The US ambassador highlights a path for joint US-South Africa co-operation after strained bilateral tensions.
The US ambassador speaks to students at a closed forum hosted by Wits Association of International Relations.
His speech emphasised greater partnership between the two nations despite current tensions.
Concern is raised over the true nature of this ‘cooperation’, regarding potential erosion of sovereignty.
United States ambassador Leo Brent Bozell III walking with chairperson of Wits Association of International Relations, Nathi Ndlovu during a visit to the institution on Wednesday, May 7, 2026. Photo: Hannah Brown.
On Wednesday May 6, newly appointed US ambassador Leo Brent Bozell III addressed Wits University students in a closed session hosted by the Wits Association of International Relations (AIRS).
In his opening remarks, Bozell seemed intent on making amends for previous undiplomatic comments. He applauded South Africa’s potential for “tremendous opportunity” and highlighted the importance of stronger US-South African cooperation. “It’s all about partnership between our two countries,” he said.
One of his main areas of focus was on increasing US involvement within South Africa, underscoring a necessity within three specific areas, namely investment, crime and geostrategic alignment – all of which he claims can be redressed through closer relations.
Firstly, he argued that South Africa’s investment value is severely handicapped by B-BBEE policies, calling for alternative means of redressing social disparity in a way that remains profitable for investors. Secondly, he expressed concern over the country’s crime rates and proposed US-backed digital advancements. Lastly, he condemned South Africa for allegedly siding with the US’s adversaries, namely Iran, Russia and China: a decision that Bozell describes as “not non-aligned anymore.”
These requests are nothing new. Since March, Bozell has been adamant that South Africa shifts its allegiance in favour of US interests. However, this raises questions regarding potential infringements on national sovereignty – a principle that is highly protected under the US constitution, but conveniently disregarded when applied to South Africa.
Picture of the closed session in progress. Photo: Hannah Brown.
Additionally, Bozell’s insistence on fostering greater partnership between the two nations stands at odds with the US’s hostility towards South Africa. From claims of ‘white genocide’ to being barred from the upcoming G20 – the country has constantly come under fire from the US. Bozell’s eagerness to “find common ground” and “put our differences aside” is jarringly disconnected from political reality.
When questioned about the most recent G20 snub against South Africa, Bozell stood his ground, emphasizing the US’s commitment to its national interest. “There’s a prerogative that the United States has,” he says. “Any hosting country can decide who it wants and who it doesn’t want.” However, this reveals a glaring double standard: when the US exercises its autonomy in pursuit of state interests, it is rationalised as necessary, but when South Africa does the same, it is persecuted and punished.
Picture of students listening to the forum. Photo: Hannah Brown.
Lastly, despite the US’s overt insistence of South Africa’s “white genocide”, Bozell could not uphold this narrative with any conviction. When asked by Wits Vuvuzela if he encountered any genocidal violence on white people since entering the country, he stated that he had yet to visit the rural areas and could not confirm. “I have no comments,” he said.
Ultimately, Bozell’s visit seemed less about genuine partnership and more another frail attempt to realign the South African agenda to reflect the interests of the US: a move that not only sheds accountability of its prior offences against the nation but also aims to dismantle the very sovereignty it upholds so dearly.
FEATURE IMAGE: Picture of US ambassador Leo Brent Bozell III. Photo: Hannah Brown.
Every Wednesday at any Roco Mama’s near you, students are signing waivers, sweating through ten burning wings and calling it a good time. But this is not really about the food.
Every Wednesday, something unusual happens at Roco Mama’s branches across the country. Students pull up in groups, sign a legal waiver and willingly eat ten of the hottest wings on the menu in under 10 minutes for a chance to win a cap and a free meal worth R200. Most of them lose. Almost none of them regret it.
The challenge has quietly become a student ritual, Witsies are showing up in numbers. Waiter Jimmy Khumalo stated that “Yona iWits iya si supporta” which translates to Wits really supports us.
The rules are simple. Ten hot wings, a side of fries and a 500ml sprite. Finish everything in ten minutes and the meal is on the house. Tap out and you are R200 lighter. Before any of that, you sign a waiver. Rosebank branch manager Giovanni Bernicchi is straightforward about why “We won’t be liable for anything that happens to the person, that is why we have a contract in place, which remains valid for up to one year” he stated.
