MARIKANA, August (ANA) - It was 22 years into democracy and while the glow of the Rainbow Nation had long since begun to fade, 16 August 2012 was the day the New South Africa lost its innocence.
As South Africans gathered around television sets to watch the drama unfold on a small rocky outcrop, called a koppie, in Nkaneng, a township outside Marikana in the North West province, it was with a sense of utter disbelief.
A nation which had been birthed via a people's resistance, violent oppression, boycotts, the armed struggle, state-sanctioned death squads and torture, believed its darkest days lay behind it.
In a few short hours, a nation's dreams lay trampled in the blood-soaked ground.
The cries of the dead and dying reverberated around the world and Marikana became the name instantly, and forever, associated with police brutality in post-apartheid South Africa.
The pariah apartheid state had the Sharpeville massacre, the Soweto uprisings, and the Bisho and Boipatong massacres, among numerous other atrocities. Now, the New South Africa had Marikana.
The initial reports of that fateful day in Marikana, just north of Rustenburg, were that live fire had been exchanged between striking mineworkers and heavily-armed police.
Former South African Press Association (Sapa) reporter Molaole Montsho, now with the African News Agency (ANA), was on the scene and provided a dictate to his newsdesk.
When his editor called to check that it was indeed live gunfire, the response came: "Yes, I am sure. I am counting 18 bodies."
When the last of the gunshots had rung out and the dust had settled, 34 mineworkers had been gunned down. Many had reportedly been shot in the back. A further 78 had been wounded and several hundred more arrested.
The recriminations began immediately and still run to this day. Marikana remains a festering wound on the soul of a young nation built on hope and sacrifice.
But Marikana is not a simplistic case of police brutality.
At its centre was the heartfelt plea by miners who risked their lives daily by descending into the bowels of the earth - more than a kilometre beneath the earth's surface - in pursuit of precious platinum, for a meaningful wage. Most were earning in the region of R4,000 per month for one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. The mineworkers at Lonmin, backed by the emerging and more militant Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (AMCU), were demanding R12,500.
As the full story behind 16 August 2012 slowly unfolded, a picture emerged of rising tensions between rival unions Amcu and the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), and a London-based mining house building wealth on the back of cheap black labour, versus a deep swelling anger on the part of exploited miners.
The days leading up to August 16 were telling and bloody in their own way.
A total of ten people were murdered. Among the victims were two Lonmin security officers, two policemen, and six mineworkers, this as inter-union rivalry spilt over into open warfare on the streets of a little town in South Africa's platinum-belt.
The situation was volatile and the acts brutal. Several of the victims - including the two police officers - had been hacked to death and some had their bodies further mutilated.
Cyril Ramaphosa, the current head of State and a former union leader, but at the time on the board of Lonmin, had written to his fellow directors: "The terrible events that have unfolded cannot be described as a labour dispute. They are plainly dastardly criminal and must be characterised as such... There needs to be concomitant action to address this situation."
The miners had gathered in their thousands on the koppie which was to become their last stand. Police, seared by the barbarous slaying of their colleagues, had been summoning reinforcements, both human and weaponry.
Emotions on all sides were raw. The table had been laid for what was to come.
Six years later and South Africa is little closer to the truth of exactly what unfolded. There have been various reports of evidence of miners firing live rounds and charging at police ranks, while elsewhere this is disputed.
The Farlam Commission of Inquiry, set up to investigate the events in Marikana, exonerated Ramaphosa and other senior political figures of having played a role in the massacre but pointed a finger at senior police officials. The commission further found that Lonmin had not done enough to engage workers in ending the strike, while NUM and Amcu had not exercised full control over its members.
Six years on and political violence still stalks Marikana, with a slew of cases before various courts, including several dating back to the traumatic events of 2012, with eight police officers, including a deputy provincial commissioner, as well as 17 mineworkers facing charges which include murder, attempted murder, defeating the ends of justice, and malicious damage to property.
As South Africa commemorates the sixth anniversary of the Marikana massacre, the harrowing episode remains a source of division and tension.
The government has reportedly made a settlement offer of R100 million but that has been rejected, with reports indicating that claimants are demanding upwards of R1 billion. There have also been calls in some quarters for South Africa's Workers' Day to be moved from May 1 to August 16, although this does not have universal acceptance.
What remains clear, through all the unanswered pain, is that Marikana will remain a dark stain on the fabric of a once-innocent nation.
- African News Agency (ANA)
