19 September 2024 Photo Supplied
Neo Mokhuoane
Neo Mokhuoane is a third-year student in Anthropology, Department of Anthropology, University of the Free State.

Opinion article by Neo Mokhuoane, third-year Student in Anthropology, Department of Anthropology, University of the Free State.


If I asked you to name one anti-apartheid activist, you are most likely to mention Nelson Mandela, and I would have to readjust my question to ‘a queer anti-apartheid activist’ for you to mention Simon Nkoli. If we had more time, I would readjust the question to ‘anti-apartheid activist who gave her life to create renowned activists like Simon Nkoli’ – then I would tell you about Mathoko.

For the past three decades, we have seen the concept of remembering in our country taking a form of exclusion, a form of pushing towards the peripheral marginalised voices who paid with their bodies and souls so that we could call South Africa home without our voices trembling with fear; so that we could proudly call ourselves gay without feeling like illegals in our country. So how did we move to a time that recognises heritage from a dominant patriarchal narrative? Words that used to define a seemingly transforming society, ‘democracy’ and ‘heritage’ have changed meaning and taken on a new form of injustice.

Situating queer heritage in South Africa, we remember and celebrate Simon Nkoli with the utmost honour. Nkoli was a queer activist who continuously worked to challenge the normative gender discourse in pursuit of the constitutional values of sovereign, democratic state founded on the values of (a) human dignity, the achievement of equality and the advancement of human rights and freedoms; (b) non-racialism and non-sexism. He understood that the experiences of black queer kids were deeply rooted in the apartheid system, and that fighting for liberation meant fighting for both forms of oppression. While it is important to speak about activists like Nkoli, who laid down his life for gay members during the country’s longest trial, the Delmas Treason Trial, or the work he contributed through the Gay and Lesbian Organisation (GLOW), we cannot speak of him in isolation, in the same way we cannot speak of Nelson Mandela in isolation. It was collective action that brought us a free South Africa. Heritage is a form of remembering, and perhaps we need to reclaim it by bringing to the surface the work of other historical actors who formed part of the collective action.

Multiple narratives not silencing the marginalised

One narrative that needs to be remembered and memorialised is that of Thokozile Khumalo, admirably known in the gay community as Mathoko. Mathoko was a heterosexual woman who saw the experiences of her gay nephew in the 1980s and offered her home in Kwa-Thema, a township outside Johannesburg, to become a refuge for the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LBGT). We always speak of her in relation to what her home became and not how it contributed to the current gay politics and democracy. Those who knew her speak of her with conviction and how much she knew despite her social positioning, and her inability to sustain everyone with the little she had. Mathoko’s concerns and goals were targeted towards liberation. Her home became a source of rest and gave rise to liberating action. Activists such as Nkoli, Beverley Ditsie, and many other members of the first prominent gay movement in South Africa, GLOW, utilised her home. She became a mother who understood that they were all suffering from the same system.

Thirty years into democracy, all that is left of Mathoko is her post box which was rescued in 1997, four years after she passed away and her house was demolished. It is currently kept in the Apartheid Museum of Johannesburg. Is it possible to celebrate the narrative of a person who brought discord to the gender norm as a way to reflect South Africa’s constitution, which states that we are united in our diversities? Heritage Month should account for multiple narratives and not silence the marginalised. Mathoko did not live to see the liberation, and thirty years into it, her narrative continues to elude. Does she deserve to be memorialised and become the country’s heritage? Have a conversation with a friend on Braai Day.



We use cookies to make interactions with our websites and services easy and meaningful. To better understand how they are used, read more about the UFS cookie policy. By continuing to use this site you are giving us your consent to do this.

Accept