SA’s ongoing renaming of public institutions and towns is far more than an administrative exercise — it is a profound act of symbolic reparation.
At its core, this process seeks to reconfigure the country’s collective memory and redefine its national identity after centuries of colonialism and apartheid.
By removing names that commemorate oppression, the nation is not erasing history, but rather confronting it and choosing which values to elevate in a democratic era.
This transformation can be understood through the lens of “invented tradition”, where societies construct new symbols and narratives to legitimise a changing social order.
In post-apartheid SA, renaming becomes a way to assert an identity rooted in equality, dignity and social justice.
It signals a deliberate break from a past that excluded the majority, while affirming a future that seeks to include them.
Yet this process is neither simple nor uncontested.
Resistance from some communities and lobby groups reveals the deep complexities of cultural identity and the politics of memory.
For many, place names are not just markers on a map, but repositories of personal and collective history.
This makes renaming an inherently political act — one that exposes the tension between competing narratives about the past and differing visions for the future.
From an anthropological perspective, this struggle reflects a broader contest over who has the authority to define national memory.
It is not merely about names, but about power: whose stories are told, whose heroes are honoured, and whose experiences are validated.
In this sense, renaming is part of a wider project of epistemological decolonisation — challenging dominant Western frameworks and creating space for historically marginalised perspectives.
Organisations such as Azapo have been consistent in advocating for this transformation, viewing it as essential to achieving genuine social justice.
Their position underscores that political freedom without symbolic and cultural redress remains incomplete.
By supporting the removal of colonial and apartheid-era names, they are calling for a deeper reimagining of SA’s identity.
However, an uncomfortable truth must also be confronted: the renaming process itself is not immune to political sectarianism.
In some instances, decisions about which names to remove and which figures to honour appear to be influenced less by broad societal consensus and more by party-political interests or factional loyalties.
This risks turning what should be a unifying national project into a narrow exercise in political branding.
When renaming becomes a tool for advancing partisan agendas, it undermines its own moral legitimacy.
Instead of fostering a shared sense of belonging, it can deepen divisions by privileging certain political traditions over others.
SA’s liberation history is rich and diverse, shaped by multiple movements, ideologies and grassroots struggles.
To reduce this complexity to a single dominant narrative is to replicate, in a different form, the exclusions of the past.
This critique does not invalidate the need for renaming; rather, it calls for greater ethical rigor in how it is conducted.
A credible process must be inclusive, transparent and reflective of the country’s full historical spectrum — not just the perspectives of those currently in power.
Without this, the project of symbolic reparation risks being perceived as selective and, ultimately, unjust.
At the same time, critics argue that renaming risks oversimplifying history, reducing it to a binary of good and bad, and potentially erasing the layered complexity of the past. This concern deserves engagement.
However, retaining names that celebrate colonial conquest or apartheid domination cannot be neutral.
Such symbols continue to shape public space in ways that privilege certain histories while marginalising others.
Nowhere is this tension more visible than in the persistence of colonial-era street names in city centres.
Roads such as Settlers Way remain stark reminders of a past that many South Africans experienced as dispossession and exclusion.
Their continued presence raises difficult questions: can a society truly claim transformation while its everyday landscapes still reflect the values of a previous order?
This is not simply a matter of historical preservation — it is about the meanings we attach to public space.
Urban environments are not passive backdrops; they actively shape how people experience belonging and citizenship.
When street names and monuments fail to reflect the diversity and dignity of the population, they risk entrenching a narrow, Eurocentric worldview.
The challenge, therefore, is not to choose between remembering and transforming, but to find ways of doing both responsibly.
Renaming should be inclusive, participatory, and transparent, allowing diverse communities — including historians, cultural practitioners, and ordinary residents — to contribute meaningfully to the shaping of a shared national narrative.
It should also be accompanied by public education that contextualises both old and new names, ensuring that history is neither forgotten nor uncritically preserved.
Ultimately, the renaming of public institutions and spaces is about more than symbols — it is about redefining the moral and cultural foundations of society.
It is an ongoing negotiation, reflecting the dynamic and often contested nature of identity in a democratic SA.
The question is not whether change should happen, but whether it can be guided with integrity — free from narrow political interests — and in a manner that genuinely fosters inclusion, justice and a sense of belonging for all.
• Chris Swepu is a former secretary-general of Azapo and its current mayoral candidate in the Nelson Mandela Bay Metropolitan Municipality. He resides in Ward 40, Kuyga.
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