16/06/2026
๐ญ๐ต๐ณ๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐ฝ๐ถ๐ฟ๐ถ๐, ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐ธ๐ถ๐น๐น๐: ๐ช๐ต๐ ๐ฌ๐ผ๐๐ป๐ด ๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐บ๐ถ๐ฐ๐ ๐๐ผ๐น๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ฒ๐ ๐๐ผ ๐ฆ๐ผ๐๐๐ต ๐๐ณ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฐ๐ฎโ๐ ๐ฌ๐ผ๐๐๐ต ๐๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐ถ๐
By Athi Ndita and Lumka Fani
The 16th of June 1976 stands as one of the most momentous events in the history of South Africa. It was a day when thousands of Black South African youths stood in collective conscience to face a repressive regime, sacrificing their lives for the pursuit of freedom and quality education. For those of us who were not yet born at the time, this chapter in our history still invokes painful emotions. It serves as a constant reminder that our access to higher education came through unquantifiable sacrifices.
Yet, as we commemorate Youth Day in 2026, we are forced to ask a devastating question: Are we doing befitting justice to that sacrifice?
The brutal reality is that the promise of education as a gateway out of poverty is fracturing. According to the latest statistics from StatsSA, the youth unemployment rate sits at a staggering 45.6%. Despite a massive increase in university enrolments and state funding, the throughput of Black African students remains ominously low. Even those who attempt to forge their own paths face a wall; more than half of Black-owned small businesses cease operations within three years.
We are left witnessing a troubling rise in casualties, addiction, and mental distress among our youth. Our societies have tragically grown to accept these unusual situations, perpetuating our suffering. We must ask ourselves: Have we been consumed by a path of individualism and classist realms that divides our attention and efforts?
As young academics, researchers, and professional staff within the higher education sector, we stand at the direct intersection of this crisis. Every day, we look into lecture halls filled with bright, ambitious minds who are doing everything rightโyet carrying the quiet, heavy anxiety of a dead-end job market. But we cannot just be passive observers, nor can we allow ourselves to be disorganized.
If we care about the future of our students, we must realize a fundamental truth: our working conditions are their learning conditions.
Right now, growing communities of young academics are being swallowed by an institutionalized "hustle culture". Driven by the mechanics of โpublish or perish,โ young lecturers are facing intense pressure to constantly overwork. Student numbers increase while staff numbers decrease or remain the same. We are expected to deliver on departmental duties, research, moderation, supervision, and engagement all at once, without adequate support.
The result of this constant hustling is severe burnout, the neglect of personal well-being, and a toxic blurring of boundaries where work bleeds into evenings, weekends, and holidays. In this survival mode, the ultimate trap is a psychological one: a young academic becomes so caught up in the grind that they focus only on how to get further ahead without causing trouble, terrified of being labelled a โtroublemakerโ. We retreat into our individual silos, chasing personal promotion as a cure-all for unfavourable conditions, while staying silent on the structural issues plaguing our campuses.
But this silence is a luxury we cannot afford. When academics stay silent, it acts as a benchmark that demoralizes other campus workers and signals to our students that exploitation is acceptable.
Future-proofing the youth of South Africa means arousing our collective consciousness. We cannot equip students to navigate a volatile, AI-driven economy if we ourselves are operating from a place of systemic exhaustion and fear. True solidarityโpractical Ubuntuโmeans changing our workplace culture. Seeing a fellow young colleague being overloaded should never garner a dismissive โwe all went through thatโ response. It must be met with collective action that protects their rights and well-being.
This is why the National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) Youth Desk is calling on young staff to realize their power. Universities rely entirely on the engine of their young academics and support staff; so long as we are here, business continues. It is time to use that collective leverage constructively.
By taking up active roles in organized labour, engaging with institutional policies and understanding our rights we can protect contract workers who fear unionizing and mentor junior staff.
The system that seeks to reduce our youth to a mere market of consumption and cheap labour is still alive and kicking. The youth of 1976 changed the course of our history through mass mobilization and resistance. In 2026, the young staff of our universities must shield that legacy from commercialization and carry the baton forward. By uniting to transform our universities into spaces of health, equity, and fair labour, we build the foundation for the thriving, empowered graduates our country desperately needs.
Zemkโinkomo magwala ndini! Let us unite, equip, and act.
