Freedom Day in a fractured nation: Who are we becoming?

A man was shot and killed inside Wynberg magistrate’s court recently. He was a taxi driver appearing on charges of murder. A life ended inside a building meant to represent law, order and justice. On the eve of Freedom Day, the symbolism is chilling.

We are a country caught in between. Not yet what we hoped to become. No longer who we once were. As Victor Turner, author of The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, suggests we are living in a liminal space “betwixt and between” where identity, morality  and meaning are blurred.

The murder at Wynberg court is not an isolated tragedy. It is part of a pattern of violence that is becoming banal. It mirrors the unchecked rise in gender-based violence. It echoes in the divisive speech of public figures from Economic Freedom Fighters leader Julius Malema’s defiant provocations to AfriForum’s nostalgic nationalism. Our politics are less about building bridges and more about burning them.

Freedom Day should prompt us to ask difficult questions, not repeat comfortable slogans.

• Are we truly free when safety is a privilege, not a right?
• Can we celebrate freedom while fear stalks courtrooms and classrooms alike?

The promise of freedom has always been about more than the vote. It was about dignity. Opportunity. Care. Moral maturity is not only about justice but about our responsibility to one another. And yet, across government, business and civil society, we are seeing a retreat into self-interest. 

Political leaders who once embraced reconciliation now traffic in division. The government of national unity, hailed as a post-election compromise, already appears fragile, more coalition than conviction. The erosion of political goodwill is not just bad optics; it signals a breakdown of shared purpose.

What future are we preparing for our children?

Our education system is not producing the critical thinkers this moment demands. We teach compliance, not courage. Rote repetition, not reflection. How can our youth lead tomorrow if they cannot question today?

More than 60% of young South Africans, individuals aged 15 to 24, are unemployed and with a broader perspective, the unemployment rate among young individuals aged 15 to 34 years has recently been reported at 45.5%.  These figures underscore the significant challenges faced by South Africa’s youth in securing employment, highlighting the urgency for targeted interventions to address this pressing issue. 

Economic freedom is not just delayed, it is being denied. And so, we must confront the myth that we are all equally free. The Constitution might grant rights, but rights without resources mean little.

Identity is always forged in relationship to others. Yet we live in a time where connection is weakness and division is strength. There is a growing absence of empathy in how we speak, act and govern. The care we owe each other, especially the most vulnerable, is being outsourced or ignored altogether.

We are becoming a country that sees violence as inevitable.

Corruption as normal.

Polarisation as power.

But we can choose differently.

We can reimagine freedom not as something given to us once, but something we make together daily, deliberately. That requires an ethic of care in our institutions. It requires leaders who prioritise reconciliation over retaliation. It requires all of us to resist the temptation of cynicism and speak with moral clarity.

So this Freedom Day, I ask:

• What does your freedom cost others?
• How do your actions — your silence, your choices — shape the next 30 years?
• Are we preparing our children to inherit a society of inclusion or exclusion?

Freedom is not a destination we reached in 1994. It is a road we are still building. And right now, it is full of potholes, dead ends and danger signs.

We must be bold enough to stop and ask: “Who are we becoming?”

If we are serious about freedom, we must also be serious about justice, safety, care and equity. It is time to turn inward — and outward. To rebuild the moral imagination this democracy was founded on.

Not with slogans. With action.

Dr Armand Bam is Head of Social Impact at Stellenbosch Business School.

In the Shadow of the Gallery: Art, power and the fight for Johannesburg’s soul

Earlier this year, the Mail & Guardian carried a story saying that the neglect of the Johannesburg Art Gallery (JAG) reflected widespread public and media sentiment that it, once a cultural jewel, had become an embarrassing symbol of institutional failure amid a flourishing creative economy. 

Then, days ago, on April Fool’s Day no less, Currency published an article headlined: “‘The war has started’ — Gayton McKenzie.” It reads like political theatre, casting the minister of sport, arts and culture as a crusader for the ruined gallery’s restoration, fighting a slow, bureaucratic system, with Vuyisile Mshudulu, the city’s director of arts, culture and heritage, framed as a villain. 

On 27 March, a “JAG stakeholder engagement” meeting was held with artists, heritage organisations, and civic bodies. The Johannesburg Development Agency (JDA) presented its plan, led by Riaan Hollenbach of Lamela Consulting, in what felt more like a public perception management exercise than genuine consultation. The JDA will oversee the execution of urban development projects, including logistics, compliance and resources, and Lamela has reportedly been tasked with initiating renovations. The patchwork plan to revive the deteriorating gallery in crime-ridden Joubert Park included a temporary relocation of the JAG collection to Ditsong, the Standard Bank and Absa buildings, or Newtown, amid ongoing wrangling.

The timeline for this seems as wobbly as the building itself, with regulatory approvals and site preparation set for September, followed by infrastructure upgrades, and an operational launch in November next year. 

The Johannesburg Development Agency detailed its planned process for relocating JAG’s important collection and restoring the historic Joubert Park precinct. It outlined the roles of national and provincial bodies and its own team of heritage experts who are tasked with balancing preservation and innovation. 

But achieving this balance is apparently easier said than done. 

A century-old institution, JAG is facing an existential crisis. Protected under the National Heritage Act, and home to a priceless collection, it is a national treasure and cultural pillar — central to the city’s artistic identity — yet also under constant threat from theft, neglect and decay, due to ongoing mismanagement. 

Many institutions, including Friends of JAG and the Johannesburg Heritage Foundation, consider themselves stakeholders in its fate. But while parts of the proposed future seem promising, it is precisely because of the long-standing failures that the gallery’s troubled past can’t simply be brushed aside.

One afternoon, as Khwezi Gule, JAG’s curator, drove me around the surrounding precinct, he shared his thoughts on the interconnectedness of the gallery’s history with the city’s ongoing struggles. 

“The weight of history is a burden I carry every day when I step into these spaces,” Gule revealed, visibly wounded by his own words. 

