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13 May 2025 | Story Dr Francois Smith | Photo Supplied
Francois Smith
Dr Francois Smith, Head of Department: Afrikaans and Dutch; German and French, University of the Free State.

Opinion article by Dr Francois Smith, Head of Department: Afrikaans and Dutch; German and French, University of the Free State 




On 8 May 1925, the writer CJ Langenhoven introduced a bill in the parliament of the then Union of South Africa that led to Afrikaans being recognised as one of the country’s official languages, alongside English. It is this historic moment that marks the centenary being celebrated today. However, the language itself predates its official status by centuries. The roots of Afrikaans can be traced back to the 1500s, during the first interactions between European sailors and the indigenous Khoi-Khoi people. What makes the origin of Afrikaans particularly significant is that it developed on African soil, shaped by the contact and exchange between European colonists, enslaved people brought from Africa and Asia, and the local Khoi population. Afrikaans is, therefore, a uniquely South African creation – a rich tapestry of diverse influences. It is this diversity, this cultural and linguistic fusion, that is truly worth celebrating.

It is evident that Afrikaans did not begin as a fully developed written language. Some of the earliest recorded instances of written Afrikaans date back to the 1830s, when Muslim imams used Arabic script to communicate with their pupils in Afrikaans in religious schools. A more formal effort to establish Afrikaans as a written language emerged in 1875 with the founding of the Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (Society for Real Afrikaners), which played a pivotal role in standardising and promoting written Afrikaans.

 

The Dutch language

During the Anglo-Boer War (1899-1902), the two Boer republics – the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek and the Orange Free State – were defeated by the British Empire. In the aftermath of this conflict, efforts were made to unite the two British colonies, the Cape Colony and Natal, with the former Boer republics into a single political entity. This led to the National Convention, where representatives negotiated the constitution for what would become the Union of South Africa. Given the dominant position of Britain, the prevailing influence of English-speaking authorities in the Cape and Natal, and the Anglophile stance of many British leaders, it would have been reasonable to expect the new Union to adopt English as its sole official language. However, due to the tireless advocacy of figures such as former President MT Steyn and General JBM Hertzog, the resulting South Africa Act of 1909 – passed by the British Parliament – stipulated that ‘the Dutch language’ would share official status with English in the Union. This was a significant victory for the preservation of Dutch (and later, Afrikaans) in the political and administrative life of the country.

The ‘Dutch’ used in South Africa at the time, particularly among ordinary people, was far from uniform and bore little resemblance to the Standard Dutch of the Netherlands. Very few South Africans were proficient in writing formal Dutch. Meanwhile, Afrikaans had only just begun the process of standardisation in the years following the formation of the Union. In many cases – especially in written contexts – the language appeared as a hybrid of spoken Afrikaans and formal Dutch, or what was loosely referred to as ‘Hollands’. Recognising this linguistic shift, figures such as CJ Langenhoven began advocating for Afrikaans to be recognised as a full-fledged language, particularly as a standardised orthography began to take shape. Langenhoven and his contemporaries likely understood that the continued use of Standard Dutch in South Africa was untenable. Thanks to their dedication, a joint session of the Volksraad and the Senate was held on 8 May 1925, during which Act No. 8 of 1925 was passed. This legislation clarified that the term ‘Hollands’, as used in South African legal and governmental contexts, also encompassed Afrikaans – marking a pivotal moment in the formal recognition of the language.

A necessary consequence of the 1925 legislation was that Afrikaans, now recognised as an official language, had to rapidly develop in areas such as orthography, terminology, and grammatical consistency. Subsequent constitutions – specifically those of 1961 and 1983 – further entrenched the status of Afrikaans by extending the use of both official languages to the provincial level. Because Afrikaans was now required to operate on equal footing with a global language such as English across all spheres of government, the development of a standardised variety became essential. This standard form enabled the state not only to fulfil its constitutional obligations but also to communicate effectively with a significant portion of the population.

