Remembering and forgetting at Freedom Park

High above the city of Pretoria, a spiral path spirals gently round the hilltop. Like a labyrinth, the path keeps one focussed and provides space and time for reflection. It feels like a world apart. The city sits low on the horizon and the dull rumble of traffic is a constant reminder of the everyday world. But it’s serene on the hill, and there’s time to think.

There are many stopping points on the Mveledzo, the name given to the path that links the various elements in Freedom Park. The Tiva, a calm shallow expanse of water surrounded by towering stone walls lies at the centre of a smaller spiral, is an intimate space, a place to be alone. Steam rises mysteriously for the centre of the Isivavane, a circle of boulders, one from each of the country’s nine provinces, shrouding it in mist. This is a sacred space, a symbolic burial ground where the spirits of those who died in the struggle for humanity and freedom have been laid to rest and visitors are asked to remove their shoes before entering it. What strikes me here is the evocative, almost primordial power of the elements: stone, water and air, set against a landscape dominated by the huge UNISA building. 

From the Isivavane the path meanders gently uphill towards the Wall of Names, not one wall, as the title suggests, but a series of low walls on which are inscribed the names of thousands of people who died in the seven conflicts that have marred our history: the pre-Colonial Wars, Slavery, genocide, Wars of Resistance, the South African War, the First and Second World War and the Struggle for Liberation. It’s sobering to see the names, to think that each represents a life, a loss to a family, a personal tragedy. I search for the name of a relative, deeply touched to think that while her story might go untold, she is remembered here. I recall how her family and so many others, in their testimonies to the TRC, asked for a memorial, a sign to indicate that a life sacrificed to the greater good was acknowledged. Do other families, I wonder, take comfort from finding familiar names on these walls?

Deep in thought, I wander through the other elements of S’khumbuto: The sanctuary, where visitors are invited to conduct a ceremony or light a candle in remembrance of the victims in our struggles for freedom or simply to celebrate the life of a loved one: the eternal flame which calls on visitors to remember the unknown soldiers - those unsung heroes and heroines who lost their lives without their names being recorded in history. I can imagine that some may take comfort enacting rituals at this site, but I found being confronted with the record of names a far more moving experience.

Walking towards //hapo, the metal reeds tower overhead. Silhouetted against the sky, the tallest measuring 32 metres in height signifies the rebirth of the South African nation as well as a nation embracing the future. //hapo, the interactive exhibition space is still under construction, but a temporary exhibition in the hall of leaders includes not only local heroes like Nelson Mandela and Lillian Ngoyi and Christian de Wet, but also other great Africans like Julius Nyerere. Somehow these giants seem less real that the humble citizens whose names I saw engraved on the wall beyond, but its premature to comment on an unfinished installation and I look forward to visiting Freedom Park again, once the exhibitions have been completed.

I walk back slowly along the path, I think back to the controversy surrounding the inclusion, or exclusion of the names of South African Defence Force soldiers from the wall of names. I remember the impassioned pleas, the fiery debates and the incisive academic papers that weighted up the arguments. I wonder how the final decision to exclude those names was taken. I wonder what has been lost and what has been gained; did this decision advance or hinder the national project of reconciliation? I worry that there are so many wounds that are still raw, so many hurts that have not healed. We may be able to ‘forget’ the SADF troops in memorials like Freedom Park, but we cannot erase the memory of those who died from the hearts and minds of those who loved them. Can we claim to be a nation at peace with itself if we cannot forgive the actions of our fellow citizens, no matter how reprehensible they may have been? 

See the Freedom Park website
See also

on this website.

Jo-Anne Duggan is the Director of the Archival Platform

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