters in a space where woman could still be undermined for choosing to study the course.
Photographic prints and notes clipped to line. Photo: Richard Pobasching
Looking forward
When asked about what they want their architecture to say about them in the future, Ranchod wants her architecture to feel like a safe space for the communities who use it and makes room for those who use it after her. “It should feel like it belongs exactly where it is, and it was built just for the community who uses it. What matters most is that people are comfortable enough to use the spaces I designed,” she explained.
Dadi Patel wants her architecture to be thought-provoking and beneficial to communities. “I want my architecture to say that I have done something for the people and didn’t just design selfishly. I would want to make a change in the world. I want to do more than what architecture is known for, I want to show that I am changing and the world is changing” she said.
The future is no longer about just building new spaces – it is about adapting to what already exists in ways that cater for communities and including the diverse voices that have been excluded from designing them.
Jaimini Ranchod constructing a structure out of white string. Photo: Richard Pobasching
FEATURED IMAGE: Architecture students measuring and aligning work on a wall. Photo: Richard Pobasching
Seven months after her precautionary suspension, former Wits Sociology Head of Department Professor Srila Roy faces an internal university disciplinary hearing set for September 15
Former Sociology Head of Department Professor Srila Roy will appear before a formal Wits disciplinary hearing on September 15, 2026.
Head of the School of Social Sciences, Professor Lorena Núñez Carrasco, confirmed that internal proceedings remain ongoing and an outcome will take time.
Roy remains under institutional restrictions that prevent her from speaking publicly or publishing material regarding the ongoing case.
Former Head of Sociology Department Professor Srila Roy will face an internal university disciplinary hearing on September 15, 2026, seven months after her precautionary suspension.
Professor Srila Roy. Photo: The University of the Witwatersrand
The hearing date was confirmed by Head of the School of Social Sciences, Professor Lorena Núñez Carrasco, in response to written enquiries about Roy’s employment status and the progress of internal proceedings.
While questions surrounding Roy’s permanent standing at Wits have circulated since her suspension in February, the university confirmed that internal processes have not yet concluded.
“The disciplinary process has not concluded, the hearing will in fact only be held on the 15th of September, [and] even then, the final resolution will take some time,” Núñez Carrasco stated in an email response.
She added that until the matter is officially resolved, Roy is restricted from making public statements or publishing material concerning the case.
Roy was placed on precautionary suspension in February 2026 following public backlash over remarks posted on social media regarding South African work ethic amidst parliamentary discussions on foreign academics in higher education.
The post drew swift condemnation from student leadership, the South African Sociological Association (SASA), and members of parliament. Roy subsequently resigned as Head of Department, leading to formal university disciplinary procedures.
Although Parliament’s Portfolio Committee on Higher Education previously called for her dismissal, Wits University maintained that any institutional outcome would depend strictly on the completion of its formal internal processes.
With the hearing scheduled for mid-September, the final determination on Roy’s future academic standing at Wits remains pending.
FEATURED IMAGE: Graphic showing silhouette of a woman by a calendar marking September 15 2026. Designed by: Daniella Ripamonti
The clean girl aesthetic whispers, but creative makeup is yelling: “I’m back, bitches!”
The ‘clean girl’ aesthetic is losing its grip on the beauty industry.
Colourful and experimental makeup is taking over.
Younger generations are redefining beauty by making their own rules.
For the past few years, the ‘clean girl’ aesthetic has dominated beauty culture. The same brushed-up and gelled-down brows. The same ‘doughnut’ glazed skin. The same ‘strawberry’ barely there blush. Somewhere between the fourth layer of skincare and the third swipe of clear lip gloss, the aesthetic has become less of a trend, and more of a uniform of conformity. If you doomscroll for more than ten minutes, you will start to notice that everyone looks eerily similar. An almost identical standard that looks a lot like past beauty ideals rather than dismantling them.
The clean girl was everywhere. She woke up at 5.a.m., drank freshly juiced organic greens, and slicked back her hair into a definitive, carefully curated bun. This was meant to look like it took her 5 minutes to get ready, when in reality it took twenty. Her skin seemed perfectly luminescent, and her hair stayed stuck down in place.
But, the wind has changed speed, and the tides have turned over. The bun has started to loosen. The blush is bolder, eyeshadow is brighter, and highlighter is blinding, once again.
Welcome to the death of the clean girl. May she rest in pieces.