 

Most South Africans not first-language English speakers

Today, South Africa officially recognises twelve languages, following the recent addition of South African Sign Language. While earlier constitutions explicitly outlined the functions and domains of the official languages, the 1996 Constitution is notably more open-ended. It mandates that the state must take "practical and effective measures" to elevate the status and promote the use of all official languages, and that they must be treated equitably and enjoy equal status. However, these provisions are vague and lack clear implementation guidelines or enforceable obligations. Unlike earlier frameworks that prescribed specific uses and provided mechanisms for accountability, the current constitutional language leaves much to interpretation. As a result, and in the absence of meaningful incentives or enforcement, English has become the de facto sole language of government, undermining the ideal of multilingualism and linguistic fairness envisioned in the Constitution.

The reality that most South Africans are not first-language English speakers means that a significant portion of the population has limited access to essential information, which in turn restricts their ability to fully participate in the country’s economic, educational, and social opportunities. This linguistic barrier perpetuates inequality and undermines the goals of inclusive development. One of the pressing challenges facing the current government is, therefore, strikingly similar to that which confronted the Union government a century ago with respect to Afrikaans: the need to actively develop all of South Africa’s official languages. Only through dedicated investment in their growth and functional application can these languages truly operate as instruments of democracy, equality, and social justice.

The development of human potential and the advancement of science and technology are among the foremost priorities of the current South African government. However, these goals are unattainable without language – spoken or written – as the foundation for communication. More specifically, the absence of well-developed scientific languages renders scientific and technical communication ineffective. This reality places increasing demands on South Africa’s official languages, requiring the creation and maintenance of robust, multilingual terminology across a wide range of disciplines. Ensuring that all languages are equipped to handle specialised knowledge is essential for equitable access to education, innovation, and national development.

Due to the dominance of English, South Africa’s other official languages face significant challenges in developing technical vocabulary and keeping pace with the demands of a rapidly evolving modern world. One notable achievement in Afrikaans is the Woordeboek van die Afrikaanse Taal (WAT), a comprehensive dictionary project that began in 1926 and, despite minimal state support, continues to progress toward its final volume, expected in 2028. This kind of initiative should serve as a model for all of South Africa’s official languages. Scientific and technological knowledge must be made accessible in every language, ensuring they are equipped to function effectively across all levels of society. When a language loses functional domains, its practical value diminishes, its cultural sphere contracts, and its speakers are more likely to shift towards a language perceived as more useful.

News Archive

Media: Sunday Times
2006-05-20

Sunday Times, 4 June 2006

True leadership may mean admitting disunity
 

In this edited extract from the inaugural King Moshoeshoe Memorial Lecture at the University of the Free State, Professor Njabulo S Ndebele explores the leadership challenges facing South Africa

RECENT events have created a sense that we are undergoing a serious crisis of leadership in our new democracy. An increasing number of highly intelligent, sensitive and committed South Africans, across class, racial and cultural spectrums, confess to feeling uncertain and vulnerable as never before since 1994.

When indomitable optimists confess to having a sense of things unhinging, the misery of anxiety spreads. We have the sense that events are spiralling out of control and that no one among the leadership of the country seems to have a definitive handle on things.

There can be nothing more debilitating than a generalised and undefined sense of anxiety in the body politic. It breeds conspiracies and fear.

There is an impression that a very complex society has developed, in the last few years, a rather simple, centralised governance mechanism in the hope that delivery can be better and more quickly driven. The complexity of governance then gets located within a single structure of authority rather than in the devolved structures envisaged in the Constitution, which should interact with one another continuously, and in response to their specific settings, to achieve defined goals. Collapse in a single structure of authority, because there is no robust backup, can be catastrophic.

The autonomy of devolved structures presents itself as an impediment only when visionary cohesion collapses. Where such cohesion is strong, the impediment is only illusory, particularly when it encourages healthy competition, for example, among the provinces, or where a province develops a character that is not necessarily autonomous politically but rather distinctive and a special source of regional pride. Such competition brings vibrancy to the country. It does not necessarily challenge the centre.