“How do you reconcile with these objects — some deeply offensive — and yet, I’m the one tasked with their care and preservation?” he pondered. 

This, for Gule, isn’t just a job, it’s a daily negotiation with history.

For him, the challenge for institutions like JAG lies in undoing centuries of oppression embedded in both the architecture and the artifacts. 

“To completely transform these spaces, to tear them down and rebuild them anew, is something people aren’t ready to entertain,” he explains. 

As we drove on, ducking taxis and swerving to avoid jaywalkers, Gule’s frustration became palpable. 

“These spaces were not made for us, and yet we are made to occupy them,” he said, pointing out the fundamental contradiction of working in spaces designed to exclude the very people who are tasked with reshaping them. 

As we spoke, it became clear that the true decolonisation of these spaces cannot simply be about representation or inclusion. It requires a complete rethinking of how art is produced, consumed and interpreted. 

Many of the works in JAG’s collection were acquired under colonial rule and they reflect a history of exploitation. “These objects come from a time of violence,” Gule reflects, “and yet, they remain with us.” For him, as curator, this presents a paradox: “How do you reconcile with that, when these objects continue to represent a violent history, yet you’re responsible for them?”

The dilemma of what to do with them is tangled up in the broader conversation on reparations, because this isn’t just about restoring buildings or returning looted treasures, it’s about confronting the economic and social injustices that still stem from colonial violence. 

Step outside JAG, and you’re hit with the raw, unvarnished reality of Johannesburg. Joubert Park, once a space for privileged white people, is a broken, neglected corner of the city. 

It was never meant for black people, but after decades of disinvestment, it’s a shadow of what it could have been — a stark reminder of the failures of urban planning and justice. 

The city’s plans for JAG’s restoration might raise questions but the vision is clear — rejuvenation, not just for the building, but for the surrounding area too. 

“This is an opportunity to redefine what it means to have a truly public cultural institution in Johannesburg,” said Lamela Consulting’s Hollenbach, who was not afraid to admit the renovation team was working on gentrification. 

As Gule warned, the true test will lie in whether these changes uplift local communities or simply maintain the status quo. 

The restoration is an arduous and complex project that, despite the challenges, including frustrations over mismanagement and the slow progress, has managed to hold the public’s interest and a mood of cautious optimism. 

This is why it would have been great if there had been more transparency and inclusivity in the consultation process. As one participant at the meeting stated, “We want a gallery that doesn’t just exist but thrives — and that can only happen if everyone who lives and works in this city is genuinely part of its future.”

Throughout the meeting, participants kept stressing the need for a radical rethinking, not only of the gallery’s physical structure but the value of its precious collection and its function within broader society. 

“Each of these must be temporarily separated and reimagined independently before they can be brought together to serve future generations,” one speaker emphasised. 

As Gule had similarly noted in our conversation days prior, “We are not just curators of art; we are curators of histories, legacies and futures.” 

Despite a rather impressive presentation, questions about the project’s inclusivity, particularly regarding the involvement of younger artists in the process, were not fully addressed. The lack of younger voices at the meeting was palpable, with many of the attendees established figures in the arts. 

A more transgenerational and transdisciplinary dialogue might be key to ensuring the success of the project, with one stakeholder remarking, “We need to make sure we don’t push out the very community we are trying to build this gallery for.”

Digital innovation, from a new archive to hybrid programming, was pitched as a way to extend JAG’s reach beyond its physical walls. 

While that felt timely, some ideas — like promoting gentrification — missed the mark. Even when the “African Phoenix” idea emerged, it lacked the self-awareness that, to rise from the ashes, it first has to burn. 

This is the weight of the work at hand. JAG’s future, rooted in South Africa’s history of urban erasure and systemic inequalities, lies at the intersection of reclamation and the persistent harshness of the present. 

In Gule’s words, “Decolonisation isn’t about undoing history, it’s about constructing something that truly reflects and serves the people who’ve always been left behind.” 

JAG’s restoration is about more than just reviving a colonial building. It’s about manifesting a vision for a future where African cultural production is reshaped to serve those whose voices have been silenced for too long. 

The test is whether the leadership can transform lofty promises into something tangible or if it will remain another hollow hallucination.

Hell is others: Sarajevo and the tragedy of intimacy

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Plato’s observation is blisteringly true. War is humankind’s perpetual default mode, the most intimate sign of its intrinsic cruelty. 

“History hurts,” writes American philosopher Fredric Jameson. 

As for our subjection to violence or our imagined immunity — the presumption that war occurs elsewhere? The truth is, war is everywhere. Immunity is delusion. Suffering is the defining condition. Joy, or redemption, achieved only when one has travelled through a strait.

Sarajevo, a stage-play written by and starring Aimee Mica Komorowsky and directed by Kayli Elit Smith, raises these gnawing questions regarding violence, ethnic hatred, the brutalisation of women and the monstrousness of men. 

Set during the Bosnian War, which started on 6 April 1992 and ended on 14 December 1995, it is an intimate examination of sexual discrimination and abuse, illicit love across an ethnic divide and a dissection of male power. 

In addition to Komorowsky there are three men on stage: a South African war photographer and two Serbian soldiers of different rank. Komorowsky plays a Bosnian. 

If the monstrousness of ethnic cleansing is a core theme, Sarajevo at no point allows itself to become a mouthpiece for ideological perversity. 

Never dogmatic, always deeply implicated in interpersonal stresses and strains, the play allows one to enter a raw human condition and understand how vulnerability emerges, why misunderstanding is the root of dispassion and cruelty, how resolution — the predictive arc of conventional storytelling — might be obscene. 

For one is not gratified at the end of Sarajevo. The fact that the rape scene occurs at the penultimate moment reinforces the fact that “history hurts”, that resolution is a fantasy in the midst of war and violence.