As the years pass and the trend finally fades away, people are moving away from this carefully designed idea of what beauty should be and is turning towards makeup, hair, and style that is louder, messier, and more personal.
Makeup artist, Tylar Booysen, looking at herself in the mirror. Photo: Kerese Govender
The clean girl aesthetic is more than just a simple makeup look. It became a must to follow. The fake freckles and dewy skin are just surface level. It represents a specific image of femininity. Makeup stopped being loud and proud and instead, became something meant to be minimal, polished, and controlled. Everything about this aesthetic is meant to appear effortless. Yet, here’s the gag: there is nothing effortless about it. To achieve this standard, expensive, extensive beauty routines are required.
The clean girl disguised beauty conformity as self-care. Individualism and self-expression exited the group chat.
But now, they’re back! Better than ever.
Graphic eyeliner is escaping its assigned constraints. Colour combinations that have never been thought of before are being invented. Shimmer is showing up in places that shimmer has never been invited to before.
While the clean girl encouraged people to blend in, the maximalist queen steps in and demands to be seen and heard.
Close up of lip products and cigarette butts with lipstick stains. Photo: Kerese Govender
Makeup artists that have contributed to the resurgence of creativity in 2026 are Ngozi Edeme, better known by her online persona PaintedbyEsther, and Sophia Sinot.
Edeme’s signature excessive use of blush and colourful shimmers had the entire beauty industry trying to recreate her looks. She has become a significant participator in Tyla’s current branding for A*POP, from the bright eyeshadows to princess pink blush, body shimmer and neon wigs. It is becoming increasingly easy to spot a look created by Edeme.
Zara Larsson’s Midnight Sun era is also instantly recognisable: what started with a poor PicsArt dolphin edited alongside Larsson’s 2017 hit Symphony has resulted in one of the most iconic popstar rebrandings of the 2020s. Together, Larsson and Sinot have brought back the dazzle, shimmer and shine which pop stars used to be known for. Every look incorporates a range of colour combos, gleaming glitter, and rhinestones lingering close by.
These perspectives have inspired people to look at makeup as less of natural beauty and more as a way of creatively contributing to one’s individual style in the boldest way possible. An eye can become a canvas, a face something to experiment on. Lipstick becomes a statement, and eyeshadow commands attention. The rules of makeup are changing. A look can be inspired by anything: paintings, music, subcultures. One day, it can be punky smudged eyeliner. The next, it can be as colourful and dramatic as drag. It does not demand consistency or structure. Instead, it pushes you into not choosing one aesthetic for the rest of your life. You are allowed to do soft glam on Tuesday and the furthest thing from natural on Thursday.
The most notable thing about the shift towards creative beauty is that it is unapologetically visible. For years, makeup trends have been obsessed with making beauty invisible. No-makeup meant using makeup, while pretending you didn’t. Creative makeup does the complete opposite; it looks like time, effort, and like someone sat in front of a mirror for two hours deciding what colour goes where. Creativity exists without apologising for being there.
The reality is that beauty trends have always been telling us what to do. Your eyebrows should be thicker, no, thinner. Blush belongs on your nose or does it? Everyone is expected to change their style. The clean girl aesthetic was just the latest trend in beauty’s long history of this phenomenon. Creative makeup represents something different, but it is not completely free from trends. The internet has a peculiar ability to turn individuality into another categorical trend for people to follow. Give the internet a few months, and there will be a ‘correct’ way to be creative. But for now, it is refreshing to see people figure out their personal style.
However, we have to be realistic. The clean girl is not being buried next to the Tumblr girl or the 2016 baddie just yet. There will always be people who prefer a classic slick back bun. The issue lies with the idea that this is the only correct option. That frizzy hair is unacceptable. That the afro must be ‘neatly’ combed back instead of being free, beautiful as it is. Creative beauty is not here to replace but to rebuild a room for more. For the person who sees beauty as what it is: a form of expression.
Perhaps we are tired of being told what is acceptable and what is not. Every week, there is a new product to purchase. Every month, there is a new trend to follow. Every year, there is a new version of yourself to become. Creative beauty says, “Hell no!” It says that beauty does not have to be subtle, invisible, or effortless. Beauty is allowed to simply be fun.
The clean girl may still be alive somewhere in the world, but elsewhere the creative queens have just unboxed a new neon eyeshadow pallete.
