Last week, I wrote in response to the horrific accident that claimed the lives of innocent learners - children ferried to school in vehicles that are little more than coffins on wheels. The tragedy exposed, in the most painful way, the dangers we all know exist, forcing us to confront the uncomfortable truth about scholar transport in our country.
In the aftermath, a white man took to social media, condemning the accident and directly blaming the corrupt government system. He boldly declared that he did not believe the driver had a valid licence or permit to transport schoolchildren. His words sparked outrage. He was labelled insensitive, racist, and opportunistic. Yet, ironically, the very next day it was confirmed that the driver indeed had no valid permit. The critics fell silent.
The uncomfortable truth is this: the man was right. But in South Africa, we have developed a bad habit of refusing to accept inconvenient truths. Our country is decaying before our eyes, yet we remain silent. We need brave men and women prepared to stand up against all odds, even when they know they will be criticised.
Let us be honest: you will not find white schoolchildren crammed into the back of a bakkie, music blasting, their lives hanging by a thread. This is a reality that plays out in black communities, where poverty, neglect, and corruption intersect to rob children of dignity and safety.
In the days that followed, government officials impounded over 60 scholar transport vehicles. A show of action, yes, but far too late. The damage had already been done.
Then came the burial service. As expected, it became a stage for politicians to flex their muscles. They stood before grieving families and made promises that sounded noble but rang hollow. Among the key points they raised were:
Commitments to stricter enforcement of scholar transport regulations
Pledges to fast-track safer transport alternatives for learners
* Assurances of financial support for the bereaved families
* Calls for unity and prayer, urging communities to stand together in grief
* Vows to investigate corruption in licensing and transport permits
But we have heard these promises before. They are recycled speeches, delivered at every tragedy, only to be forgotten once the cameras leave. And as though we do not learn, we believe them again and again.
Now, a week has passed. The dust is beginning to settle. For the rest of us, this will soon fade into history, like the Enyobeni Tavern tragedy. Life will go on as normal until another tragedy strikes. But for the parents of the dead children, the reality is only beginning to sink in. The buzz and hype are over. The politicians have left. The media has moved on. And they are left alone to endure the emotional pain of losing their children.
My question is: for how long will we, the men of South Africa, turn a blind eye while the rot festers under our noses? Who does not know that to get a driver’s licence, one must pay a bribe? Who does not know that to secure a job, one must grease someone’s palm? We all know it, yet we remain silent. Only when an unlicensed driver kills 14 children do we begin to cry.
For how long will we keep quiet while our children are drowning in drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and bullying? For how long will we pretend not to see when corruption steals their future? Silence is complicity. Silence is betrayal.
If we continue to look away, every coffin disguised as scholar transport will eventually carry the body of a child whose life could have been saved. And when that happens, our tears will not wash away the guilt of our silence.