I recently journeyed with Comrade Cascar — that fierce son of Thokoza, who fought on the frontlines against Inkatha’s brutal attacks in defence of Ekurhuleni’s people — to the Heroes Acre in Diepkloof, Soweto. There, nestled between the bustle of township life, lies the memorial site dedicated to the Silverton Trio and the fallen heroes of COSAS.

We went to remember.
We found reason to weep.

Where once the earth spoke the names of courage, it reeks of neglect today. Taxis have begun forming an informal rank atop this sacred site, heedless of a designated taxi facility just a few metres away. The clear-view fence meant to shield the memorial lies shattered — likely due to a vehicle accident. Open to the elements and indignities; the site has begun to decay, subjected to litter, noise, and, soon inevitably, the foul stench of urine.

And so the question pierces the heart:
Is this how we honour those who gave their lives for our freedom?

At the memorial’s centre stands a remarkable steel sculpture crafted by Professor Pitika Ntuli, a luminary of African philosophy and artistry. His creation captures the spirit of resistance—a dustbin lid, an AK-47, and a war feather—symbols that once armed the imaginations and bodies of young warriors determined to shatter apartheid’s chains.

The Silverton Trio — Wilfred Madela, Humphrey Makhubo, and Stephen Mafoko — were Umkhonto weSizwe operatives who, in 1980, stormed a bank in Silverton, Pretoria, not for personal gain but to demand the release of political prisoners. They did so, knowing it would likely cost them their lives. Their final sacrifice electrified the anti-apartheid struggle, reminding a nation that true freedom demands blood, sweat, and uncompromising bravery.

Likewise, the COSAS fallen heroes — young lions armed only with textbooks, stones, and unbreakable spirits, filled the streets with defiance — and paid with their lives so that today’s children might learn under free skies.

Their names are carved in steel and stone.
But steel rusts. Stone cracks.
And memory — if not fiercely defended — fades.

If we cannot fix the basics — if we cannot ask local taxi operators to use a taxi rank less than 20 metres away, if we cannot mend a broken fence around our martyrs’ resting ground, if we cannot summon a Letsema of respect and remembrance — then we must not be surprised when the families of these heroes turn their backs on us.

Already, we have witnessed it.

The family of Solomon Mahlangu, after years of broken promises and neglected gravesites, withdrew its participation from ANC commemorations. Their silence spoke louder than our speeches.

Shall we force the Silverton families to do the same? Shall the bloodlines of COSAS look upon the ANC and see not comrades but betrayers?

We must act urgently and humbly.

The Diepkloof Zone leadership must convene a meeting with the taxi associations to plead — not just for logistics — but for history. To ask, as fellow beneficiaries of liberation, for simple decency: to relocate their rank to its proper place and restore sanctity to the memorial.

We must repair the fencing.
We must install signage and public facilities to protect the site.
We must reclaim the dignity of this memorial, not through platitudes, but through visible, irreversible action.

Let us not be the generation that built statues only to piss on them.

Let us be the generation that restored not just roads and buildings but memory and meaning.

To dishonour our martyrs is to forfeit the moral authority of our struggle.
To honour them — truly, tangibly — is to keep the flame of liberation burning in the hearts of our children.

Their blood waters our freedom.
Let our actions water their legacy.

Stan Itshegetseng is an Activist, Writer and Member of the ANC’s Vuyani Mabaxa Branch in Gauteng.