Tylar Booysen showcasing her makeup look. Photo: Kerese Govender
FEATURED IMAGE: Close up of creative makeup look on Tylar Booysen. Photo: Kerese Govender
For Siya, ubukhothane is about protecting a culture of identity, creativity and self-expression.
Skhothane culture is a South African youth subculture rooted in luxury brands and performance.
Siya Mbatsane, known as “Bhut Tong”, found his place in ubukhothane through dance, fashion and his family’s connection to the culture.
Social media is giving a new generation of Skhothane practitioners a bigger stage, turning dance, fashion and creativity into opportunities beyond the township.
“Woza Madala Woza” spills into an East Rand township street, competing with the rumble of passing colourful minibuses and the cheers of a growing crowd. The pavement becomes a dance floor. Bright colours flash through bold prints and polished Italian shoes. DMD Muracchini shirts and Versace prints move with the bodies wearing them as dancers size each other up.
Then the dance-off begins. Feet glide across the pavement as shoulders roll and bodies bend to the rhythm. The crowd responds with cheers. An Ultra Mel bottle is passed around before thick custard is poured onto the ground, becoming part of the performance. This is ubukhothane.
For years, the subculture has been viewed through a narrow lens: expensive clothes, conspicuous spending and the destruction of luxury goods. Those images became so powerful that Skhothane culture was reduced to waste, recklessness and delinquency. But look beyond the burn and another picture emerges.
Skhothane culture is shaped by fashion, dance, music, competition and community. For practitioners, clothing is part of the performance and a way to stand apart.
For Siyabonga Mbatsane, popularly known as “Bhut Tong”, being part of ubukhothane means having the freedom to be different. He describes himself as a maximalist, drawn to what he calls “the art of dance and fashion”.
He is difficult to miss. Tall and meticulously put together, he appears almost larger than life in wax jeans, a green and pink Sfarzo shirt and a bright orange bucket hat. His outfit is loud, but he is surprisingly shy however on the dance floor, that shyness gives way to movement. His connection began after watching his uncles’ participate in the culture. Drawn to the dancing, he decided to try it himself.
Today, Mbatsane is a second-year student at the University of Johannesburg, a content creator and part-time worker who takes on odd jobs such as washing cars and gardening. His creative work has opened opportunities beyond the streets where he first encountered the culture, including a recent collaboration with Knorr Soup.
Fashion remains an important part of that expression. A typical Skhothane outfit can cost around R6,000, he says. Shirts, jeans and shoes are chosen not only for how they look, but for what they communicate. His first Skhothane items were tied to his family and his own hustle. His mother bought him one of his first pairs of Rossimoda shoes, blue leather shoes with white soles that cost R2,700. He took on odd jobs to afford one of his first outfits, an AmaKip Kip multi colour two piece from a South African streetwear brand known for its bold, colourful designs.
Building a Skhothane wardrobe was therefore not simply about having access to expensive clothes. For Siya, wearing luxury means more than the price tag. In a society where designer goods can feel inaccessible, wearing them can become a statement of confidence. He says it is about being “proud and loud” as a Black person. That desire to make a statement through appearance has a history in South Africa.
Long before the bright colours and designer labels associated with modern ubukhothane, Black South Africans used clothing to make themselves visible in societies that often sought to make them invisible. Researchers have connected modern ukukhothana to earlier sartorial cultures, including the diamond-field dandies of 1880s in Kimberley and the oswenka of Johannesburg in the 1950s.
Modern ukukhothana emerged in Gauteng’s East Rand in the mid-2000s before spreading beyond the province. For them, competition was not just about who owned the most expensive outfit. Groups and individuals challenged one another through clothing, music and dance. A dance-off could become a test of skill, while an outfit could communicate status.
And sometimes, that competition involved destruction. At some gatherings, expensive clothing, food and other goods were destroyed in front of an audience. The ability to ruin something valuable could become a display of status. Media coverage often focused on burning clothes, wasted food and money, cementing the impression of a reckless youth culture obsessed with excess. Yet research offers a more complicated picture. An ethnographic study of members of the Italian Gates Skhothane crew found that vandalising consumer goods was rare among participants, while flamboyant dress, dance and fashion remained central to their identity.
Mbatsane says the destruction associated with the culture was part of how Skhothane was practised when it first emerged, particularly at parades and events. Burning or destroying luxury items demonstrated access to things others could not afford, signalling a higher social position. But the culture has since evolved. What remains the same, he says, is “the clothes, the dance, the music, and community”.
