by Ikageng Kupa
31st may 2026
Introduction
Historically, and particularly during the era of colonialism, the authoritarian and dominating facets of language manifested externally, as the medium assumed the role of a vehicle to implement its underlying logics. In South Africa, this becomes especially apparent, serving as an example of how these linguistic logics extended beyond mere communication to become intertwined with the mechanisms of the state, power, civilization and racism.
Language and distinction
The essence of language lies in its inherent demand for distinction, serving as a means for individuals to navigate the intricacies of the world by recognizing and categorizing various entities. The fundamental principle underlying linguistic expression involves the ability to differentiate, to discern the unique qualities of an object or idea by understanding what the object is according to what it is not.
In “Language: Origin and Meaning,” John Zerzan (1984) posits that language functions as a key instrument through which human beings construct artificial divisions, which particularly manifest in the perceived separation between humanity and the natural environment:
“Like ideology, language creates false separations and objectifications through its symbolizing power.”
Language proceeds to separate the human from the world – no longer part of an ecosystem, but now attempting to distinguish itself not only as a separate being but also as a being able to distinguish and name through symbols. Within the process of naming, the other is defined; something other than yourself. This ability to separate also gave rise to the ability to objectify, and it is in objectification, that is the ability to distinguish and observe something as a “thing,” a tool, that the logics of civilization eventually festered.
The capacity to delineate is not only exemplified through the relations between human and nature, or human and the body, but also permeates the dynamics of colonialism. Within the colonial context, the act of distinguishing is particularly significant in understanding the interplay between colonial languages and indigenous ones. The colonized subject’s proficiency in recognizing and utilizing specific linguistic expressions goes beyond a simple matter of communication; it signifies alignment with the power structures inherent in the colonial project.
Frantz Fanon wrote of the dislocation and separation experienced by a colonial subject upon their return from the metropole, where they have imbibed and adopted the language of the colonizer in Black Skin White Masks (1952):
“And the fact that the newly returned Negro adopts a language different from that of the group into which he was born in is evidence of a dislocation, a separation.”
Fanon sheds light on the distinction that emerges between the English speaker and the African language speaker, encompassing languages such as Sepedi, Xhosa, Zulu, etc. in the context of South Africa.
The significance of this distinction becomes evident as it transcends mere linguistic proficiency; it extends to the very essence of identity and existence. The coexistence of these linguistic personas within the same individual introduces a duality, emphasizing that while both the English speaker and the African language speaker may inhabit the same physical body, they exist as two fundamentally different people when granted the opportunity for expression.
Power within colonial societies can be encapsulated in the linguistic realm, as the dominant languages are those spoken by the conquerors. These languages, notably English in many colonial contexts, serve as the conduits through which the processes of “civilization” are dictated, imposed, written, and communicated. The imbued power within these languages is inseparable from the historical violence enacted during the colonial enterprise. The very act of colonization involved the imposition of the conquerors’ language, solidifying its association with dominance, authority, and control. This linguistic power dynamic is not a mere abstraction; it has tangible consequences in shaping the trajectory of societal development. Because power manifests itself in the colonial languages, learning an indigenous language becomes unecessary.
The fracture between the English speaker and the Xhosa speaker within the colonial context encapsulates the disjunction rooted in this power dynamic. Within the shared vessel of one body, these linguistic personas exist as two fundamentally disparate entities, because of the lack of necessity for the latter. The English speaker, aligned with the language of the colonizer, is cognizant of their power precisely because the Xhosa speaker lacks the linguistic authority held by their English counterpart. The unequal power dynamic is further emphasized by the recognition that the English persona is born as a consequence of the material violence that ensues when it is absent. The very existence of the English speaker becomes imperative, not only for the individual but as a necessity for the growth and evolution of the African subject. The English persona, when manifested within the African, comes to be understood as a pathway to progress, prosperity, and societal development.
Fanon wrote of the concept of talking down in Black Skin White Masks:
“Examining this seventy-three-year old farm woman, whose mind was never strong and who is now far gone in dementia, I am suddenly aware of the collapse of the antennae with which I touch and through which I touched. The fact that I adopt a language suitable to dementia, to feeble-mindedness; the fact that I ‘talk down’ to his poor woman of 73; the fact that I condescend to her in my quest for a diagnosis, are the stigmata of a dereliction in my relations with other people.”
The notion of talking down is rooted in the absence of material violence associated with the act of speaking an African language. In the South African context, this is exemplified by the choices made by White South Africans who may opt to speak an African language, but it remains a choice for them. The unequal power dynamics embedded in the hierarchy between dominant languages such as English (and to some extent Afrikaans) and African languages contribute to speaking down.
Despite any benevolent intentions, when a speaker of the dominant language opts to communicate in an African language, the speaker inadvertently speaks down because they are now using what is perceived as the “lesser” language. It is as Fanon wrote:
“To speak pidgin to a Negro makes him angry, because he himself is a pidgin-nigger-talker. But, I will be told, there is no wish, no intention to anger him. I grant this; but it is just this absence of wish, this lack of interest, this indifference, this automatic manner of classifying him, imprisoning him, primitivizing him, decivilizing him, that makes him angry.”
