Vusumzi Gqalane
What does it mean to survive in a country that once promised freedom? For South African youths, this question is no longer rhetorical – it is a daily confrontation with a reality shaped by economic uncertainty, political instability, and a zero sense of opportunity.
And yet, the act of waking up, showing up, and holding on has become a form of resistance. Not because it is easy, but because of the hope that change can happen at the very table where decisions are made about our future.
The term “kuzolunga” loosely translates to “it will be okay.” It is often used in our everyday language as a phrase of comfort whispered in times of distress. However, for today’s youth, it is no longer mere reassurance; it has evolved into a silent battle cry, demonstrating a firm conviction that, despite everything, we remain standing with hope and resilience.
A good friend of mine, Sibongiseni, recently introduced me to an Amapiano song titled Kuzolunga by Supta, featuring Thalitha and Bongane Sax. Part of the lyrics go: “Qiniseka ungalahli ithemba, konke kuzolunga, Yonk’ into inexesha layo kuzojika, Qhubeka.” Simply translated: “Make sure not to lose hope, everything will be okay. Everything has its time, and things will turn around. Keep going.”
These lines perfectly capture an unwavering determination of South African youth – hope not as ignorance, but as agitation. Kuzolunga is a courageous act of protest disguised as music, a subtle struggle against despair, and an anthem of survival in the face of suffering. In a country where young people are constantly confronted with the structural violence of unemployment, injustice, and systemic exclusion, continuing to hope, dream, and go is more than simply survival; it is resistance. It is revolutionary.
During this very month of June, 49 years ago in 1976, schoolchildren in Soweto stood up in defiance to protest the injustice of Bantu Education and institutionalised racism. The frustration, anger, and pain they carried became a source of power in shaping South Africa’s political discourse. These were young people at the heart of the country’s liberation struggle.
I am not going to go into detail about the 1976 Soweto Uprising. Not out of disrespect, but because the history has been discussed many times before. Yet, nothing has been done to fully honour those who fought to change the status quo.
Today, the battlefield has changed but the struggle continues. The spirit of resistance remains, though it now takes different forms. It is the student who perseveres despite hunger. It is the graduate who sends out hundreds of CVs. It is in the activist, the artist, the entrepreneur, the hustler. Young people are no longer dodging apartheid bullets; instead, they are navigating an exclusionary economic system that continues to marginalise both the educated and the uneducated. They are drowning in an ocean of unemployment, burdened by an under-resourced education system, and confronted daily with mental health challenges in a society still tormented by deep inequalities.Vusumzi-Gqalane-_02480
According to Statistics South Africa (Stats SA), the country’s youth unemployment rate is 62,4% in 2025. At the same time, the government is losing ground in its efforts to combat gender-based violence (GBV). Mental health remains severely underfunded, receiving only 5% of the national healthcare budget. All of this unfolds amid a devastating student debt crisis, with many students in our higher education institutions struggling to afford both tuition and living expenses.
These challenges are not isolated – they are symptoms of deeper systemic failures.
How much longer are we expected to merely survive and keep hoping for a better future amid a directionless government? How long must young people remain excluded from decision-making spaces? And how long will young people – especially women – be sidelined and deprioritised? Until when? And are we to blame?
■Vusumzi Gqalane is a transition academic adviser at the Centre for Teaching and Learning of the University of the Free State (UFS).