He still practises dancing at home and with friends, preparing routines for Skhothane festivals and reunion events. But the performance no longer belongs only to township streets; social media has given it a wider audience. A dance-off can reach thousands online, while an outfit or performance can open doors to new opportunities beyond the township.
Tshepo Pitsa, known as Don Dada, was one of the culture’s more visible figures on this wider platform. He appeared in local and international media, including ELLE and the BBC, and became known for his Skhothane videos on YouTube. His crew, the Material Boys, rejected burning and tearing, focusing instead on fashion and dancing. Mbatsane is part of that digital shift too. His online visibility as a content creator has helped him secure brand collaborations. The platform has changed, but the impulse to be seen and to perform for an audience remains the same.
For a culture that has so often been defined by what outsiders saw being destroyed, Mbatsane represents another way of looking at it. His clothes are still loud. The competition still exists, and the dancing still draws attention. But the performance does not end with something being burned.
For Siya, ubukhothane is not a disappearing subculture. It is growing with the people who practise it, adapting to new spaces and finding new audiences. And when the music starts and he steps onto the pavement, the shy young man behind the bright colours gives way to the dancer.
FEATURED IMAGE: Side profile image of Skhothane Siyabonga Mbatsane. Photo: Nqobile Mtshali
An immersive journey through the city’s alternative art spaces.
Johannesburg’s inner-city became the backdrop for Contra: an art festival spread across various rooftops, warehouses and galleries across the city during the weekend.
I started my journey in Asisebenze Art Atelier, an urban art studio in the heart of downtown Jozi. There, I found myself in a labyrinth of different textiles suspended by ribbons from the ceiling. At the centre of this colourful maze was stylist Nqobile Nxumalo who graciously helped fit me into a unique denim pinafore-style dress: one of her favourite pieces. As she weaved the straps around my figure, I watched the dress slowly take shape.
Nxumalo’s collection on display. Photo: Jamie Ho.My fitting of the denim phinifa. Photo: Jamie Ho.
“These are called ‘phinifa’,” she explained, as she tightened the straps. “It’s a traditional outfit for married women mostly.” Nxumalo’s work subverts the conventional roles assigned to women in African culture, allowing for a reimagining of societal expectations. Staring at my silhouette in the mirror, I admired her handiwork: the pleats and folds perfectly hugging my figure to create a bold and flattering silhouette.
Suddenly, a loud boom echoed from the next room. After unravelling myself from the dress, I went to investigate the source. A performance was being held by a few African spiritual healers seated around an assortment of candles and spiritual offerings. Every beat of the drum, piercing note of the trumpet, and squeal of the flute pulsed into a steady melody. I was entranced by how powerfully they commanded the room, warping the air with music.
My next stop was Transwerke, a towering building of crumbling brick and oval terraces originally built as a maternity hospital but now functioning as a creative hub for artists. I descended into the basement first. I stepped into the first room where a few children were busy painting. An array of patterned puzzle pieces were littered across the table: each one a country ready to be assembled into the continent of Africa.
The crumbling yet imposing architecture of Transwerke. Photo: Jamie Ho.Mixed media installation adorning the Transwerke halls. Photo: Jamie Ho.
After spending a few minutes here, an eerie rumble rippled through the echoey halls. I followed the sound and found myself in an open courtyard at the centre of the building. Red, yellow, green and pink streamers rained down from the treetops onto the central patio which breathed with loud, clashing sounds.
A woman was banging a bamboo stick against an empty drum barrel while children shook rattles engineered from cutlery and wire. I seated myself on the blankets at the centre of this whirlwind of sound and colour (a soundscape, I learned it was called). We were encouraged to pick up a few of the makeshift instruments, so I rattled a pan filled with bottlecaps and rice. My skin prickled as the sounds raised and waivered, bouncing off and around the tall walls surrounding the courtyard.
An assortment of instruments fashioned out of recycled materials. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Admittedly before this experience, I had only known the city from afar. CONTRA allowed me to step foot into a range of unconventional spaces that I would have never otherwise ventured into. I was able to plunge headfirst into art in all its various forms: from painting sessions to fashion pop-ups to sonic escapes. It felt like I wasn’t just viewing the art; I was in some way a part of it. And while the experience was vastly different across each location, it never felt incongruent or out of place.
Whether it be in the courtyards pocketed away between buildings, the basement of a dilapidated hospital, or the studios overshadowed by towering urban centers, each space was blossoming with life. It was comforting to know that art will always find a way, that it will creep up through the cracks in whatever concrete jungle it finds itself in, to exist in a very beautiful, very plain way.