What draws students in? Bernicchi says it is a combination. “Students are coming for both the content and the experience. Because it only happens once a year, they want see how it is and experience something that is hot” he added.
But spend any time watching a table attempt the challenge, and one thing becomes immediately clear. Nobody is doing this alone, even when they came alone. Strangers lean across tables offering advice. Friends count down together. Someone who already tapped out becomes the loudest cheerleader for the person still going.
There is a camaraderie that heat seems to manufacture, there is a shared suffering in it that makes strangers feel closer, more quickly than most situations would. On the Wednesday I visited, three separate groups of student friends were there to take on the challenge. Though different in race and background, they had the same energy. The restaurant for those few minutes felt less like a dining space, and more like a locker room before a big sports game.
A group of friends bow their heads and join hands in prayer over plates of spicy hot wings and fries at RocoMamas. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
This sense of solidarity may also explain a quieter phenomenon at these tables: the placebo effect. In this context, the placebo effect refers to the way a person’s belief that they can get through the heat, reinforced by the encouragement of those around them, makes the experience more bearable that it would be alone. The pain does not disappear, but the brain works with the body rather than against it. When a stranger tells you, “you have got this” and your friends suffering right alongside you, community becomes the painkiller.
Oratilwe Mabizela, who completed the challenge, speaks to exactly this. “I love challenging myself and I hate quitting’’, he said. Mabizela grew up eating spicy food and wanted to test his limits and set out to become the first person to complete the challenge at the Loftus Park branch. On whether he would do it again? He replied “Oh no! The challenge itself is not that bad, the aftermath is, when the food has to go out”, he said.
Tshidi Thabethe did not complete the challenge however does not frame it as a loss. “I paid for the experience more than the food. It was fun, intense and definitely something different”, she said. Thabethe came after seeing the buzz online, curious to find out if the challenge lived up to the hype. It did. Her TikTok video of the attempt has since reached 1.1 million views turning one Wednesday into viral content long after the heat has worn off.
Students are willing to risk R200 not for the food and not just for the content but for a story they get to tell together. Win or lose, they walk away with something no meal alone could offer: the memory of having gone through something hard, with other people and coming out the other side laughing.
The edge Witsies try and conquer is not always academic. Sometimes it is sitting across the table from a friend suffering through the same fire and realising you are not alone. Ten wings. 10 minutes. Community.
The challenge is available every Wednesday at Roco Mama’s, so wherever you are in the city, there is a table and a waiver waiting to be signed.
FEATURED IMAGE:The outdoor seating area of RocoMamas Rosebank, featuring wooden picnic-style benches and warm lighting under a modern black frame. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
The inaugural Wits International Vocal & Chamber Music Festival begins on a powerful note, blending music, memory and meaning in a moving tribute to the youth of the Soweto Uprising.
The first-ever Wits International Vocal & Chamber Music Festival launched with a powerful opening concert at Seabrooke Music Hall.
The programme centred on Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem, honouring the children of the 1976 Soweto Uprising.
Performers delivered a technically refined and emotionally gripping experience that set a high standard for the festival.
A quiet anticipation filled the Seabrooke Music Hall on Wits East Campus on April 22, as audiences gathered for the opening of the inaugural Wits International Vocal & Chamber Music Festival. What unfolded was not just a performance, but a deeply moving musical tribute rooted in history, memory and collective reflection.
Hosted by the Wits Music Department, the festival spans eight concerts running from April 22 to May 2 across various venues on campus. This festival is the first of its own at Wits hosted by the department. The opening set the tone with a powerful presentation by the Wits Music Department Choir, accompanied by pianist David Butlin and conducted by Head of Department Musa Nkuna.
The programme drew from Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem, Op. 48, reimagined as a memorial for the children of the 1976 Soweto Uprising. Through seven movements, the performance carried a spiritual weight, each hymn a plea for rest, peace and refuge from suffering. The reinterpretation grounded the classical work in a distinctly South African context, bridging European composition with local history.
A picture of Charmaine Nkuna. Photo by: Sanele Sithole
Soprano Charmaine Nkuna, and bass Thato Morutle delivered standout solo performances, their voices cutting through the hall with clarity and emotional depth. Their presence added a personal dimension to the piece, elevating the performance from technically strong to profoundly affecting.