The male protagonists — Ivan  Nedeljkovic and Alistair Moulton Black as the soldiers and Duane Behrens as the photographer — provide a strikingly varied counterpoint to the central woman protagonist. 

Two desire her love, which remains unreciprocated. The other, in the throes of personal torment, becomes a rapist. This spectrum, between love and hate, fantasy and obscenity, spans a one-act play which, paradoxically, is fortifying in the middle of its brutality. 

This is because the writer and director never lose sight of a raw mortality. There are no digressions, no ellipses — despite scene changes — because the director, Elit Smith, never wavers or veers away from the instinctive and immediate passions that impel the drama.

Staged in Johannesburg’s Holocaust Museum, a fitting site of mourning, the production is lean. 

Composed of cardboard boxes — stacked as bombed sites, a table, seats — the composition conjures derelict building blocks as substantive as they are flimsy, for nothing is immune to destruction. 

The lighting is as economical and deftly deployed. It is the soundtrack that proves to be the most potent theatrical weapon — an engulfing staggered and broken aria to the mania of war. 

Amid this continuous din, the actors hold their own. One is never freed from the fact of war and the psychological damage it incurs. 

Each character has their own demon, each is ensnared in the other. As Jean-Paul Sartre remarked, “Hell is others” — this is the trap which the playwright, Komorowsky, has set.

If war is all-consuming, then what of peace? Are we ever truly freed from the burden of history? Is reprieve only ever momentary? 

What of Komorowsky’s script, which surely is the star of the play? It is her words, pithily direct and uninflected, wrought within and wracked by the moment in which they were conceived, in which, bodily, emotively, all of human pain and yearning seem distilled, which, when uttered by gifted actors, thrusts the audience into a shattered and shattering maw.

But then, this is a play and, as such, an artistic rendition of what is often silenced in war. If, therefore, I have emphasised the words written and then spoken, it is because, without words, even more than photographic images, we cannot know the truth about despair and hopelessness, of ongoing horror. 

This is why truth and reconciliation is vital but also why they are also ever-elusive. That Komorowsky has refused to write an account, to explain, or explain away, the horror, is all the more salutary. 

While the playwright-actress knows, with Margaret Atwood, that “War is what happens when language fails,” she also profoundly understands the importance of words and their utterance in and through ruined and desolate bodies. This, then, is her Sarajevo.             

Sarajevo will be staged again at the Johannesburg Holocaust and Genocide Centre on 19 and 25 May.

Laureus awards at 25: Has Rupert blown the whistle?

What happens to a grand idea when its visionary steps away?

That’s the quiet question being asked around the 25th edition of the Laureus World Sports Awards — held this year in Madrid, Spain — an evening of glitz, legends and lofty ideals. 

But missing from the spotlight was the man without whom the Laureus project might never have come to life — the South African billionaire Johann Rupert.

Rupert, who co-founded Laureus in 1999 through Richemont — the Swiss luxury goods company he chairs — was nowhere to be seen at this year’s silver jubilee celebration. For an awards body frequently dubbed “the Oscars of sport”, his absence was hard to miss. 

Whispers rippled through the VIP rooms and media pits: “Is Rupert done with Laureus?”

There’s no doubting the legacy of the awards.

“The brainchild of Johann Rupert and the power of our founding patron Nelson Mandela, Laureus continues to impact communities around the world,” said Laureus ambassador and All Blacks great Sean Fitzpatrick. 

That impact is measurable — over €150 million raised since inception, with 300 social programmes in more than 40 countries reaching close to six million young people. 

But legacies require ongoing investment — and not just financial. The question is whether Rupert, 74, still has the drive to carry the Laureus vision forward.

In Madrid, the celebration was full of heartfelt moments. Olympic pole vault superstar Mondo Duplantis, who claimed the Sportsman of the Year award, kept it simple: “Sports are the shit,” he said bluntly to the Mail & Guardian.

But behind the swagger was sincerity: “There is nothing in the world that still has the power to unite the world like sport. 

“It mobilises the youth and helps so many to aspire to more.”

Spanish tennis icon Rafael Nadal, this year’s Laureus Sporting Icon, didn’t hold back in crediting Rupert. 

“Thank you to Mr Rupert for having the inspiration to create something that has lived on for as long as it has — giving hope to so many people, especially those that did not have the opportunities that I, and so many others at these awards, have enjoyed.”

For many, Laureus’ soul lives in its Sport for Good Foundation, not the red carpets or celebrity panels. 

Programmes in South Africa, Brazil, India and across Europe focus on conflict resolution, gender equality, education and health — using sport as a gateway to change. 

Laureus has often claimed 94% of its spending goes directly to grassroots initiatives, with only a fraction used for high-gloss ceremonies.

But it’s precisely this glossy juxtaposition — Armani suits on one end, muddy soccer boots in a township on the other — that fuels debate about the awards’ future. Is this the best way to fund social development through sport? Would the money spent flying celebrities to Madrid be better deployed elsewhere?

Surfer legend Kelly Slater, a five-time Laureus recipient, tried to strike a balance. 

“There’s a lot of awards based on popularity among the public but what makes this so special and offers it continued relevance is the fact that it’s the elite of the sporting world that decides you’re worthy,” he told the M&G.

“We all have a responsibility to spread sport and joy. I have 300 surfboards that I will eventually give away. Sport is such a simple thing to offer communities.”

Indeed, the awards remain unique in their format. Winners are chosen by the Laureus World Sports Academy, a panel of legendary athletes who carry both credibility and continuity. But institutional legacy alone can’t guarantee survival. 

Much of the concern hinges on the future of Richemont’s commitment. Since 2000, the company has bankrolled the awards, using its luxury clout to pull in partners like Mercedes-Benz and Nike. These relationships have been instrumental in making the Laureus brand synonymous with both prestige and purpose.

But Johann Rupert’s appetite for such public philanthropic spectacles is famously unpredictable. He is known to avoid the limelight and is deeply private — which makes his absence at the 25th anniversary potentially more than symbolic. 

