By Louis Kruger
In 2024, Wilgenhof was all anyone could talk about. By the end of the year, excited chatter had faded into the sound of drills, hammers, and crisp white paint drying. It’s been a term since the residence re-opened on July 18: now, it’s time to take stock of the aftermath.
In short, a slew of upgrades. New bathrooms, doors, a paint job, a roof redo, and a brand new “Wilgenhof” sign. When asked about the timing and overall impact of the renovations, Thomas Cowen, a third-year resident, says, “Renovations were an excuse to have a break in the culture and seem like [SU] were doing something amidst the backlash. […] There’s no [way] those renovations would have happened at that time – disrupting students’ lives – if it had not been for the news scandal. […] We seemed to lose a bit of our camaraderie and community, which I think is very important not to be misconstrued for a toxic culture that people might perceive. But seeing guys every day of all different […] cultures, and really engaging with them – that’s what Wilgenhof […] does so well.”
So despite their “very harmful” intermission at “The Wack” (the nickname given to Walter Parry Residence), Cowen says, “Everyone feels like we’re moving in a positive direction again after the struggles of last year. I’ve definitely noticed the sense of unity increase without the constant bashing from the Stellenbosch community and the restrictions on our events that we find extremely beneficial to bring us together.”
However, residents aren’t happy with all the changes – Cowen mentions the removal of their high bed frames, a loss keenly felt by residents; the space under the beds was used for couches, desks, TVs, etc. and “opened up the room to create community”. In spite of this, Cowen concludes, “Compared to Wilgenhof pre-news [the notorious News24 article] it feels just the same. It feels like we’ve got back our soul.|” He reaffirms, “[The break has] only strengthened the boys’ unity.”
After a year of little to no news, students might think this strange – wasn’t Wilgenhof going to be shut down, not refurbished?
On 24 October last year, a controversial out-of-court settlement was reached between Stellenbosch University (SU) and the Association for the Advancement of Wilgenhof Residents (AWIR). It overturned the decision to shut down Wilgenhof, opting for a semester-long closure, during which residents stayed in the newly-opened Walter Parry residence. A committee for the “rejuvenation” of Wilgenhof was established, consisting of Prof. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, Dr Wilhelm Verwoerd and Dr Francois Hugo, as well as 15 students from Wilgenhof and the wider community. SU has published a helpful timeline.
Controversy
Then Vice-Chancellor Wim de Villiers called the settlement “not ideal”, but said “we can now forge ahead with the processes to affect meaningful transformation of Wilgenhof along the path of inclusive excellence.” On 31 October 2024, the heads of all Committee for the Institutional Response to the Commission’s Recommendations (CIRCoRe) workstreams resigned in protest of the settlement. They cited the “little regard [shown] for the thoughtfulness, energy and time [of] the CIRCoRe Steering Committee” in their statement of resignation. The committee’s purpose was to investigate and execute the recommendations of the Khampepe Commission of Inquiry into Allegations of Racism at SU.
What is being done to prevent what happened at Wilgenhof? First, we must ask what happened in the first place, a matter still shrouded in mystery, rhetoric and strong emotions.
In a recent speech at the re-opening of Wilgenhof, alumni Justice Edwin Cameron called the original decision to close the residence “not only a catastrophic mistake but also a disgraceful misuse of institutional power,” later asserting, “the attempt sprang from profound immersion in the mindset and ideology of apartheid, and was an attempt to re-enact it.” He described the Nagligte as a “manifestation” of the “two principles that animate the ethos of Wilgenhof […] scepticism of power and authority […] and the constitutional principle of multiplicity; freedom of association, freedom of conscience, religion, thought, belief and opinion…” He went on to name Wilgenhof as “the most singular articulation of diversity among all Stellenbosch’s institutions.” His speech points to the university, rather than Wilgenhof, being at fault.