The notion of parity surfaces as an issue within the linguistic dynamics of colonial and indigenous languages. A few questions arise for me: what does parity between these languages entail? Does it imply that African languages should strive to “catch up” with colonial languages, essentially adhering to the terms set by the framework of civilization and replicating the relationship that colonial languages have with the environment?
It is important to keep in mind that White supremacy should not be only thought of as a modality of inferiority and superiority – it is crucial to recognize it as a process intricately intertwined with the concept of civilization over the past 400 years.
Consequently, any growth or development within the civilizational context means an aspiration to whiteness. Seeking parity or equality between African languages and colonial languages, in this context, implies a continuation of the aspiration for the African to “evolve into a higher being,” which, in the colonial context, is understood as synonymous with aspiring towards whiteness.
A possible solution could be the redistribution of power within the linguistic landscape. This re-distribution, in essence, does not imply a catch-up game with Colonial languages, as previously discussed. Instead, the reference is to a recalibration involving the redistribution of material violence. In practical terms, this would mean that the absence of proficiency in an African language should carry an equivalent weight of harm as does lack of proficiency in English.
The implications of a redistributive approach to linguistic power give rise to a myriad of intriguing questions, the foremost being the collective response of White South Africans to the notion that their survival might hinge on acquiring proficiency in an African language. What would the reaction be to realization that they have to embrace an aspect of blackness ontologically for their own survival? Additionally, the inquiry extends to the domain where this material violence might manifest. Does it concentrate in areas where power is already concentrated, such as the economic and industrial sectors? If that is the case, then we face the problem of parity once more.
Language and imposition
Jacques Lacan’s perspective offers a valuable entry point into the understanding of how language interacts with the real. For Lacan, the “real” is one of the three registers of human experience, alongside the “imaginary” and the “symbolic.” The real is that which cannot be fully captured or represented by language or symbolic systems. It is a realm of non-meaning, outside of linguistic structures. He argued that the real is something traumatic and inaccessible, and it resists complete representation. It’s not something directly experienced but rather a disruptive force that underlies and disrupts the symbolic order. The real, in Lacanian terms, is what escapes signification and remains elusive. It’s a kind of excess or surplus that cannot be fully integrated into language or symbolic systems.
What a Lacanian reading of the real makes us realize is that language can only shape what cannot escape it, and this understanding also informs us that there is a world within language and a world beyond language.
Think of the example of a rock. A rock, as a physical object, is identified and recognized as such because it possesses a signifier. This signifier may take the form of the word “rock” or any other linguistic or symbolic representation that conveys the concept of a rock. The presence of this signifier is what enables us to label, categorize, and understand the rock as a distinct entity.
What would a rock be if it lacked a signifier, a word or symbol that represents it in language? The rock still exists in the physical sense. It is an object that can be held in one’s hand, felt, and experienced through the senses. Its material presence is undeniable, and it is, in that sense, real.
However, the absence of a signifier poses a unique challenge when it comes to our ability to recognize and acknowledge the existence of the rock within the framework of language. Without a linguistic or symbolic representation (a signifier), the rock exists outside the domain of linguistic recognition and categorization. Something cannot exist unless a language allows it to, a language can only recognise something if it subordinates it to its (the language’s) definition.
In 1949, the South African government established the Eiselen Commission, chaired by Dr. W.W.M. Eiselen, to assess the state of education for non-white populations in the country. The commission’s findings and recommendations formed the foundation upon which the Bantu Education Act of 1953 was built. One of the key recommendations made by the commission was state control over education. The government was urged to assume direct control over non-white education, diminishing the influence of missionary schools.
The language in which Africans were taught was their home language – this becomes quite concerning when it is realized that the dissemination of the knowledge to be taught in their home language was in the hands of people who barely recognize Africans beyond their abilities to produce labour.
Not only did these colonial states have the power to shape discourse in their own languages, they could also do that with indigenous languages through conquest, by both relegating the languages to second class status and by shaping these languages themselves, defining how signification takes place.
Take the reform of the Bantu Education Act in 1979 as a reaction to the Soweto uprising in 1976. This is a quote taken from the paper “Understanding Apartheid in South Africa through the Racial Contract” by Mavis B. Mhlauli, End Salani and Rosinah Mokotedi (2015):
“In addition mother tongue instructions would only be required up to standard 2 (grade 4). However, the problem with exposing black pupils to English instruction when they reach higher levels of schooling was that their English abilities were not well developed. Thus, they struggled to grasp complex mathematical and technical terms that could only be explained in English because such terminology does not exist in African vernacular.”
African students would struggle learning complex mathematical terms because these signifiers were non-existent in their home languages. Since the formal knowledge training was centralized around the state through the Act, the Apartheid government was able to limit the reification of certain scientific concepts in African languages. While African languages were used as mediums of instruction, the curriculum was deliberately designed to be limited in scope, emphasizing vocational training and excluding advanced scientific subjects.
State monopolisation of the power to determine the medium of instruction and communication meant that the Apartheid government used language as a means of control – it helped them determine how much an African can and cannot learn. Thinking of imposition, the state could not recognise African languages as languages of learning independent of the state and its intentions.