Sources close to the organisation say there’s no formal sign of withdrawal yet. But Laureus insiders admit privately that the path forward is uncertain without Rupert’s personal buy-in.

Is this a vanity project approaching its natural end? Or is it a global institution ready to evolve beyond the influence of its founder?

A quarter-century in, that’s the tension Laureus now must wrestle with. For every programme pulling kids off the streets through sport, there’s a champagne toast in Madrid that raises questions about focus and sustainability. Yet the core belief — that sport can unify, uplift and inspire — remains powerful.

“I don’t know if there is anything more impactful than sport in bringing us all together,” Duplantis said. 

The hope is that the structures behind Laureus can do the same — even if its founder eventually fades from view.

What happens when a legacy becomes a burden? Laureus may be about to find out.

Rethink philanthropy for sustainable development

A neighbour was laid off work at a non-governmental organisation while the nephew’s studies were cut short. The two are victims of a donor philanthropic organisation that unprecedentedly stopped sending donations to Africa.

Amid international foreign aid cuts by the Trump administration, a can of worms has been opened about humanitarianism and social sector financing, sparking fresh discussions around the world.

Not-for-profit organisations known for supporting social development while empowering and employing millions of people are losing funding, threatening our progress to sustainable development. 

Philanthropy contributes $2.3 trillion — or 3%  —  of the world’s GDP. Africa received $3.8 billion from international donations from 2019 to 2021.

But, according to Gallup data, the value of philanthropy declined from 2024 to date by 2.1%, signifying philanthropic burn-out, thus affecting numerous humanitarian activities and the not-for-profit sector.

After World War I rich men, moved by conviction, convenience and coercion to donate for a common good, defined the evolution of philanthropy.

In the 1900s, families and the wealthiest people set up charity trusts for the less privileged parts of Africa, Asia, Europe, Oceania, North America and Latin America.

Philanthropy for decades has supported the Church, civil society organisations, international development agencies and grassroots community groups, helping the world’s social sector movements to blossom.

Jamsetji Tata, the founder of the Tata Group, set the precedent; he was the world’s biggest philanthropist of the 20th century, donating more than $100 billion mainly for healthcare and education. .

Philanthropy has been the cornerstone of humanitarianism and social development in many African nations.

Each time parts of Africa are hit by natural disasters, civil wars and global shocks, many governments are not in position to meet the magnitude of calamities and need aid.

A backslide in philanthropic contributions means the social sector cannot longer depend on these contributions.

According to Forbes, billionaires Elon Musk ($369.7 billion) and Jeff Bezos ($116 billion) declined to sign the Giving Pledge card, a promise by the world’s wealthiest to dedicate the majority of their wealth to charitable causes. Bernad Arnault ($130 billion), Gautan Adani ($130 billion), Larry Page ($88.7 billion) and Mukesh Ambani ($88.2 billion) are not known to have participated in philanthropic activities.

Surely these and other billionaires could make significant contributions towards humanitarianism and social development.

Our hopes now hinge on venture philanthropy, which, according to Sopact, is “a form of philanthropy that applies the principles of venture capital to charitable giving. It involves providing financial and non-financial support to nonprofit organisations to create long-term, sustainable change.” 

According to Forbes, there are 3,028 billionaires worldwide who, combined, have a net worth of $16.1 trillion.

But some view philanthropy as a problem because it creates dependency. 

And some billionaires have a different mindset about charitable trusts and the not-for-profit sector, believing this is “spoon-feeding” Africa’s majority.

Africa needs to shift from being a donor recipient to become a driver of venture philanthropy.

African countries together have 22 billionaires with a total net worth of $105 billion, according to Forbes.

South Africa takes the lead with seven, and Nigeria and Egypt with four each.

Local philanthropy is already contributing $40 million to Africa, signifying that the continent can leverage her billionaires into venture philanthropists.

For example, Aliko Dangote ($23.9 billion) donates $100 million for education, joining Patrice Motsepe, Yassen Mansour and Mohammed Dewji in the world of philanthropy and social investments.

African governments can make better policies and tax incentives to encourage the generous spirit of philanthropy;

Robert Kigongo is a sustainable development analyst. X: @kigongokr7

It’s rocking in Joburg’s Rosebank

Located just north of Johannesburg’s downtown, Rosebank is a lively suburb that mixes business, leisure and residential charm. It’s a compact, energetic spot with a cosmopolitan feel, sitting between the city’s historic core and the sleek Sandton district. 

This prime location, paired with its easy access — the Gautrain connects it to Sandton, the city centre and the airport — makes it a magnet for professionals and residents.

Rosebank streets, shaded by trees and lined with a blend of modern towers and elegant Art Deco buildings, pulse with a unique vibe. It’s a growing business hub, home to big names like Coca-Cola, Sappi, Pepsi, De Beers, Anglo-American and Standard Bank, with new office blocks and upscale apartments reshaping its skyline. Yet it retains a down-to-earth feel that sets it apart from the flashier Sandton, especially when the jacarandas burst into purple bloom each spring.

With millions of rands splashing into every corner of Rosebank, it’s no wonder the precinct has experienced a revival over the past 10 years — a glow-up in more ways than one. 

Anyone watching this transformation unfold can agree that it’s wild to see how this once quiet spot is now buzzing with life, new buildings and an air of elegance. 

Living in Rosebank appeals to a wide crowd — young go-getters who work in nearby office blocks, families and retirees find a home here. The housing scene leans toward sleek apartments and townhouses, with standalone homes tucked away in quieter corners. 

The Rosebank Management District keeps things tidy and safe, making it a walkable haven.

A residential development that has caught my eye is The Hive Oxford, situated at 39 Ashford Road. Developed by Craft Homes in partnership with TriColour Investments, it consists of 292 apartments and has been under construction since January. Completion is set for December 2026. 