As the choir entered the stage dressed in black, the symbolism was immediate. The uniformed ensemble visually reinforced the tone of mourning and remembrance, aligning with the concert’s dedication to lives lost. What followed was a seamless performance marked by strong ensemble unity and precision — not a single note out of place.
The emotional impact resonated with the audience. First-year Film and Television student Luthando Skenjana described the experience simply: “It was an amazing performance; I quite enjoyed the show.”
For organisers, the festival represents more than a series of concerts. Choir chairperson Lesedi Masela, final-year Bachelor of Music student, described it as “a high-impact platform that brings together choral, chamber and orchestral performances within one integrated programme.”
Masela emphasised the significance of the festival’s timing, marking 50 years since the Soweto Uprising. “The opening concerts being requiems reflect that commemoration,” he said, adding that hosting performances across multiple venues transforms the festival into “a full-scale artistic ecosystem.”
That ambition is evident. Beyond musical excellence, the festival aims to create an immersive cultural experience — one that is intellectually engaging while remaining emotionally accessible. The opening concert achieved this balance, offering both technical sophistication and a deeply human narrative.
At its core, the performance was about young people remembering young people — a generational echo carried through music. It is this layering of meaning that makes the festival stand out, positioning it as both an artistic and commemorative space.
If opening day is anything to go by, the Wits International Vocal & Chamber Music Festival is not just an event to attend, but one to experience.
Vuvu Rating: 10/10
A picture of the choir. Photo by: Sanele Sithole
FEATURED IMAGE: A picture of the choir on stage. Photo by: Sanele Sithole
Street skate culture is alive and thriving in the heart of Jozi.
F City hosts a skate competition in Selby.
Young skaters flock to the event to show off their tricks.
Skate culture facilitates youth development and community building.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Picture of skater mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
On Saturday April 25, wheels were rolling and sneakers were skidding in Johannesburg’s inner-city as F City Market brought skateboarding to the streets of Selby.
The afternoon was filled with cheers as a group of young skaters from central Johannesburg crowded around a small wooden ramp, eager to showcase their skills. The prize: a brand new skateboard courtesy of Crispy Skateboards.
This was young Isheanesu Hove’s first day doing a double kickflip: a move which crowned him the winner of the competition. “Skating to me, it means life,” Hove says, proudly clutching his newly won board. “It inspires me.”
This event is one of many hosted by F City Market in collaboration with Crispy Skateboards to bring skating back to its roots. Joe Dludla and Rhandzi Rhay, two students who founded the movement, were spurred by the lack of skating events in Johannesburg.
With most events being larger-scale or enclosed in skate parks, Dludla and Rhay saw a need to create an alternative space on the streets of Braamfontein for the youth by the youth.
Street skating is central to what Dludla calls the “core culture of skateboarding,” an activity that isn’t limited to skate parks, but open on the streets and accessible to all. “It’s a very small niche scene, so we need to keep it alive,” he adds.
At its core, the space is dedicated to uplifting the youth and providing them with a platform to hone their skills. Each month, F City hosts a youth development mentorship programme in collaboration with Growing Alexandra Skate Club, which aims to cultivate growth and creativity among the youth of Jozi.
As this initiative is still relatively new, it is in desperate need of volunteers. Dludla and Rhay encourage anyone with a skillset to share their craft– from skateboarding to graffiti to music. “We’re trying to influence the next generation of kids,” Rhay says.
The event extends beyond just skating; it’s a culture rooted in creativity and artistic freedom. As co-founder of Crispy Skateboards, Kaelik Dullaart says, “It’s the music. It’s the aesthetic. It’s the attitude. It’s the community.”
Drawn together by a love for skating, the space has become more than just an event; it has become a family.
As the sun set, the kids departed as a group back to their homes in town; skateboards ablaze beneath their feet.
Picture of the young skateboarders on Webber Street. Photo: Jamie Ho.
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture of a skater suspended in the air mid-trick. Photo: Jamie Ho.
Wits Journalism students step inside Kgosi Mampuru II Correctional Centre, confronting the haunting legacy of South Africa’s penal history.
Wits Journalism students visited Kgosi Mampuru II prison and learned about inmate survival, punishment, and daily life behind bars.
They climbed the 52 steps to the gallows, reflecting on the country’s execution history and its human cost.
