Notes
for an address to an interfaith community gathering in Mitchells
Plain, Cape Town, an area ravaged by gang violence, on September 18:
Thank
you so much, Programme
Director,
and thank you to each of you, colleagues
and community leaders, for your
leadership, your hospitality, and your willingness to gather here in
solidarity.
Let
me begin by extending the traditional greetings of our faith
traditions: As salaam alaykum; Peace
be upon you all; Shalom aleichem; and Grace
and Peace
in the name of the God of Abraham, the Creator of heaven and earth.
We invoke the blessings of the Most High on this sacred space and on
every heart present here today.
As
Imam Rashied
so beautifully reminded us in the reading from Scripture, “The God
who formed and created each one of us did so for a purpose.” We are
grateful to our Muslim brothers and sisters, to the management and
owners of this mosque, for opening these doors—literally and
figuratively—to people of different faiths, and even to those who
may be wrestling with questions of faith. In this gathering, we stand
not as isolated, divided groups, but as one interwoven tapestry of
humanity, bound by our shared grief, our shared compassion, and our
unyielding hope for justice and peace.
Friends,
today we come together in lament. Our streets have become
battlefields where gunshots ricochet through the night. Our
neighborhoods are shrouded in sorrow as mothers weep for children
they will never hold again, and fathers carry burdens too heavy for
any one person to bear. Only last night, three more young lives were
stolen from us. Their loss compounds a tragedy of violence that is
neither random nor inexplicable. This is the bitter harvest of a
deeper injustice, seeded long ago in discriminatory policies that
relegated communities like Mitchells Plain to the margins.
More
than mere proximity to the city center, spatial apartheid has meant
substandard housing, limited public transport, under-resourced
schools, and a lack of basic services. Generations have grown up
feeling cut off from hope, from economic opportunity, and from the
dignity that every human being deserves. Against this backdrop,
unemployment has soared; inequality has become entrenched; and
criminal syndicates have moved in, flooding our streets with drugs
and weapons, profiting from our despair. Too often, local officials
either turn a blind eye or become enmeshed in corruption. Too many
community leaders remain silent or powerless, allowing structural
violence—the kind that steals life before a bullet is ever fired—to
choke the spirit in every corner of our neighborhoods.
In
our meeting at Bishopscourt last
week—a gathering that brought together clergy, imams, activists,
educators and ordinary citizens—we made commitments to one another.
We declared that we would not be silent. We would not surrender to
helplessness. We would refuse to accept death as our destiny or
violence as our inheritance. We pledged instead to speak truth to
power, to hold officials accountable, and to build alliances across
churches, mosques, synagogues, and civic groups.
Last
night at the University of Mpumalanga, Professor Pumla
Gobodo-Madikizela
reminded us that amid despair, we must proclaim ubuntu—the African
ethic that proclaims, “I am because you are.” She said, and I
paraphrase, “Our shared humanity demands that we see beyond the
cycles of death, toward horizons where we live and flourish
together.” Archbishop Desmond Tutu put it simply: “My humanity is
bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.” When one
child is taken from us, we all suffer loss; when one child is killed,
we are all wounded; when an entire community is abandoned, the fabric
of the nation unravels.
From
the Christian scriptures,
the book of Deuteronomy 30:19 sets before us “life and death,
blessings and curses,” and it commands, “Choose life so that you
and your children may live.” Today I reaffirm that call. We choose
life. We choose justice. We choose hope. We choose to confront the
root causes of violence with unwavering determination.
This
morning’s march from this mosque to the Mitchells Plain Police
Station,
the lighting of candles, the rising incense, the sprinkling of holy
water, and the placing of flowers will be more than solemn rituals.
They will be acts of prophetic resistance. Each candle we light will
be a beacon demanding accountability. Each wisp of incense will carry
our prayer for reconciliation and peace. Every drop of holy water
will be a tangible blessing poured out on the wounds of our land.
Every flower will speak of life rising from death, of beauty emerging
from sorrow.
Peace,
as Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela
reminded us, requires the moral
imagination to envision a different future, the courage to break free
from past cycles of violence, and the solidarity to walk together
toward shared life. We will not grow weary. We will not give up. We
will not lose hope.
But
rituals alone, beautiful as they are, must lead to concrete action.
Lament must yield liberation for those who live in fear, for those
wounded by crime, and for those whose voices go unheard in corridors
of power. Therefore, this morning I issue a series of prophetic
challenges to our society:
1.
To our political leaders: Set aside petty disputes and personal
ambitions. Do not use the poor as pawns in your games. Govern with
integrity and compassion for the common good. Implement policies that
break the cycles of poverty, that rehabilitate rather than
criminalize, and that bring safety and opportunity to every
neighborhood.
2.
To our universities, colleges, and schools: Do not remain as ivory
towers cut off from the realities of our communities. Provide real
opportunities for our young people—scholarships, mentorships,
research partnerships, skills training—and bring academic resources
directly into places like Mitchells Plain.
3.
To the business community: Do not pursue profit only in the safest,
most affluent areas. Invest where jobs are scarce and hope is scarce,
too. Create dignified employment, apprenticeships and training
programs. Be corporate citizens who recognize that your success is
bound up with the welfare of the wider community.
4.
To social and sporting clubs: Our children need you. Open your doors.
Offer coaching, after-school programs, youth leagues, and safe spaces
where young people can learn teamwork, discipline, and self-worth.
Become mentors and role models who help young hearts and minds to
flourish.
5.
To the faith communities represented here—mosques, churches,
synagogues, temples, and beyond: Do not remain insular. Reach out in
genuine partnership to those of other traditions. Pool your resources
to establish community centers for trauma counseling, for literacy
and numeracy classes, for job readiness, and for family support. Let
our gatherings be more than words—let them be the seeds of a
lasting covenant of service and solidarity.
This
is our third meeting as the interfaith committee working in Mitchells
Plain, but let us not allow it to become just another talk shop. Let
it be a bound covenant of action. Let each faith house commit to
launching two or three concrete initiatives within the next three
months—whether that is a youth mentoring scheme in a mosque, an
after-school STEM programme
in a church hall, a job placement network in a synagogue, or a trauma
recovery group shared across congregations.
I
understand that this very mosque already hosts a vocational training
center. Let us learn from that model and replicate it. Let our
churches become sanctuaries for those suffering from post-traumatic
stress. Let our synagogues serve as hubs of financial literacy and
startup coaching. Let every shrine, hall, and place of worship become
a beacon of hope, a crucible of compassion, and a fortress of
healing.
As
we prepare to walk together in silence and song, carrying candles,
incense, holy water, and flowers, let us do so knowing that our
action here today speaks volumes. This vigil is not only mourning—it
is a public declaration of life. Each candle we light whispers, “We
will not give up.” Each trail of incense proclaims, “Justice
shall rise.” Each drop of holy water promises, “Healing is
possible.” Each bloom we lay down insists, “We will not forget
the dead, and we will never abandon the living.”
So
let us walk forward together with eyes moistened by compassion, with
hearts ignited by hope, with spirits united in ubuntu, and with hands
ready to roll up their sleeves and break the cycles of violence
through concrete, sustained action. The God of Abraham calls us. Our
ancestors watch us. The children yet unborn depend on us. Let us
choose life here in Mitchells Plain—so that our children, and our
children’s children, may live in dignity, safety, and peace.
Amen.
Amen. Salaam. Shalom. Thank you.