The apartments have private balconies, and there are 18 layouts from which to choose. Residents also have access to a clubhouse, coffee shop, business centre, swimming pool, laundry facilities, gym and secure basement parking. 

Studios start at 25m2 and are priced from R999  000. One-bedroom units start at 39m2 and are priced from R1  499  000. Two-bedroom units start at 54m2 and are priced from R2  299  000. Last, three-bedroom units range 75m2 to 85m2 and are priced from R2  699  000. Levies start from R900 a month.

At these prices, this development is attractive to first-time home buyers and investors seeking tenants, in particular for corporates to provide accommodation for their employees.

Grapnel Property Group is heavily invested in Rosebank. The group has been involved in the suburb for more than 25 years as investors and developers. At the beginning of 2014, Grapnel kicked off construction on a tall apartment complex called The Vantage, featuring 165 apartments that were sold out (off plan at the launch) in just one month. 

Following that success, the company rolled out another project in Rosebank in early 2015, this time with 219 apartments, which also took off without a hitch. The Tyrwhitt in Rosebank was 70% sold off plan. 

Prior to these developments, the most recent batch of apartment blocks developed here would have been circa the 1970s. 

Since then, Tricolt — a luxury property developer — has gone on to develop The One Rosebank residential development at 37  Cradock Avenue. 

Phase one has 396 apartments. Handover of the apartments began on 1 April. Phase one did more than relatively well with 160 apartments sold in the first four days after launching. The total cost for this project is R414  million.

Phase two of the development has 169 apartments. To date, 65 apartments have been sold. The cost of this development comes in at R255  million. 

As of 2 April, sales figures for Phase  1 of The One Rosebank are at R545  611  558 while Phase 2 is at R116  850  700. This is impressive. 

Surrounding these developments is a premier retail and cultural experience. For those who love to shop, eat or simply soak in the scene, Rosebank delivers. 

The Rosebank Mall, The Zone 

@Rosebank and The Firs offer a mix of retail therapy, from chic boutiques to tech stores. Art lovers flock to the Keyes Art Mile, where galleries thrive alongside cafés. Foodies are spoiled for choice too, with everything from laid-back bistros to fancy spots dishing up global eats — think spicy South African dishes, Italian classics or Asian fusion. When the sun sets, the nightlife kicks in, with bars and clubs.

With top-notch schools, fitness centres and the Netcare Rosebank Hospital, the suburb ticks a lot of boxes. It’s a place that feels alive — less polished than some neighbours, but all the more real for it. 

Then there are the business districts offering smart office space. We have seen the demand in Rosebank for premium-grade retail and office space over the past few years. As more leading businesses set up shop, the demand for office space complements rising residential demand. Rental rates for office space are on the higher end of the scale and surpass the rental rates of certain nodes nearby in Sandton and Melrose. 

When renting office space in Rosebank, the prices are about R250 to R270 per square metre for premium-grade spaces, R180 per square metre for A-grade spaces and about R100 per square metre (all excluding VAT) for secondary office spaces, which are less modern and more difficult for landlords to lease. 

Premium grade office spaces are the most stylish and contemporary options available, while the quality decreases with each grade — moving from premium to A grade, B  grade and C grade. These grades help determine the rental price per square metre and ensure that office rentals remain competitive.

At 2.1%, the South African Property Owners Association numbers for Rosebank Q4 2024 show low vacancies in premium grade offices, with higher vacancies in other grades: 15.9% in A grade, 19% in B grade and 14.5% in C grade.

Anglo-American’s head office, situated at 144 Oxford Road, is premium-grade office space. The 35  000m2 office development consists of two interlinked towers with glass façades — each 17  500m2 in size. It was developed by Growthpoint Properties. Since then, Growthpoint has not developed anything close to this scale in this suburb. 

Anglo-American is located directly across from the Hyatt Regency Hotel. I have discussed this controversial hotel and the reasons it remains closed in a previous Ask Ash column in the Mail & Guardian. Its closure remains a significant loss to the area.

Besides the mothballed Hyatt, hotel hype in Rosebank is growing. Check in on the trend by looking at the first-ever Radisson Red Hotel in Johannesburg that was built in the 350  000m2 mixed-use Oxford Parks project. This 222-room hotel, worth R385  million, brings that arty vibe that I adore. 

Then there’s The Capital on Bath, adding 52 apartments and 100 hotel rooms, and a Voco Hotel tucked into a mixed-use building with offices and retail. These spots are perfect for business travellers or anyone wanting a fancy staycation. With green building ratings and cool amenities, it’s clear Rosebank’s aiming to be the go-to spot for visitors and locals alike. 

So, what’s driving all this? It’s the perfect combination — excellent transport, a compact layout that’s easy to walk around and a mix of leafy charm with city energy. Rosebank is outshining Sandton in the coolest way. Unlike Sandton, which gets bogged down with traffic and oversupply, Rosebank’s keeping it fresh and manageable. 

One of the questions one has to ask as far as price per m2 goes is whether Rosebank has the potential to become another Sandton. Potentially. For now, no, because I see a lot of older stock going at discounted rates so that landlords can get it let. It seems the supply is steady for the time being.

Sure, the infrastructure’s feeling the strain with all these high-rises, but the city’s betting big on this node, and I think they’re onto something. 

Whether you’re grabbing a coffee on your way to work, eyeing a penthouse that screams “I made it” or checking into a fancy hotel, Rosebank steals hearts. Here’s to the suburb’s revival, and cheers to the next decade of growth.

Ask Ash examines South Africa’s property, architecture and living spaces. Continue the conversation with her on email (ash@askash.co.za) and X (@askashbroker).

No turbocharge needed in the stylish Mazda CX-30

Mazda sales figures have declined terribly since the Covid-19 pandemic. The legacy brand was further pegged back by the arrival of Chinese manufacturers in South Africa  and is still on the road to recovery. 