There are very clear similarities between how imposition functions in language and how the state relates to its subjects. By having the power to define citizenship, the right to be a part of a nation, the state has the power to define who exists within its boundaries. A subject cannot be recognised as “South African,” or recognised as someone simply existing, unless the state does, this becomes fully apparent when we look at the undocumented migrant. The migrant may have existed within South Africa for decades, but cannot be considered South African because the state does not recognise them. This was the core of the Apartheid government – what many consider as the aberrant functioning of its “form” of state rule is the very nature of a nation state, thus, Apartheid has not ended, unless the State itself is abolished. Unless this happens, the logics and nature of Apartheid will forever remain the core of South Africa.
Language and order
Language serves as a fundamental tool for enhancing comprehension of order, as it inherently embodies coherence. The essence of order within language becomes evident when words are seamlessly woven together to construct meaningful sentences. Coherence, in this context, refers to the logical and syntactical arrangement of words that gives rise to a comprehensible expression. When one engages in forming sentences, the act of speaking becomes apparent through the coherence of the constructed sentences. It is through this linguistic cohesion that the structure and organization inherent in language contribute to the perception and recognition of order.
In the realm of language, the operation of order hinges on the intentional construction of sentences that exhibit coherence. The very fabric of coherence, however, relies on a shared understanding among speakers within a linguistic community. For a language to function cohesively, there must be a collective consensus among its speakers regarding the principles that govern what constitutes coherent expression. This shared agreement on linguistic coherence aligns with the concept of Gramsci’s coerced consent. Gramsci proposed the idea that societal structures, including language, are maintained through a form of consensus that is not entirely voluntary but rather coerced or imposed. In the context of South Africans and order, coerced consent informs us that the accepted norms of coherence, the actions we must take in order to survive, are not merely the result of a unanimous and voluntary agreement but are shaped by power dynamics, social structures, and historical influences.
The intentional organization of societal order within South Africa is intricately woven into the very fabric of its population. The design of South Africans, akin to other nations with defined nation-states and economic structures, follows a pattern where individuals are systematically molded into roles of rulers or the ruled, supervisors or workers. This design is not arbitrary but is profoundly influenced by the educational system. Education serves as the primary mechanism through which individuals are shaped, fostering the development of skills, perspectives, and aspirations that align with societal expectations and structures. The educational process plays a pivotal role in determining who ascends to positions of authority and who assumes roles as the workforce.
The dichotomy between vocational and higher education manifests in a shared characteristic: both systems are geared towards equipping individuals for roles within established organizational frameworks rather than instigating a disposition to challenge or reform them. The awareness of one’s position within the societal order becomes ingrained in both classes of individuals emerging from these educational paths. In the South African context, language emerges as a powerful tool for maintaining and reinforcing this established order, operating as a policing mechanism along racial lines. The racial line is evident through the juxtaposition of African languages and Colonial languages. This linguistic divide not only mirrors historical power imbalances but also actively contributes to perpetuating them. The subtle nuances and connotations embedded in language play a pivotal role in shaping perceptions, reinforcing social hierarchies, and, in the context of South Africa, sustaining a system where individuals are cognizant of their positions within the broader societal order.
The manifestation of linguistic dynamics in South Africa is notably evident in the continued dominance of English and Afrikaans within academic spheres. The significance of these languages extends beyond mere communication; it serves as a gatekeeper for academic progression. While students have the option to complete their matriculation in their home language, a pivotal shift occurs as they contemplate advancing in academia. For those who did their matric in an African language, the necessity to transition to English, for instance, emerges as a substantial requirement for further educational pursuits. This linguistic transition becomes a crucial juncture, highlighting the inherent disparities and challenges faced by those whose home languages differ from the academic lingua franca. The emphasis on proficiency in English, as a prerequisite for educational advancement, accentuates the pervasive influence of certain languages in shaping the trajectory of individuals within the academic landscape. Again, the Colonial language serves as the means to “develop” the African into achieving a higher state of knowledge, and to integrate them into civilization.
It is essential to clarify that I don’t imply an across-the-board advantage for speakers of Colonial languages in South Africa. Rather, the focus is on elucidating the intricate dynamics that unfold among the languages themselves and their relationship to power structures in the country.
Conclusion
The dynamic between African languages and power are persistently tied to assimilation. Where, in order for African languages to have power, they either have to aspire to be like Colonial languages or replicate their relationships to people and nature. In aspiring toward genuine African linguistic autonomy, it becomes imperative to confront the underlying structures of power that manifest themselves across various facets of civilization. This is not merely a call for linguistic empowerment but an acknowledgment that the true autonomy of African languages necessitates a broader dismantling of power in all its manifestations.
References
Fanon, F. (1952). Black Skin White Masks. New York: Grove Press.
Mhlauli, M. B., Salani, E., and Mokotedi, R. (2015). “Understanding apartheid in South Africa through the racial contract.” International Journal of Asian Social Science, 5(4), 203-219.
Zerzan, J. (1984). “Language: Origin and Meaning.” Fifth Estate, 315, Winter.