The gates at Kgosi Mampuru II don’t simply close, they announce an ending. It is a metallic finality that vibrates in your marrow, leaving an unshakable awareness of what it means to be confined, and the fragile privilege of walking free. Exactly at 10:42 am on April 15, 2026, 17 of us from the Wits Journalism programme stepped through that threshold. We traded lecture halls for a space defined by the physics of control. As a student journalist, I am trained to observe, but here, the walls watch you back. An involuntarily warning began to ring in my ears, an indirect message from the architecture itself, “Do not come here.”
Our tour guide, Dimakatso, unveiled a world of “jail language” and survival. She described “two full chickens”, prison slang for the two boiled eggs served with pap at 14: 00 pm which would be your last meal until the next day. She showed us how inmates creatively hollowed Sunlight soap to hide cell phones. In the era of AI, these inmates use primitive ingenuity to stay connected. Sitting on benches crafted by prisoners, I felt a sting of irony, for someone like me, only taught to build cardboard bridges at school, these prisoners learn to build from scratch to survive, and gain skills that might one day free them from that space.
The atmosphere turned clinical and cruel when Dimakatso introduced the “Triangle Step”. She described hot water-soaked wood being bent during a beating, making my body involuntary cringe. My mind flashed to the moment of impact, feeling the sting of a system that once relied on pain as its primary language. Hanging on the triangle step was a bloodstained cloth, an enduring reminder of punishment inflicted on the condemned. I cannot omit this, as it questions what I was never taught in high school. This history was deliberately left out, it sparked questions about justice, pain, and how history is curated.
Next, we moved to the gallows. Mr. Kgomo told us to “fasten our emotional seatbelts”, a fitting warning. We transitioned from the museum of survival to the tomb of execution. I stood before the names on the wall, thinking of Section 11 of the South African Constitution: the right to life. I felt a wave of relief; the 1996 abolition of the death penalty had ended this brutal form of justice. Yet, as we approach April 27, Freedom Day, the irony burns: this day marks our liberation, but these gallows mark how many never lived to see it. Yet, the past is not distant. Between 1902 and 1989, roughly 3,500 people were executed, a grim reminder of state-sanctioned brutality. As I ascended the 52 steps, I imagined faces, some praying, some screaming, others singing hymns, climbing those heavy stairs. By step 52, my chest felt like it was crushed, a tear slipped unnoticed, masking my professionalism.
At the top, the brutality became clinical, detached from emotion. I learned how a prisoner’s BMI (body mass index) was used to select the correct noose, and how a pulse after the fall meant the execution was not complete. We stood where Solomon Mahlangu, whose blood nourished the “tree of freedom”, once stood. As the gates hissed shut behind us, and warnings lingered, I became haunted. The 52 steps symbolise not only punishment but a society still grappling with its past, a past where thousands paid the ultimate price between 1902 and 1989. Is this reflection of the gallows? It is a mirror that confronts the dark architecture of consequence, forcing us to question the true weight of justice and the whispers of history that echo through these steps.
19 : 00 pm, execution time starts. Photo by: Emadul Islam Akash. (Pexels)
We celebrate Freedom Day on April 27, 2026, however, the 52 steps remind us that freedom was counted out in bodies long before it was counted in ballots.
FEATURED IMAGE: Journalism and Media Studies Honours students from Wits University enter Kgosi Mampuru II Management Area. Photo by: Alice Dhlamini.
Power outages at Wits’ International House disrupt postgraduate students’ study routines and raise safety concerns amid aging infrastructure and poor communication.
Recurring power outages at International House since March 2026.
Residents face interrupted study routines and safety risks, particularly at night when corridors are left in darkness.
Limited communication from management and delays in forming a House Commitee or upgrading infrastructure have left residents uncertain and frustrated.
Persistent power disruptions at Wits’ International House residence are straining the building’s infrastructure and backup systems, compelling postgraduate students to relocate late at night to continue studying.
The outages began in early March 2026, with some residents reporting disruptions occurring two to three times a week. During these periods, the residence relies on a generator shared with Sunnyside Hall, limiting available backup power and leaving sections of the building without electricity.
Students say the impact extends beyond inconvenience. Darkened corridors and shared spaces have forced some residents to either remain in unsafe conditions or move across campus late at night to access functional study areas.