The university’s former director of student affairs, Dr Choice Makhetha, said in a statement that Justice Cameron’s “celebration of the triumph” may lead students to believe that “whatever happened at Wilgenhof didn’t matter,” describing the speech as “unfortunate”. Prof. Pierre de Vos of UCT, a Wilgenhof alumnus and outspoken critic during the early days of this case, calls the Nagligte “a barbaric and inhumane system of discipline” and the settlement an “attempt at re-writing the recent history, not to challenge power and authority, but to wield it to resist accountability.” In his view, the settlement is a failure of justice.
In line with Justice Cameron’s sentiments, Wilgenhof’s focus seems to be on bridging the relationship between the university and the residence, the souring of which is seen as the defining cause and feature of this case. Victor Weimar, Secretary of Wilgenhof for 2025, says, “we want to work forward with the university in creating a better Stellenbosch.” Of the initiation practices, he adds, “we’ve acknowledged that the symbolism of it was offensive, but the practice itself was never meant to be exclusionary, and it was not.” Claims of “racism or Nazism” he dismisses as “utter nonsense”. He went on to say, “The main wrong we did was keeping it a secret [from the university] the whole time.”
As Integration Officer of Wilgenhof Jacques Theron comments, “I cannot speak for everyone that underwent these activities […] I can’t understand the lived experiences of people who genuinely struggled with these things. I have people in my first year who told me experiences that they had that really negatively affected them.” As Theron shows, it would be a mistake to assume one’s own experience defines an event. Because of this difference in “lived experiences”, what the Nagligte actually was and did has become less important than how they were perceived and the meaning we attach to them. It is this “meaning” which is still under dispute.
Talking about Wilgenhof
Theron is working closely with the three facilitators and chosen students towards a “rejuvenated” residence. He describes a very successful “breakaway weekend” with the newly-appointed committee, followed by intensive talks, in groups of 10, with residents about the values of Wilgenhof and their relation to Stellenbosch’s inclusive vision. He says of the committee, “[The] relationship building from the core team to the House Committee and other leadership structures [has] been genuinely organic to a point where we trust in whatever comes out of this process.”
When asked about concrete measures to safeguard against abuses of power or discrimination, Theron noted that, “It’s weird, because I would have thought more would have been put in place […] Mostly the core team have just been truthfully reporting what’s been going on […] I think that’s what the entire facilitation process is built upon […] trust and truth for you.”
One significant matter still to be resolved is, what to do with the “room of reflection” (previously “Hool 88”)? Because it was largely responsible for inciting the Wilgenhof affair, its fate is of the utmost importance as a symbol of a true reckoning with the past. Theron says, “I was very inspired by [this park in Germany] where there was an old Nazi memorial […] What the hell is it still doing here? […] Right next to it was a modern piece that was done by an artist showcasing the brutalities that this regime brought unto the people of Germany. And that’s obviously a very extreme example, but something like that is what is currently being discussed […] the genuine highlighting of what happened, how it was interpreted, how it impacted people, but also how we move on from that.”
This points to the larger meaning of “rejuvenation”, a term chosen deliberately (and quite tactfully) to describe the ongoing process. In Theron’ words, “It’s a process of direct change, of engaging with the past, trying to build a better future […] Not what the university tried to do and just bulldoze over something and just paint it with a new layer of paint […] it’s rejuvenating in how we look to something.” Theron certainly paints a hopeful picture.
The future (and the past)
Is this a sufficient response? Some may be frustrated by the lack of concrete action. This is somewhat immaterial: anyone must acknowledge that this is an ongoing process, which may, and probably will, take years to show definite signs of progress. Besides, in a case like this, words do amount to action.
A News24 article published on 24 October likened the proposed intervention to “TRC-type hearings”. Certainly, the TRC and the peace talks which preceded it are an inspiring example of the power of discussion in our country’s history. We would do well to learn from them.