The Mail & Guardian previously tested the brand’s flagship CX-60 and, from that vehicle, it was evident that Mazda is aiming to push into the luxury segment.

The brand has been given a lot of stick in the past few years for failing to evolve and manufacturing vehicles that seem outmoded. But, like the CX-60, the updated CX-30 is anything but outdated. 

I found the front of this compact SUV very attractive, with its polished, coupe-like shape complemented by sleek headlights. The thin bonnet lines close in towards the headlights and blend everything together very neatly in front. The black rims on the 18-inch alloys (of the tested vehicle) add to that feel.

However, the back is slightly disappointing and doesn’t really offer much. The tail lights are on their own — I felt that a light bar across the back would have added so much more to the exterior. 

The interior gives you that fancy feeling. The variant we tested was fitted with black and terracotta leather and suede stitching. It also had low seats, which echoed the look of the front of the vehicle. When you view the front, you can picture a similar interior — Mazda got this spot-on. 

The interior is fitted with a 12-speaker Bose system that allows clear sound throughout the car. Mazda has included a 10.25-inch infotainment system that is not a touchscreen but works through a dial on the centre console. 

This is a very clever feature of the manufacturer’s vehicles because it gives space between the user and the infotainment screen. Instead of having to poke your entire face into the screen while driving — which can also be distracting — it allows you to just move the dial as you need to toggle through the options on the screen. It will also pause action on the dial if you continue toggling for too long, to make sure that you keep your eyes on the road. 

But with all that style and convenience, something that the vehicle lacks is space. The front seats were not too comfortable on long journeys. I haven’t been to the gym in months and I had to keep adjusting my back while driving. 

The back is very tight. If you insert a car seat, you only have space for one more passenger. While I get that Mazda has bigger vehicles, and opted for a coupe-type SUV with the CX-30, this vehicle does fit into the compact SUV segment, so the amount of space for passengers is an issue. 

However, once you are on the road, the 2.0 Skyactiv G naturally aspirated engine that pushes out 121kW of power and 213Nm of torque makes the drive very pleasant.

Despite many disapproving of the naturally aspirated engine, in a turbocharged world, I quite like how the car picks up speed in a calm, linear fashion. Of course, you won’t feel that satisfying kick if you need to put your foot down and overtake other cars. Keep pushing your foot down and you might feel strain due to the low torque figure. But bear in mind this is by no means a performance vehicle.

The vehicle doesn’t feel stretched and the engine is very responsive. It handles perfectly for the size of the car and it feels uncomplicated to drive. 

Mazda has taken a driver-centric approach with this vehicle. Sometimes, I prefer this over technology that makes you feel like you are controlling a spaceship. 

The Mazda CX-30 has consistently received high safety scores, including the IIHS Top Safety Pick+ award and a five-star safety rating from Euro NCAP. 

It has front and rear parking sensors and rear cross-traffic alert, which is the equivalent of blind-spot detection in other vehicles. 

Overall, the Mazda CX-30 is a striking vehicle in the front, but lacks the same standard at the back. The interior was so impressive that I just wanted to stay in it. 

The drive and safety features make this car a good option for a small family or a single person. 

We tested the Individual (top-of-the-range) variant which is priced at R630 900. The Active edition will set you back R531 800, the Dynamic edition R569 800 and the Carbon edition R587 500. 

Alternatives in this segment include the VW T-Roc and the Peugeot 2008. If you need more space, those are recommended, but if you just want style and satisfaction, this might be the right choice for you.

Is the law indeed an ass in this case?

If it were to be established that the law is indeed as dumb as an ass, as suggested by English writer Charles Dickens in his 1838 novel Oliver Twist, what would society think?

Second, how does this understanding fit into the “fit and proper” paradigm sought by the Legal Practice Council, when it admits legal practitioners to practise law?

I prefer to use the lens of this analogy — “the law is an ass” — to understand the recent decision by the council to investigate Dali Mpofu, SC, for alleged impropriety or breach of its code of conduct. 

The ass — in the Dickensian world, a place characterised by squalor, poverty and social injustice — was known to be the dumbest creature under the sun. 

Its obstinacy in not doing what it was ordered to do was thought of as legendary.

Dickens, with his critical political mind, as we also saw in his masterpiece A Tale of Two Cities, makes it clear that the law becomes “an ass” when its application is rigid and not applied in keeping with prevailing conditions affecting the poor and oppressed.

To drive home his point, he makes an example of Oliver, the young title character of the novel, who had experienced a difficult upbringing, but his need was overlooked by the cruel and unjust system.

We must, then, even today, as Dickens suggested a couple of hundred years ago, infer that evil and unjust law practitioners are antithetical to what the “fit and proper” dictum connotes. 

Bad legal systems, adorned with repressive and unjust legislation, in many ways unconstitutional — and lacking respect for others — should be rejected by communities, as the apartheid system was in this country.

The implications for the law, as for the “fit and proper” paradigm, are stark when we turn a blind to an injustice. 

The “fit and proper person” requirement in South African law is a key criterion for admission — and readmission — to the legal profession. 

The would-be legal practitioner ought to pass the litmus test — the assessment of character, integrity and suitability — and, to top it all, to be above reproach. 

The law has to ensure that all, and not some, are treated as fairly as it is humanly possible without regard to status, that all should be seen to be equal before the law, and that to receive justice is to be aspired to.

Most tellingly, if the law is to escape community censure and judgment, it has to be seen as even-handed, not favouring a few and acting harshly against others, particularly vulnerable communities.

Which brings me to this fact — officers of the court, which is to say, advocates and attorneys, among others, ought to be advocates for the legal system of which they are a part to be just.

Politicians, most of the time, tend to pervert the system for their own nefarious reasons.

Not so long ago, chief whip and member of parliament of the uMkhonto weSizwe (MK) party Mzwanele Manyi told his colleagues that, if his party were to form a government it would scrap the constitutional framework as we know it today and revert to parliamentary sovereignty.