Postgraduate resident Ireen Masemula, who is pursuing a BEd honours in language education, described the disruptions as exhausting and unsettling. “The lights go out at around 8 p.m. sometimes, and I only return from the library around 1 a.m.,” she said. “It’s not safe, especially as a young woman. I have to go to the library to work, and I struggle to study in such an environment.”
Studying by candlelight during outages at Wits’ International House. Photo by: Alice Dhlamini.
According to Tyson Mnisi, a security officer at International House, the outages are not solely linked to external power-supply issues. He explained that a combination of external disruptions and internal electrical faults contributes to recurring failures.
“Sometimes it’s just a minor cut, but often it’s an internal load,” Mnisi said, adding that high-wattage appliances such as microwaves and heaters place significant strain on the system. “You’ll have students making popcorn in their rooms, and suddenly the whole circuit trips. The infrastructure is just not built to accommodate such levels of demand.”
Tshiamo Modise, an undergraduate student and a student employee in the residence’s maintenance team, said communication gaps have intensified the situation. During a recent incident involving multiple generator failures, she used her own airtime to contact management after the building’s Wi-Fi and telephones went down.
“I reached out to management for answers, yet I was met with silence and no formal explanation”, Modise said, noting that outages have also resulted in spoilt food and unsafe conditions in shared kitchen spaces.
Residents say the recurring disruptions point to deeper structural concerns within the residence, as temporary fixes have not addressed the underlying causes.
Shanon Smit, a handyman at the residence, suggested that establishing a formal House Committee could strengthen communication between residents and maintenance teams, particularly in reporting faulty appliances before they place additional strain on the system.
Despite these suggestions, students say little has changed, leaving them to adjust their routines individually while managing ongoing disruptions.
Attempts to obtain comment from residence manager Bhekizizwe Nkosi were unsuccessful at the time of publication.
For now, International House residents remain caught between different explanations and ongoing infrastructure pressures, with no clear timeline for lasting improvements.
Residents say that without urgent infrastructure upgrades, the ongoing outages will continue to compromise both the safety and basic living conditions within the residence.
FEATURED IMAGE: International House Residence. Photo by: Alice Dhlamini.
A signage change at Wits University highlights the student centre’s official name, but “The Matrix” remains the name that defines campus culture.
The student centre at Wits University now displays its official name in full, Student Union Building Matrix.
Many students were unaware of the formal name and have always called it “The Matrix.”
Despite the signage, “The Matrix” remains a key part of Wits student culture.
Something felt off at the university’s student centre, something felt strange. The bold, familiar “Matrix” signage that has long marked the heart of student life was gone. In its place was a more formal name: “Student Union Building Matrix.” For many students passing through, the change raised a quiet but lingering question—had “The Matrix” been renamed?
At first glance, it appeared to be a rebrand. But conversations across campus revealed that the story is less about a new name and more about how students experience and define their space.
Many students had not noticed the updated signage at all. Others only became aware of it after it was pointed out.
An image of the map of the Matrix and the Student Union Building. Photo Provided by: Jenna Stelli
“I’ve been at Wits for quite a while, and it’s always just been ‘The Matrix’ to me,” said Obakeng Leping, a fourth-year BSc civil engineering student.
Head of marketing Reshma Lakha-Singh said the official name of the building has always been Student Union Building, with “The Matrix” becoming widely used from 2001. The name gained popularity due to its catchy nature, influenced by both the building’s structure and the release of the movie by the same name at the same time.
“The decision to revert to the original name aligns with the university’s signage and wayfinding policy, which aims to ensure consistency, clarity, and uniformity across campus buildings as budgets allow,” said Lakha-Singh. “The current naming better reflects the building’s long-standing formal identity and institutional purpose.”
Jenna Stelli of campus planning added that the facility consists of two separate buildings. “The original Student Union building is to the south and the more recent Matrix building to the north. Because the building is experienced as one cohesive hub, we decided to include both names on the new signage to avoid confusion,” she said. “There haven’t been any official name changes — we are ensuring the signage matches how the building is used.”
The gap between official naming and everyday language reveals something deeper about student identity at Wits. Names are not only assigned; they are shaped over time through shared experience.
For students like Tiyane Matsheke, a third-year BA general student, the informal name carries a sense of belonging. “I’ll still call it ‘The Matrix’ because that’s what everyone knows. It’s part of Wits culture,” she said.
Attempts to trace the origins of the name remain unclear, with key sources unavailable to comment. Yet its meaning is evident in how firmly it is held by students.