Where the Wilgenhof “rejuvenation” most obviously falls short, is in its lack of true community engagement. Much of the TRC’s power derived from its public and spontaneous nature, out of which confession, blame, truth, and forgiveness could unfold. The Wilgenhof “rejuvenation” is insular, probably by design: one wonders how much can be achieved in a cordoned off space. It needs support from the university’s administration, who have so far backed a hasty retreat from the debacle. To this end, Wilgenhof’s project to bridge this relationship is important. More importantly, however, the process must be truly “student-driven”, by involving the student body at large. At the moment, most pupils are not even aware of this process at all.
We must also learn from the many shortcomings of the TRC. Storytelling is imperative, but justice requires more from us. It requires that actors, past and present, take full and equal accountability. It requires that structures and mechanisms of discrimination are identified and challenged. It requires consistent, long-term effort, and that recommendations are pursued.
Pierre de Vos comments in his capacity as a constitutional law academic, “The TRC was criticised for focusing on individual perpetrators and victims, instead of the entire apartheid system, which created the impression that apartheid was about some bad people doing bad things (torture, killing, etc.) to specific victims (the tortured, murdered. etc). The process thus avoided the tricky question of the complicity of all the people who benefited from the system without necessarily being perpetrators in the TRC sense, and thus of their (our) responsibility.” In other words, playing the blame game will achieve nothing: this saga cannot be boiled down to “a few bad actors” within the university (as one Wilgenhof resident put it) responding to bad actors in the residence.
To get an idea of our current “best-case scenario” (de Vos denies that there is one) we might quote here the highly contentious “omitted” passage 517 of the De Jager Report, which was tasked initially with investigating the contents of the two rooms: “The approach of a truly deep, carefully managed and facilitated dialogue on campus appeals to the panel as an alternative to the closure of Wilgenhof. The panel cannot comment on how long that process might take. The process would have to grapple with the difficult issues that maintain the primacy of the dominant culture at Wilgenhof, and those persons would have to be prepared not only to see their own blind spots, but also to acknowledge their privilege and make big sacrifices that engender deep and lasting change. There is also, of course, no guarantee that such a process would be successful.” (It is important to note that this recommendation as an alternative to the closure of Wilgenhof was, whether legitimately or not, removed from the final report.)
The TRC serves as more than a useful analogy. What we are grappling with here, at heart, is the deep-seated legacy of Apartheid and incomplete processes like the TRC. What we are doing is continuing, and hopefully improving upon, the work of “truth and reconciliation”. This project of “rejuvenation” is and must be structured by a long and terrible past, and responses to it post-1994, if it is to be effective. If this is what compromise looks like, let us face it head on, as a community.
Structural violence
There is one unpredictable and unfortunate consequence of this process which must be mentioned: the story of those who chose to stay behind in Walter Parry, for their various reasons. One resident, who chose to remain anonymous, cites “single rooms” as his primary motivator, asserting that “it would be a very easy choice” if Wilgenhof could have offered him similar privacy. In addition to this, Theron is aware that some of Wilgenhof’s NSFAS students chose to stay behind in the self-catering, and therefore more affordable, Walter Parry residence. In effect, this is a parsing of rich and poor – no one’s fault, but tragic nonetheless, revealing the undeniable workings of structural violence upon our highly unequal society.
This contributes to a major challenge Wilgenhof faces, which Theron describes as “allow[ing] a platform for people with […] dissenting views” (presumably, this refers to dissent from the internal norm as opposed to criticism of elements outside of Wilgenhof, which, as this article has shown, is highly encouraged, to mixed effect). He goes on, “People who [found] genuine critiques of the system weren’t really elevated […] into positions of leadership.” This separation of those who stay behind may thus result in the loss of valuable perspectives: “Some of the most important voices we’ve had in Wilgenhof have come from NSFAS students, because they genuinely point out blind spots that we’ve never seen and have never been able to contend with […]. The reason I’m so saddened by this is that we’ve lost those voices. I don’t think it will impact us now. But two years down the line, one or two of those would have been on the [House Committee] […] Yes, yes, that’s what saddens me the most.”
