I was in Rwanda last month, attending a gathering of African higher education leaders, policymakers, academics and students, sharing best practices and discussing strategies to ensure student success and build a stronger continent through learning and innovation.
Over coffee, a delegate from West Africa turned to me and said: “Jerome, we had so much hope when you attained your freedom. But now, 30 years on, we cannot help but ask: What happened to the South African dream?”
The question was put with an admiration for what South Africa once was: a continental and global moral leader, a possible blueprint for how to transition from a nation at war with itself to one seeking togetherness and prosperity on a common path.
I did not have an easy answer. Because 30 years into our democracy, as we look towards the 50th anniversary of the 1976 Soweto uprising, that question feels both timely and haunting. It demands that we look inward and reckon with how far we may have drifted from the bold aspirations that once defined our post-apartheid imagination.
With the 1995 Rugby World Cup victory, followed by the African Cup of Nations victory in soccer, we were on top of the world and grounded in one of the world’s most admired constitutions — a document promising dignity, equality, freedom and justice. We had Madiba. We had Tutu. We dared to believe in a nation united in its diversity, resolute in its pursuit of redress, healing and growth.
Now that dream feels uncertain, elusive — even betrayed. Yes, we gained democracy, but we have yet to achieve the substance of it and with that the better life promised for all.
South Africa in 2025 remains a country of vast potential but growing disillusionment. Corruption has hollowed out our public institutions. There is a general mistrust of public sector leaders. Initiatives such as the Zondo commission have named alleged corruption perpetrators, but there isn’t a sense of any action being taken against them. Deep questions remain about our commitment to ethical leadership and integrity.
At over 50%, youth unemployment stands at crisis levels. Graduate unemployment has grown from 11% in 2024 to a staggering 23% in the first quarter of this year. Our public universities — once imagined as engines of empowerment — are flashpoints of protest and disillusionment.
If we are to reclaim the South African dream, we must come together in structured, resourced and transparent dialogue
The social contract, though not broken, is fraying at its edges. Yet in this moment of tension, a glimmer of opportunity appears.
From my vantage point as a dean of student affairs at Wits, I encounter students every day who embody both extraordinary resilience and deep frustration. Extremely talented and holding much promise, they carry the burden of expectation: to uplift families, challenge inequality and succeed in a system that still reflects the spatial, economic and psychological legacies of apartheid. Many are doing just that. I see their brilliance, their passion, their frustration. I see students who want to lead and contribute but feel shut out of the national conversation. I see how quickly their calls for inclusion are dismissed as disruption. Far too many feel invisible in the many conversations that seek to shape their lives and futures.
The question in Kigali struck me because it exposed a truth many of us feel but do not say plainly enough: South Africa needs a reset. And that reset must be underpinned by a national dialogue that is both radical in its inclusivity and honest in its ambition.
We have had national dialogues before — during Codesa, in various commissions, in piecemeal consultations. But this time must be different. We cannot afford a dialogue that excludes the generation born into democracy but disillusioned by it. This national dialogue must also move beyond youth political formations and the voices of youths with party political ambitions. For this dialogue to succeed, it must do more than invite young voices — it must centre them. Young people are not a box to tick. They are not the leaders of tomorrow — they are thinkers, activists, entrepreneurs, carers and citizens today. To reset the South African dream, they must be active partners in redefining it.
This moment is not just about truth-telling, it is about power-sharing. And that starts with centring the voices of our youth — particularly those in higher education who sit at the intersection between intellect, activism and potential.
It is also a moment to reframe how we speak about students and the youth. Not as threats or problems to be managed, but as partners in shaping a future that works. At our universities, we see students organising food drives, building mental health support systems, pushing for curriculum transformation and contributing to global research. Their insights are not ancillary — they are essential.
If we are to reclaim the South African dream, we must come together in structured, resourced and transparent dialogue.
This means engaging students as co-creators of policy, not just recipients of it. It means interrogating why, 30 years later, the distance between constitutional promise and lived reality remains so vast — and doing the work to bridge it.
The question posed to me in Rwanda will stay with me: What happened to the South African dream? I believe it is not lost — but it is adrift. The dream is deferred.
• September is dean of student affairs at University of the Witwatersrand, and writes in his personal capacity.
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