Even as official branding becomes more visible, it is unlikely to redefine what the space represents. The signage may read differently, but in conversation, memory and daily student life, “The Matrix” continues to hold its place.
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture of the Student Union Building Matix. Photo by: Sanele Sithole
From pre-colonial wars to the mechanics of state execution, students are demanding a more nuanced history. It is time to stop sanitising the past and walk the 52 steps.
The Department of Basic Education is currently reconsidering how we teach our past, a move that comes not a moment too soon. In a recent series of conversations at the University of the Witswatersrand (Wits), students expressed a clear hunger for a history that goes beyond the “standard” narrative.
Joy Cain, a first-year Biomedical Sciences student, noted a lack of perspective on the white experience during Apartheid, while Shane Yurar, a first-year Film and Television student, suggested the curriculum should expand to include pre-colonial history, specifically the tribal wars of leaders such as King Shaka. Others, like Aluta Manale, an international relations honours student, pointed toward the migration stories from Congo. Or as Tinashe Morena, a second-year psychology student, said, the need to study the Black authors and struggle writers who defined an era.
The underlying message from these students is clear: they feel their history has been “filtered.”
As I stood in the Kgosi Mampuru II Gallows last week, Wednesday, 15 April, I realised just how thick that filter is. While students are asking for more diverse stories, there is a physical site of memory in Tshwane that remains almost absent from our national consciousness. The Gallows is a “human abattoir”, a place where 3,500 lives were ended with clinical, industrial efficiency.
My mentors cautioned that the Gallows might be too ‘deep’ or too ‘sore’ a topic to bring up in a casual vox pop, and they are right. It is a heavy, sombre reality. But that is exactly why it needs to be taught. By shielding students from the ‘scary parts’ of our history, we are not protecting them; we are leaving them with an incomplete understanding of how we got here.
We learn about the “In Detention” poem in English class, but we do not walk the 52 steps in History. We talk about the triumph of 1994, but we do not look at the white telephone that never rang for those awaiting a pardon.
If the Department of Basic Education wants to truly localise our curriculum, they must include the sites that prove Apartheid was not just a set of laws, but a factory of dehumanisation. To truly appreciate the “Freedom” we celebrate on April 27th, we must stop sugarcoating the past. We must look at the darkness of the Gallows to understand the value of the light we live in today.
Drawing of a noose that represents the Gallows, in South Africa. Graphics: Daniella Ripamonti
FEATURED IMAGE: Drawing of a noose that represents the Gallows, in South Africa. Graphics: Daniella Ripamonti
Rising fuel costs are forcing Wits students to choose between paying for their daily commute and basic essentials like meals and data
The recent fuel hikes have increased taxi fares by R6 per trip, costing students an extra R240 monthly.
Daily commuters are walking long distances to save fare money, resulting in late arrivals and lost study time.
Two weeks after South Africa’s fuel increase, some Wits University students who commute daily say rising transport costs are already affecting their ability to attend lectures, manage time, and meet basic living expenses.
According to Bloomberg, petrol is currently around R 23 per litre, following recent increases in global oil prices and local fuel adjustments.
While the increase in fuel prices continues to place pressure on household budgets, its impact has now extended directly into the public transport costs.
The National Taxi Alliance (NTA) confirmed that taxi fares have already increased by R6 per trip. For daily commuters, this translates into an estimated additional R12 per day for a return trip, about R60 per week, and roughly R240 per month.
A Wits student passing their taxi fare to the front of the vehicle. Photo: Alice Dhlamini
For students who rely on taxis from the surrounding areas, the increase has turned daily travel into a financial strain.
“I live off campus in Benoni, and I have to travel every day to get to class,” says Afrika Mbangiso, an honours in Psychology student.
“From Wanderers Taxi Rank in Johannesburg, I have to walk the rest of the way to Wits just to save money for lunch or sometimes, for my trip back home,” Mbangiso adds.
It has also affected her punctuality and workload. “I am sometimes late for class, meaning it’s more work that I must catch up on later”, she adds. For students like her, longer commutes and additional walking reduce time for rest, studying, and academic preparation.
Nontobeko Zulu, a Postgraduate Certificate in Education (PGCE) student, argues that the increase has forced what she calls a “displacement of funds”. “For many of us, these aren’t just transport fares, they represent a radical displacement of funds,” Zulu says.