Devolved autonomy is vital in the interests of sustainable governance. The failure of various structures to actualise their constitutionally defined roles should not be attributed to the failure of the prescribed governance mechanism. It is too early to say that what we have has not worked. The only viable corrective will be in our ability to be robust in identifying the problems and dealing with them concertedly.

We have never had social cohesion in South Africa — certainly not since the Natives’ Land Act of 1913. What we definitely have had over the decades is a mobilising vision. Could it be that the mobilising vision, mistaken for social cohesion, is cracking under the weight of the reality and extent of social reconstruction, and that the legitimate framework for debating these problems is collapsing? If that is so, are we witnessing a cumulative failure of leadership?

I am making a descriptive rather than an evaluative inquiry. I do not believe that there is any single entity to be blamed. It is simply that we may be a country in search of another line of approach. What will it be?

I would like to suggest two avenues of approach — an inclusive model and a counter-intuitive model of leadership.

In an inclusive approach, leadership is exercised not only by those who have been put in some position of power to steer an organisation or institution. Leadership is what all of us do when we express, sincerely, our deepest feelings and thoughts; when we do our work, whatever it is, with passion and integrity.

Counter-intuitive leadership lies in the ability of leaders to read a problematic situation, assess probable outcomes and then recognise that those outcomes will only compound the problem. Genuine leadership, in this sense, requires going against probability in seeking unexpected outcomes. That’s what happened when we avoided a civil war and ended up with an “unexpected” democracy.

Right now, we may very well hear desperate calls for unity, when the counter-intuitive imperative would be to acknowledge disunity. A declaration of unity where it manifestly does not appear to exist will fail to reassure.

Many within the “broad alliance” might have the view that the mobilising vision of old may have transformed into a strategy of executive steering with a disposition towards an expectation of compliance. No matter how compelling the reasons for that tendency, it may be seen as part of a cumulative process in which popular notions of democratic governance are apparently undermined and devalued; and where public uncertainty in the midst of seeming crisis induces fear which could freeze public thinking at a time when more voices ought to be heard.

Could it be that part of the problem is that we are unable to deal with the notion of opposition? We are horrified that any of us could be seen to have become “the opposition”. The word has been demonised. In reality, it is time we began to anticipate the arrival of a moment when there is no longer a single, overwhelmingly dominant political force as is currently the case. Such is the course of history. The measure of the maturity of the current political environment will be in how it can create conditions that anticipate that moment rather than seek to prevent it. We see here once more the essential creativity of the counter-intuitive imperative.

This is the formidable challenge of a popular post-apartheid political movement. Can it conceptually anticipate a future when it is no longer overwhelmingly in control, in the form in which it is currently, and resist, counter-intuitively, the temptation to prevent such an eventuality? Successfully resisting such an option would enable its current vision and its ultimate legacy to our country to manifest in different articulations, which then contend for social influence. In this way, the vision never really dies; it simply evolves into higher, more complex forms of itself. Consider the metaphor of flying ants replicating the ant community by establishing new ones.

We may certainly experience the meaning of comradeship differently, where we will now have “comrades on the other side”.

Any political movement that imagines itself as a perpetual entity should look at the compelling evidence of history. Few movements have survived those defining moments when they should have been more elastic, and that because they were not, did not live to see the next day.

I believe we may have reached a moment not fundamentally different from the sobering, yet uplifting and vision-making, nation-building realities that led to Kempton Park in the early ’90s. The difference between then and now is that the black majority is not facing white compatriots across the negotiating table. Rather, it is facing itself: perhaps really for the first time since 1994. Could we apply to ourselves the same degree of inventiveness and rigorous negotiation we displayed leading up to the adoption or our Constitution?

This is not a time for repeating old platitudes. It is the time, once more, for vision.

In the total scheme of things, the outcome could be as disastrous as it could be formative and uplifting, setting in place the conditions for a true renaissance that could be sustained for generations to come.

Ndebele is Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cape Town and author of the novel The Cry of Winnie Mandela

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