Vuvu rating: 9/10
FEATURED IMAGE: A musician blowing a trumpet during a live African spiritual performance. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Anglo American, African Rainbow Minerals, and Oppenheimer Memorial Trust donate millions but is it philanthropy or power play?
Mining-linked donations are funding new buildings and research at Wits University.
Some students and experts worry these gifts give companies too much influence.
The debate is growing over who controls public universities and whose values are reflected.
What do Duncan Wanblad, Patrice Motsepe and Nicky Oppenheimer have in common? They represent corporate interests that have embedded themselves into the heart of Wits University. With millions tied to South Africa’s contested mining industry, these power players are funding high-profile projects that promise innovation and progress.
Oppenheimer’s family trust committed R15 million over five years to fund the African Future Studies Initiative, Motsepe’s African Rainbow Minerals (ARM) sponsored R20 million into research for the engineering school, and under Wanblad’s leadership, Anglo American spent R90 million to transform Wits’ planetarium into the corporate-branded Digital Dome. Their philanthropy raises a pressing question: When mining companies fund public universities, do academics look through a telescope or a company lens?
The uncomfortable truth
Behind the gleaming new facilities and bold promises lies an uncomfortable truth – corporate donations to universities are not always neutral acts of generosity. The Oppenheimer family made their fortune from diamond mines that fuelled colonial exploitation. Just last month, ARM faced protests over claims it sold coal to Israel, GroundUp reported. Anglo American, on the other hand, promotes sustainability goals while remaining one of the world’s biggest coal producers, according to its website. These companies pour millions into the institution while their mines keep digging. Do they shape the future or protect a violent and extractive past?
The Wits African Rainbow Minerals Building, renamed in 2023 after a R20 million donation from one of South Africa’s largest mining companies. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies
What’s given?
Headquartered in the economic hub of London with a secondary listing on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange, Anglo American’s R90 million commitments granted the company naming rights to the new digital dome that opened to the public early this year, placing its brand at the centre of a major academic and public institution. In 2024, the company was ranked 654th on the Forbes Global 2000 list of the world’s largest companies.
Speaking about their shared legacy of advancing both mining and education, which has shaped Johannesburg and South Africa, Anglo American South Africa said, “The relationship between Wits University and Anglo American started in 1896 when the university, then known as the South African School of Mines in Kimberley, offered services to De Beers.
The new Wits Anglo American Digital Dome is more than just a facility – it’s a symbol of what’s possible when we unite in our vision to shape a better future through education, technology and innovation.” At the same time, Professor Zeblon Vilakazi (FRS), Vice-Chancellor and Principal of Wits University, told Wits News: “Through the Wits Anglo American Digital Dome, we hope to continue inspiring people from various disciplines, including those working in climate modelling, artificial intelligence and the digital arts.”
The Wits Anglo American Digital Dome, unveiled in 2024, was funded through a R90 million donation from the mining giant. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies
In 2023, Wits University announced a partnership with one of the nation’s leading coal suppliers, African Rainbow Minerals. The JSE-listed corporation’s R20 million endowment is backing research that connects mining to the future — exploring energy transitions, automation, and the digital technologies that are transforming how resources are extracted and utilised. This partnership saw the company replace the then Chamber of Mines Building on the Braamfontein West Campus, facing the M1 highway, renaming it to the Wits African Rainbow Minerals Building. ARM selected Wits University for this partnership because “it is one of the globally respected academic institutions and the home of the Mining Precinct, a key hub where industry leaders can engage and ensure the mining sector’s contributions are recognised by both students and the broader academic community,” ARM said in a statement.
Plaque outside the Wits African Rainbow Minerals Building, unveiled in 2023 to mark the renaming of the former Chamber of Mines Building following ARM’s donation. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies
In the third quarter of 2021, the Oppenheimer Memorial Trust (OMT) donated R15 million to the African Future Studies Initiative at Wits University. The partnership was announced as a five-year commitment to support university research focused on challenges in Africa. The OMT was founded in 1957 by Harry Oppenheimer to honour his father, Ernst Oppenheimer. The memorial trust, established by the Oppenheimer family, is connected to Nicky Oppenheimer — the family’s heir and Africa’s third-richest person, with a net worth of $10.5 billion, according to Forbes’ real-time billionaire rankings.