FEATURE IMAGE: A picture of a passenger passing forward taxi fare, which has increased by R6 per trip due to petrol hitting R23 per litre. Photo: Alice Dhlamini
We used to protect our most intimate moments: grief, prayer and quiet joy within the four walls of our homes. Now, we trade them for likes. As the line between experiencing and performing life vanishes, we must ask: If everything is for sale online, does anything remain sacred?
A camera is always ready, lingering in the background to record even the smallest moments. In the age of the non-stop vlog, the boundaries of human experience are dissolving. Social media has not just given us a platform, it has turned our very existence into a product. We are no longer living our lives: we are curating them for an invisible audience that does not actually care.
William Shakespeare once wrote that “all the world’s a stage”, suggesting that we are all merely players acting out our roles. Centuries later. Sociologist Ervin Goffman expanded on this, arguing that in our social interactions, we are constantly “performing” to manage how others see us. Goffman believed we had a “front stage” for the public and a “backstage” where we could finally be ourselves. However, the digital age has effectively abolished the backstage.
Look at your feed. You will see funerals livestreamed, hospital beds used as backdrops and personal breakdowns filmed through a beauty filter. We see random acts of kindness where the camera is clearly set up before the help is even offered. In these moments, the experience itself becomes secondary. The grief is not about loss: it is about engagement. Kindness is not about the person in need: it is about the creator’s brand.
Even the sanctuary is no longer safe. Instead of lifting both hands to praise the Lord, many are now holding up a phone to take content. We see congregants capturing the choir or the sermon for their stories instead of being present in the moment. This raises a chilling question: Are we still experiencing life, or are just performing it? How is one supposed to be fully immersed in worship when they are preoccupied with the right camera angle?
A packed auditorium during a contemporary church service, featuring integrated live-streaming and digital displays. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
This shift is fueled by a hungry algorithm.
Research from the University of Malta in 2025 found that the “TraumaTok” trend encourages young people to turn their private grief into public confessional narratives. This specific trend is exactly what is destroying the sacred and private nature of our lives. When we see life through a lens, we stop being participants and start being directors. We wait for the right lighting before we cry: we pause the conversation to ensure the aesthetic is correct.
This is the death of the sacred. Something is sacred precisely because is it not for public consumption. Its value lies in its privacy, the fact that it belongs only to the people in the room.
Critics will argue that social media connects us and in some ways it does. But there is a massive difference between connection and performance.
True connection happens in the unrecorded silence between two people. When we broadcast those silences, we strip them of their power. When everything becomes content, nothing feels special anymore. We are feeding a hungry algorithm with the bits of our souls that should have been kept for ourselves.
It is time to draw a hard line in the digital sand. Not every moment needs a caption. Not every heartbreak needs a story update. Not every sunset needs a filter. Some things should remain unseen, not because they lack value, but because they hold too much of it to ever be liked. In reclaiming our privacy, we might just rediscover the quiet, unrecorded beauty of being alive.
FEATURED IMAGE: A professional camera rig stands ready on a sidewalk in Braamfontein. Photo: Rearabilwe Tsebela
Wits students react to the Zara x John Galliano collab. In a cost-of-living crisis, is the designer label still a status symbol or just overpriced plastic?
Global high-fashion icon John Galliano signs a historic two-year creative partnership with Zara.
Wits students are divided; some chase the ‘status’ of the label, while others slam the ‘tacky’ dilution of luxury.
The rise of high-quality ‘dupes’ and fast fashion collabs is blurring the line between prestige and plastic.
Luxury used to be defined by exclusivity, the rustle of silk, the weight of hand-stitched leather, and a price tag that felt like a gatekeeper. But as Vogue reports about the unexpected two-year partnership between the legendary John Galliano and fast-fashion giant Zara, the golden gates of high fashion have swung wide open. Wits students may be far away from the fashion high streets of Milan or Paris, but they had something to say about the reported collaboration.
The collaboration, set to debut in September 2026, marks the return of Galliano (the former Dior creative director known for theatrical couture) to the mass market.
For Lindani Dweba, a final-year BA student majoring in Politics and HR, the allure is simple: the name. “I would buy for the name,” Dweba admits. When faced with the choice between a R1,800 designer-labelled polyester jacket and a R200 thrifted wool coat, he leans toward the label. “Preferably the label. But luxury is becoming cheapened because of alternatives making the same thing.”