This view is shared by the MK party parliamentary leader John Hlophe, a former judge, and someone expected to have a comprehensive appreciation of constitutionalism.

Parliamentary sovereignty is a throwback to the apartheid-conceived 1961 Constitution. It stipulates that parliament “shall be the sovereign legislative authority in and over the Republic, and shall have full power to make laws for the peace, order and good government of the Republic”.

“[That]no court of law shall be competent to enquire into or to pronounce upon the validity of any Act passed by Parliament …”

This must then mean that the MK party, like the National Party that came to power in 1948, aligns itself with the arrangement by which the apartheid government used the parliamentary supremacy at its disposal “as a powerful instrument to secure power for the white minority”.

Supposing the MK party were to have its way, win elections and run the government, the implications for constitutional democracy seem dire.

Spelled out clearly, this would mean that unconstitutional laws and provisions could find themselves passing constitutional muster.

This would be to revert to the principle of the supremacy of the legislature, an obnoxious legal principle at odds with the notion of constitutional supremacy that holds that the Constitution is the ultimate legal authority. 

The principle of supremacy of the legislature would mean that the courts would be stripped of testing authority to determine, using the Bill of Rights, the constitutionality of laws passed by parliament.

The country would be back to old ways, as it was in the apartheid years, where the government rammed down the throats of black citizens legislation that infringed on their rights.

Now back to the “fit and proper” principle and the question of whether the law is an ass.   

Lawyers take an oath or make a declaration upon being admitted to the legal profession. This includes a pledge to uphold the law, act with integrity and be a “fit and proper” person to practise law. 

With that said, practitioners are the face of the legal system, and are duty-bound, by the fact that they have taken an oath, to strive to be “fit and proper”, to help guard against the perversion of the system by unscrupulous actors.

Could the so-called bad apples of society, if charged with crime in the court of law, be assumed innocent, however reprehensible their public record might suggest they are?

The law would be an ass if, without sound evidence, it found any person guilty, simply because of their shady past. Judges know this. And that is why they give deference, and assign no guilt, to suspects who are brought before them. 

In the end, it ought to be the lawyers, as officers of the court, who help the bench come to an appropriate decision — helping to show that the law is far from being an ass.

Dickens, in Oliver Twist, uses the phrase “the law is an ass” to draw a parallel between its inflexibility and the “mythical obstinacy of donkeys”. 

In legal contexts, a “fit and proper person” refers to someone deemed to be suitable to hold a specific position or role, particularly within the legal profession. 

This phrase is commonly used in relation to lawyers, signifying that they possess the necessary qualities, character and integrity to serve their clients and uphold the principles of justice. 

The origin of this concept is rooted in the need to ensure that those entrusted with representing clients and the administration of justice are trustworthy and reliable.

So, in sum, this is the point of this article — it seeks to show the extent to which the systems of justice and democracy are interwoven and that they ought to work seamlessly to achieve justice for the people of this country.

The players in a democracy ought to be committed to the true furtherance of justice, using constitutional law and constitutionalism to achieve that end.

In a democracy, there are no venerated “holy cows”, whether they be presidents, kings, queens, bishops, politicians, legal practitioners or citizens.

We ought to all be treated as equal. 

We hear all the rumblings from the followers of the MK party — which is hell-bent on changing the Constitution when “we come to power” — that Mpofu was unfairly treated by the Legal Practice Council. 

The council describes itself as “mandated to set norms and standards, to provide for the admission and enrolment of legal practitioners and to regulate the professional conduct of legal practitioners to ensure accountability”.

Mpofu has been called to answer charges of alleged misconduct. 

Like all others in the profession, he has to avail himself to a statutory body to account for the charges against him.

Legal practitioners, in order to be admitted to the profession, make a commitment, through oath, that they will become “fit and proper” for the practice.

South Africa is a democracy underpinned by the Constitution and the rule of law.

The MK party and its fellow travellers are seeking to subvert the cause of justice for their own political ends by suggesting that Mpofu is being persecuted.

He is not. He is being asked to be accountable. Mpofu is not a loose cannon. He is accountable to the law and to the council.  

When the law lacks compassion, and is not in tune with prevailing societal injustices, and turns a blind to injustices perpetrated by the powerful, then it fits the description of the novelist, Dickens: it is “an ass”.

Jo-Mangaliso Mdhlela is an independent journalist, a former trade unionist and an Anglican priest.

Looking back in black and white to see more clearly

Photo albums are a portal to another time — in which we might not even have been alive — and they allow us to find out more about people and spaces. 

That’s how I got to know that my mother was more than just my mother. Before she was the woman who packed my lunch and reminded me to take a jersey, she was a young girl, a student, a dreamer. She had secrets and desires captured in the grain of 35mm film.

She kept those rolls of film hidden in a cupboard that also held her ID book, her old payslips and an expired passport. It was a sacred place, guarded by dust and silence. 

I would sneak into that drawer like a pilgrim seeking truth, pull out the strips of negatives, and hold them up to the light. 

Through those tiny images, I saw her dancing barefoot at a house party, smiling in oversized sunglasses, standing next to strangers who looked like friends. Those glimpses into her past softened me. I loved her more tenderly, knowing where she came from.

That memory came rushing back when I stepped into the In Black and White analogue photographic exhibition at the UJ FADA Gallery. I was twenty minutes late — blame the Joburg traffic — but as soon as I walked in, time slowed down. 

I was met by Dr Landi Rauben-heimer, senior lecturer in design studies and the exhibition’s co-curator, with Bongani Khoza, lecturer in multimedia. They greeted me warmly as we stood in a space that buzzed with stillness and stories.

The room was filled with black-and-white images — arresting, nostalgic, deliberate. 

Works by South African legends like Santu Mofokeng and Ruth Seopedi Motau lined the walls. Their presence was not intimidating, but rather grounding. Their photos stood shoulder to shoulder with pieces by emerging photographers, bridging eras through shared humanity.