Residence culture
This problem is not exclusive to Wilgenhof, however. Prof. de Vos remarks that, “Wilgenhof is merely an extreme example of the larger problem of koshuis kultuur at Stellenbosch. I do not believe the koshuis system (based on the fostering of a group identity) is good for Stellenbosch as an academic institution. This is not only because it will always alienate and marginalise some (in Wilgenhof the marginalised are branded as sluipers and, at least in my day, were relentlessly shamed and bullied [the word is still in use in male residences, describing someone who does not participate ‘enough’]), but also because demands for group loyalty always have a disciplining effect. It requires self-censorship from anyone who aspires to belong to the group, although the degree of censorship required will, of course, differ from group to group. To belong, one has to conform. And there is always an intellectual price to be paid for this conformity.” While extreme, this view does demand serious reflection on the basis of residence culture.
Theron laments South Africa’s “schooling system… [which] does not equip disadvantaged people to […] contribute meaningfully to university life, academically and socially.” A financially disadvantaged student in a Stellenbosch residence, who has chosen to remain anonymous, expresses, “[Of financially disadvantaged students and POCs generally] most of them are probably first generation students to university […] so there’s more pressure. Like, you’re going there to study, you’re not going there to… you know what I mean?” Not only are there ulterior pressures placed upon financially disadvantaged students, he makes clear, they may also struggle to integrate because of differences in class and culture, a lack of shared experience, or they simply might not be interested in the kinds of activities offered by residences (a lot of “drinking”, he emphasises). Self-censorship and the pressure to conform may exhibit themselves more powerfully, and thus amplify the severity of the “disciplining effect”, in those already distanced from the group. This, along with the highly unequal nature of South African society, particularly Stellenbosch, does much to illuminate the challenge that residences face (and flounder against). This is a fundamental problem that will not succumb to patchwork solutions. Its overwhelming importance is clear when considering that residences are the most affordable option in the publicly funded institution of Stellenbosch.
In February of last year, Richard Buys called this case “an opportunity for a broader process for change”, partly because of “the depth of the questions that the saga raises in relation to the progress of our country away from the past and toward a new society.” It is important that it become a platform for meaningful discussions around the future of initiation and residence culture. On the other hand, to deny that this is a problem with residences in general, and Stellenbosch as a whole, and that it envelops the history of South Africa, is to deny any hope of resolution. In many ways, the fate of Wilgenhof is, and will continue to be, the fate of our country.
A shared humanity
One of the major points stressed in my discussion with Theron, as obvious as it sounds, is that the residents of Wilgenhof are human beings, and should be treated as such. This holds true despite what happened and what one believes is and is not the case. “There was a point in time where I, as a second-year [student], had not had any information relayed to me from any personal authority, at any point from the university. While all of this was going on. I think, in a way, the university completely failed in protecting the people that lived in their residences.” We all know how Wilgenhof was spoken about last year – a resident was different, unsavoury or somehow illicit. This is no way forward. Those who cannot bring themselves to genuine empathy are doomed to repeat that which they condemn.
Justice Cameron has his own impassioned way of expressing this. “The perpetrators hoped to make Wilgenhof the equivalent of statue of Cecil John Rhodes on the UCT campus – a symbol of an oppressive racial past that could be removed, excised from university life.” But, he says, “Wilgenhof was not a statue. It is a living, breathing, humanly populated, humanly remembered institution, with young lives growing inside it.” In this last sentiment, at least, one is obliged to agree with him.
Conclusion
Ultimately, the most interesting aspect of the Wilgenhof case is not Wilgenhof itself. Wilgenhof is a symptom and a symbol whose meaning is yet to be determined. It is a crucible – one of many – in which South Africa must be formed. From whatever angle you approach it, however, it is clear that we still live in a deeply ruptured and distressed nation: Stellenbosch, sheltered as it has been, is only now beginning to really bleed. And bleed it must.