However, not everyone is buying the hype. For Caleb Boroto, a first-year Film and TV student, the collaboration feels “tacky.” Boroto argues that someone of Galliano’s regard partnering with a fast-fashion brand strips away the luxury feel entirely. “Gun to my head, I’d pick the R200 wool jacket,” says Boroto. “I’d prefer to be sustainable and choose something that lasts, like wool or cotton.”
The Reality of Aspiration: Lindani Dweba, a final year student, wears Nike P-6000s (R2,399), which serve as an attainable alternative to luxury items like the Gucci Rhyton sneaker (R21,700). Photo: Daniella Ripamonti
Katlego Hlahla, a third-year Actuarial Science student, echoes this scepticism, noting that luxury prices often feel “unnecessarily inflated” for the quality provided. As Zara’s prices creep up, the lines between ‘high street’ and ‘high end’ are blurred.
The psychology of the label remains a powerful force, even when the quality is questionable. Sephaku Tshoshi and Kirsten Pudi, both fourth-year Accounting Science students, admit they would choose a designer name over a thrifted bargain any day. “I wouldn’t get the same bag without the name, even if the quality was the same,” said one of the students, gesturing to her Ted Baker tote. They noted that the rise of high-quality “dupes” has made luxury more accessible, but also less significant. “People are buying fakes now, even people with money. You can’t tell the difference anymore.”
Psychology Honours students Daiyaan Kahan and Jake Fourie said that “accessibility cheapens the value, but people still buy it for the status symbol.” Fourie, however, sees the positive side, “If it’s more accessible, it’s overall good. More people representing a brand is good for the brand’s expansion” he stated
As the Zara x Galliano collection prepares to hit shelves, the Wits campus remains a tug-of-war between the desire for status and the demand for authenticity. In an era where ‘luxury’ can be bought at the mall in a plastic bag, real luxury might just be the ability to tell the difference.
FEATURED IMAGE: Reframing the Aesthetic: By pairing a sporty PUMA track jacket with tailored pinstripe trousers and formal loafers, Demitri Michaud, a postgraduate student, demonstrates a ‘high-low’ styling approach that mirrors global trends of deconstructed luxury. Photo: Daniella Ripamonti
“A society that discourages critical thinking is unwittingly admitting that its foundations can’t survive honest examination.” – Kalen Dion
During my Undergraduate degree, I was assigned a group presentation on France’s foreign policy. It was a layered topic: one that required days of research and rigorous group meetings. One of my group mates, however, insisted on using ChatGPT to write her entire speech.
Unluckily for her, our professor happened to be an expert in French policy. Like a bloodhound, he sniffed out numerous inaccuracies in her speech. In front of the entire class, she had spewed flimsy words, inaccurate facts and false statistics from ChatGPT mindlessly. She presented the information as confidently as if she herself wrote it.
Ask anyone and they’ve probably used AI at least once. It’s so deeply entrenched in our everyday lives; it’s inescapable. When you write an email, an AI suggestion pops up recommending what to say. When you open Instagram, you’re bombarded with a surge of AI-generated reels. Even something as simple as a Google search has an automatic AI summary built in.
AI has burrowed itself so deeply into every channel of our lives that it has become difficult to imagine life without it. But is AI training us to be passive consumers of information?
A study by MIT Media Lab revealed that participants who had used AI to write their essays showed extremely low brain activity compared to those that didn’t. This was largely because they were not actively engaging with any of the material; they were simply parroting it. Ultimately, the tool that was built to supplement our thinking is, in many cases, actually replacing it.
This has dangerous repercussions for human development. If we blindly consume content generated by AI, what else will we be blind to?
In George Orwell’s infamous 1984, he depicts a totalitarian society in which independent thought is abolished under the dictatorship of Big Brother. At the time, it seemed like a fictional dystopia, a far-off tale too outrageous to be taken seriously. Now, it has bled into our reality.
It was Steve Biko who once said, “The greatest weapon in the hand of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”
We must hold onto our vigilance. We must sharpen our minds. The world is undergoing a rapid digital shift. Our ability to think, to question what we know so that we are not mindless followers becomes our greatest and most potent weapon.
FEATURED IMAGE: Headshot of Jamie Ho, this week’s editor.
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, […]