At the time of the announcement, Tracey Webster, Chief Executive Officer of OMT, told Wits News, “The Oppenheimer Memorial Trust has a long tradition of investing in higher education and building the local academy. Given the ever-changing context we live in, it is imperative that we focus on developing a generation of researchers, scientists and academics that will ensure South Africa remains competitive and relevant in the 21st Century.” These contributions follow earlier markers of the family’s legacy at the university, including the Ernest Oppenheimer Hall of Residence, established in 1967, and the Oppenheimer Life Sciences Building. The trust did not respond to a request for comment from Wits Vuvuzela.
This bar graph shows the value of donations made to Wits University by major mining-linked donors between 2021 and 2024, highlighting contributions from the Oppenheimer Memorial Trust, African Rainbow Minerals, and Anglo American. Graphic: Rivaldo Jantjies
Who Really Benefits from University Donations?
Professor Imraan Valodia, Professor of Economics, Pro Vice-Chancellor of Climate, Sustainability and Inequality, and Director of the Southern Centre for Inequality Studies at Wits, said donations to universities often come with multiple motivations. Some alumni give because they benefited from the education they received. Others do it for tax reasons or because they want their names attached to buildings or projects. “A third reason may be the companies that have benefited from having a university related to their business feel that they need to contribute to that university,” he said, pointing to the long-standing relationship between Wits and the mining sector.
While this funding can support important academic work and help students, it also raises questions about influence. “There is of course, always a danger that by accepting these sorts of donations, universities may become beholden to these wealthy people’s interests,” Valodia explained. He noted that Wits has a Naming Policy to guide how donations are handled and believes that the university’s academic and management decisions remain independent. However, he warns that the risks are real, especially when donors or even governments try to shape what universities teach or research. This is now playing out in the United States, where debates at Harvard and Columbia University highlight how both private and political interests can pressure universities.
Tlhompo Thogomusi, a fourth-year LLB student and chairperson of the Wits EFF Student Command, sees these donations as more than just financial support. He argues that philanthropy from mining magnates is “a form of tokenism,” used to legitimise their power and wealth while “distracting from the exploitative nature of their business practices.” For Thogomusi, this isn’t just about naming rights — it’s about the consolidation of class power and ideological control. “Exploitation is a fundamental aspect of this relationship,” he says, suggesting that the financial support from powerful donors helps shape the university’s intellectual space and may even silence criticism. In this view, such relationships are not neutral; they reflect the broader struggle over who gets to shape public knowledge and values.
Inside the Wits Anglo American Digital Dome, launched in 2024. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies
Living with it
The deals are signed in boardrooms, but the consequences play out in lecture halls. For many students, the university’s partnerships with mining giants aren’t abstract — they are part of daily life. Walking past buildings named after billionaires whose wealth came from extractive industries feels jarring, especially for students from communities affected by mining. According to a student who asked to remain anonymous, “It’s hard to sit in a lecture about inequality in a building named after someone who profited from it.” The university’s efforts to position itself as a future-facing institution are complicated by a past — and present — that many students are still reckoning with.
The money flows in, new buildings fill the skyline, and the questions keep piling up. In a city built on the profits of mining, the past still casts a long shadow. As universities align with major industry players, students and academics are left wondering who really shapes the future, and who pays the price.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Oppenheimer Life Sciences Building at Wits University, named after one of South Africa’s most prominent mining families. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies
The pandemic had a devastating effect on the morale of members of clubs and societies in 2020, but 2021 provides new opportunities to remain relevant. (more…)
The university acknowledges that “a graduation ceremony is a major life event and we understand that many graduands were disappointed by the events that transpired”.
Wits moves to a cloud software that can host the full scope of the university community using the platform at once, without strain, that offers a modern, easy-to-use interface.
Social distancing and other covid-19 protocols followed as rugby team hopes the Varsity Cup tournament will go ahead after the pandemic forced its abandonment in 2020.
Since her announcement as the Democratic Alliance’s mayoral candidate for Johannesburg, Helen Zille has dominated national headlines. In this bonus episode of We Should Be Writing podcast, hosts Lulah Mapiye and Bonolo Mokonoto dissect a media meet-and-greet with the mayoral hopeful. From her extensive political résumé to her controversial public utterance, we examine why the Democratic Alliance has chosen Hellen Zille as their candidate for the 2027 local mayoral elections. Additionally, […]
