FREEDOM Month, marked every April in South Africa, commemorates a monumental event in our history, the first democratic elections held on April 27 1994. It symboliSes the official end of apartheid, and the beginning of a constitutional democracy grounded in human rights, dignity, and equality.
For many South Africans, April is a time of national pride. It’s a chance to celebrate how far we’ve come to remember the long and painful struggle against apartheid, and to honour the courage of those who fought for liberation. It's a month of flags, speeches, school assemblies, and patriotic music. For some, it's deeply emotional.
But Freedom Month is also complicated. For many, the freedoms promised in 1994 have not fully materialized. Unemployment, inequality, unsafe communities, and poor public services make the word freedom feel hollow. In fact, for young people growing up in poverty, or for those still experiencing racism, exclusion, or xenophobia freedom remains a myth.
Freedom Month can feel more like a provocation than a celebration. For some, like older generations, who lived under apartheid, April is a time of profound gratitude and reflection. For others like foreign nationals facing daily threats of violence, or LGBTQI+ South Africans fighting for basic rights, it’s a reminder that legal rights don’t always translate into lived experience.
The meaning of April, then, is not uniform. It is layered, contested, and evolving. And perhaps that’s the point: Freedom Month should be less about self-congratulation and more about collective reckoning. It should challenge us to ask: Whose freedom are we celebrating? Whose freedom remains deferred? And what kind of freedom are we building for future generations?
True freedom is not just about casting a vote. It’s about dignity, safety, and equal opportunity for all. Until that’s a lived reality, Freedom Month must remain both a celebration and a call to action. As South Africa prepares to commemorate yet another Freedom Day, we are compelled to ask what exactly are we celebrating? Is it the symbolic victory of 1994, or the lived reality of a people still yearning for true freedom?
Freedom Day was meant to mark the triumph over apartheid, the birth of a democratic South Africa, and the dawn of a nation united in diversity. It carried the hopes of a people long denied dignity, promising equality, justice, and human rights for all. And for a while, we believed in the dream. We believed in the Rainbow Nation. We believed in each other.
But today, that dream feels like a fading memory. For millions, the so-called freedom remains a distant illusion. Inequality is as entrenched as ever, unemployment is rampant, corruption runs deep, and the state itself appears to be unravelling. In township streets and rural villages, the only visible legacy of democracy is often frustration and neglect.
What happened to Ubuntu the spiritual backbone of our nation, the philosophy that says “I am because we are.” It has been steadily eroded, replaced by a culture of self-enrichment, political patronage, and moral decay. Leadership, once seen as a sacred duty to serve, has become a playground for the corrupt and the powerful.
Institutions meant to protect the public interest have been captured or hollowed out. The cries of the people are met with silence, spin, or violence. We are forced to ask the uncomfortable question: Is South Africa sliding toward rogue statehood? When laws are selectively applied, when whistleblowers are buried rather than protected, when communities go days without water or power while billions disappear through tender fraud, then the very foundation of our democracy is under threat.
And yet despite it all, there is a pulse that refuses to die. Civil society remains resilient. Journalists continue to expose the rot. Activists and ordinary citizens stand firm in their demand for justice and transparency. There is still a flicker of hope, fragile but persistent, carried by a new generation unwilling to inherit broken promises.
So no, Freedom Day is not yet a complete myth. But it is also not the reality we deserve. It is a contested space - a mirror that reflects both what we have achieved and how far we have fallen short. If there is to be redemption for this once hopeful nation, it must begin with a return to values.
Not slogans, not policies, not even elections - but a return to the sacredness of human dignity. We must revive Ubuntu not as nostalgia, but as a radical commitment to community, compassion, and accountability. We must demand more from our leaders and more from ourselves.
But true freedom, the kind that outlasts political slogans and fleeting victories must first take root within. Before we can reclaim our democracy, we must reclaim our own sense of moral clarity. Before we can demand justice from the state, we must practice justice in our homes, workplaces, and communities.
Inner freedom, the courage to question, the humility to listen, the will to act with integrity is the foundation upon which all outer freedom is built. Freedom is not a date on a calendar. It is a living, breathing life force, it’s our very Soul.
And until every South African can claim it with dignity and without fear, Freedom Day remains not a celebration, but a challenge. The question now is not just whether we are free, but whether we are brave enough to become free, within and without.
Siva Naidoo is an activist, and Ubuntu and human values trainer: [email protected]