Choosing Life: A Call to Justice and Unity in the Face of Violence - Archbishop Thabo Makgoba

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.