In the middle of the gallery were analogue cameras — some familiar, most foreign to my eyes. They were solid, heavy and commanding. One looked like it could double as a weapon. I almost knocked it over trying to get a better view of a photo. 

A gentle warning from Rauben-heimer brought me back to earth.

“This project has been a long time coming,” she told me. “I realised that some students thought that the filters they use on social media were just digital inventions. But really, they mimic the aesthetic of analogue photography.” 

The exhibition, she said, was born out of a desire to bridge that gap — between perception and reality, between the digital and the tangible.

Khoza nodded, adding that when the idea was proposed to him, he didn’t hesitate. 

“There was always a disconnect between the theory we teach and the actual doing. This exhibition became a way to merge both worlds. 

Students could see, touch, and feel the concepts they’ve been studying.”

The theme tying all these images together was portraiture. Not just the literal kind, but the kind that lingers — where a face becomes a map, a body becomes a story. 

Khoza laughed when he recalled early student submissions that looked more like passport photos than portraits: “We had to show them there’s more than one way to make a portrait,” he said.

Portraits, as Raubenheimer explained, have an arresting quality. 

“You capture someone in a moment, and that person will never be that age again, in that way again. There’s something deeply nostalgic about that.” 

She believes this is what resonates with students who have grown up on curated timelines and filtered memories. These black and white photos, though old-school, speak the same language — one of longing and preservation.

As students wandered through the exhibition, some pausing to eavesdrop on our conversation, I was reminded of my mother’s hidden photo rolls. Just like those negatives, the images at In Black and White held echoes of stories, pieces of lives paused mid-breath. Each frame a whispered reminder we are always more than who we are in the now.

Raubenheimer and Khoza hope the exhibition grows into a movement, a curriculum, a conversation. 

They see it as an invitation, not just for students, but for all of us to look again. To consider what we archive, how we remember and who gets to be seen.

And maybe, in looking back, we learn to see each other — and ourselves — a little more clearly.

The exhibition runs until 24 May at the FADA Gallery in Johannesburg.

How to humanise a robot

There is no escaping artificial intelligence. No matter how clever we think we are, our lives are going to be affected. We can only hope that it is in a good way, but many of us have grown accustomed to the threat of AI being there to take over our jobs.

It is quite possible that AI could do the job of designing and laying out the pages of the newspaper. ChatGPT could find the right combination of words and matching images for the front page — and do it all without cursing and complaining while actually making the deadline on Thursday afternoon.

The same goes for producing a weekly column. It just needs the right prompting: “Write a column in the style of Christian Stephen but make it less grumpy and leave out the dad jokes.”

So AI joins the long queue of threats to jobs in the media. And the situation is the same for anything involving creativity. Writing, music, art, architecture — it is all ripe for the artificial treatment. A Damien Hirst spot painting? Too easy. One of those two-minute punk bangers by The Ramones? Be serious!

These are just frivolous examples, because the limitless resources of the AI “machine” mean the real problem for us mere mortals is how to tell the difference between artificial intelligence and genuine stupidity.

This is particularly alarming for education. Students have naturally wholeheartedly embraced AI, because it makes researching and writing their assignments so much easier. ChatGPT is there to do the work. 

So artificial intelligence methods have had to be found for the teachers and lecturers to identify who has been using AI. The various institutions have had to develop policies and procedures to deal with this very modern method of “cheating”. 

And just when they think that all the proper measures are in place, along comes a new twist. There are now AI tools designed to humanise artificial intelligence. The assignment written by AI can be filtered to make it seem more “human”.

Not sure whether AI recognises the irony here but the students have to be careful not to put their assignment through the “humanising” tool too many times. It might just end up being the rambling, badly researched offering they could have achieved without any artificial assistance.

It would be helpful if artificial intelligence could tell us whether there are going to be any jobs that are safe from the AI invasion. Or are we all going to end up on the couch idly flipping through the AI-generated offerings on Netflix? Maybe there will be a new season of The Sopranos and we discover what really happened to Tony.

But, wait, our disgruntled abuse of the TV remote suddenly brings us to the sports channel. And here is football in all its messy human extremes: outrageous skill, stupid mistakes, boorish fans. Even AI can’t replicate Lionel Messi. The only sign of artificial intelligence here is the irritating VAR system.

The biggest problem with AI is that it is such an all-encompassing concept but it is not tangible. Where is it? What is it made of? 

There are some, who obviously haven’t embraced AI, who say “it is all in the cloud”, often while gazing heavenwards. I have been reliably informed that this is not where the cloud is. 

Artificial intelligence lives in the giant servers kept in well-guarded, fortified facilities. This vast repository of information is controlled by those disproportionately small “chips” that the United States refused to sell to China. 

This simplistic notion of AI still leaves me with the desire to “humanise” AI. 

And this is where that very old-fashioned idea of a robot comes in. Predictably it is the Chinese who have updated this concept with a troupe of humanoid robots performing a dance at a festival. 

Sport isn’t immune either with humanoids taking on humans in a half-marathon.

Imagine how inspiring it would be for weary Joburg residents to see an AI-driven robot-repairing robot striding through the city streets fixing the dead robots. Our battered traffic lights would be made theft proof, damage proof and load-shedding proof. Never again would we have to put our lives in the hands of those self-appointed traffic controllers at the busiest intersections whose only claim to authority is a dirty reflective vest worn over their ragged clothes.

The robot-fixing robots would probably be so intelligent that they would have plenty of time for a side hustle of filling in the potholes.

Brushing aside the question of what the robots do when that little box next to the line “I am not a robot” comes up online, the most important question for the AI robots to deal with is, of course, what is to be done with all the redundant humans. 

Once this little issue is solved they could turn to the more difficult problem of ensuring that there is a functioning democracy — but without the pesky politicians.