The Old Guard and the Youth: A Reincarnation of Oppression

Oppression is not a relic of the past. It does not vanish with the passage of time, nor does it dissolve under the weight of historical lessons. Instead, it mutates, reshaping itself to fit new realities while preserving the fundamental dynamics of control. The treatment of young people today mirrors the way black people were—and, in many ways, still are—treated by racist whites. This is not merely a rhetorical flourish; it is a structural truth. Both systems rest on the same logic: that power must be concentrated in the hands of an elite, that exclusion must be justified through narratives of unreadiness, and that rebellion must be crushed under the weight of enforced dependency.

Racism and youth exclusion operate through the same mechanisms of exclusion, belittlement, and enforced dependency. They are systems of power designed to deny the majority access to the levers of control while convincing them that their subjugation is justified. Yesterday, black South Africans were told they were not ready to govern themselves. Today, young South Africans are told they are not ready to lead, to own, to decide the course of their own future. Readiness, it turns out, is not a state of capability but a state of permission, granted by those who benefit from our exclusion. The structure of oppression is predictable. Whether it is white rule over black people or the old guard’s dominance over the youth, it follows a script written by fear.

To understand why ageism and racism operate in parallel, we must examine the anatomy of subjugation. Every system of oppression is built upon three foundational pillars. The first is the construction of inferiority. Racist whites once argued that black people were incapable of self-governance, that they were inherently lesser, destined to be led rather than to lead. Today, the elders of business, politics, and industry insist that young people are too reckless, too inexperienced, too entitled to assume positions of real power. This is not an assessment of ability—it is a strategy of exclusion. The second pillar is the institutionalization of dependence. Apartheid did not merely oppress black people; it ensured their economic and social dependency on the system that oppressed them. Similarly, young people today are deliberately kept in precarious economic conditions—denied access to capital, forced into unpaid internships, and locked out of executive roles—so that they remain at the mercy of the old order. The third pillar is the delegitimisation of rebellion. When black people resisted their oppression, they were not seen as visionaries but as agitators, criminals, terrorists. Today, when young people refuse to accept structural exclusion, they are labelled as naive, disruptive, disrespectful. The system relies on this delegitimisation because it knows that the moment resistance is seen as rational, the foundation of its authority begins to crumble. These patterns are not coincidental; they are essential to maintaining the status quo, because oppressors do not fear inferiority—they fear potential. They know that the moment their victims recognise the arbitrary nature of their subjugation, the entire edifice of power will collapse.

There was a time when it was common to hear white South Africans say, “One day, black people will be ready to govern, but not yet.” We hear echoes of that same patronizing rhetoric today: “One day, young people will be ready to lead, but not yet.” But when does this mystical readiness arrive? Who decides? And what qualifies them to judge? History exposes the hypocrisy of this argument. Were Hector Pieterson and the students of 1976 ready when they shook the foundations of white supremacy? Was Steve Biko ready when he articulated a philosophy that still terrifies the powerful? Was Thomas Sankara ready when he revolutionized Burkina Faso before the age of 40? Readiness is not measured by age. Rather, it is measured by courage. The truth is that those who hoard power never believe the oppressed are ready—because their survival depends on ensuring they never become so.

Apartheid may have fallen, but economic division thrives. The wealth of this country remains locked in the hands of a small elite, many of whom are the very same people who once fought against white rule but now resist generational change.

The statistics tell the story. Youth unemployment hovers at crisis levels, yet the economy remains controlled by ageing oligarchs who refuse to invest in the next generation. The cost of capital is artificially high, locking out young entrepreneurs while established corporations monopolize industries. Boardrooms, executive teams, and high offices remain dominated by older generations, not because young people are unqualified, but because the pipeline of opportunity has been deliberately blocked. It is no different from how apartheid-era corporations kept black South Africans in low-wage jobs while a handful of white industrialists built generational wealth. Today, a handful of ageing executives and political elites hoard opportunities while the youth are kept in economic limbo. This is why young people are expected to be patient. Not because their time will come, but because their exclusion is necessary for the system to function.

The ancient Greeks, despite their own contradictions, understood that power is cyclical. For example, Plato, in The Republic, describes a society in which each generation, having been raised under the rule of the previous one, eventually challenges its authority. Similarly, Aristotle, in his writings on politics, observed that power is never voluntarily ceded—it must be taken. This is the natural order of history. Every empire believes itself eternal until it falls. Every ruling class assumes its dominance is justified until it is overthrown.

The old guard today believes itself wise, but wisdom is not a function of age—it is a function of perspective. True wisdom is recognizing that no generation owns the future. The present belongs to those who shape it, and the future belongs to those who seize it. And yet, power resists its own transference. Those who hold it convince themselves that they are the exception to history, that their rule is different, their authority justified. They forget, as all rulers forget, that there is no permanence in power—only the illusion of it.

In African philosophy, the concept of Ubuntu teaches that community is the foundation of identity and progress. Leadership, in this paradigm, is not about hoarding power but about ensuring its continuous renewal. Yet, today’s elders have abandoned this principle. They have become the very thing they once fought against: a generation that refuses to make space for the next. They have not upheld the duty of transition; they have obstructed it. This is not the African way. It is an imitation of the worst tendencies of colonial rule—the monopolization of power, the suppression of new voices, the illusion of permanence. But no system can stand against the force of its own contradictions. Just as colonialism collapsed under the weight of its own hypocrisy, so too will this generational blockade crumble.

The Inevitable Reckoning: What Comes Next?

In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche writes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star.” There is a profound truth in this: all transformation begins in disruption. If the young are restless, it is because they are being asked to wait for a future that is already theirs. If they are impatient, it is because history shows that patience has never delivered justice—only the illusion of it.

The old guard can make a choice. They can either recognize that the river of history flows forward and choose to be stewards of transition, or they can resist, clinging to their power until it is ripped from them. But make no mistake—the transition will happen. The only question is whether it will be peaceful or forced.

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Matoti Buthelezi is the Group Chief Executive and Chairman of the National Executive Economic Collective.