For local audiences, the play was more than a primer in decolonial rhetoric; it was an invitation to understand Fallism from the inside, to wrestle with its contradictions, to empathise with individuals rather than generalise about collectives. Many involved in or directly affected by the movement embraced it as an opportunity to process their often-traumatic experiences of student politics.
The decision to stage a new production at the Market, recognising the 10th anniversary of the Rhodes Must Fall protests — which led to the removal of the notorious bronze statue of Cecil John Rhodes from UCT’s main campus in April 2015 — prompts a reconsideration of the play and its originating context. This version, co-directed by Mahlatsi Mokgonyana and Billy Langa, includes four of the original cast members in the ensemble of seven.
The characters in the play are partly based on the creators’ own participation in Fallism but also draw on other recognisable “types” and prominent figures in the movement. It is noteworthy that, though the general tenor of The Fall is one of impassioned, earnest conviction, the actors create opportunities in their narrative for moments of self-deprecating humour. This does not detract from the pathos evoked by their expressions of pain, frustration or anger. On the contrary, it adds depth to the students’ youthful idealism and revolutionary fervour.
If the first half of The Fall risks rehearsing familiar slogans and events, the second half reminds us of the nuances and faultlines in Fallist politics. The intersection of race, gender and class affects each of the characters differently. The women and queer activists find themselves marginalised by patriarchal attitudes and behaviours within the movement; the all-embracing notion of being “Biko black” is fractured by comparisons between “African” and “coloured” identities.
The collective falls apart a few times and reconstitutes itself. Along the way there is plenty of collateral damage. As the action ebbs and flows, the hashtags begin to suggest other associations: disagreements over strategy (protest as a game of noughts and crosses); physical or psychological scars from the violence of clashes with riot police and private security; and tally marks counting off the passage of time.
In the end, despite the removal of the Rhodes statue and concessions around finances (The Fall predates Jacob Zuma’s non-declaration about fee-free education), the play’s opening optimism dissipates into disillusionment. Rhodes Must Fall and Fees Must Fall were certainly not mere hashtag activism. But beyond the spectacle and the symbols, we are left wondering how much actually changed.
It will be interesting to see what a new generation of students makes of The Fall. They will no doubt find discussions about the National Student Financial Aid Scheme (NSFAS) or the problem of “not being poor enough” to receive funding disconcertingly familiar.
And yet, in a world that sometimes seems to be going backwards rather than progressing towards greater freedom and equality, there is something invigorating about watching young people insisting on a better future.
• ‘The Fall’ is at the Market Theatre until May 4.
Business Day
CHRIS THURMAN: ‘The Fall’ reminds SA of 2015’s Fallist movement a decade on
It will be interesting to see what a new generation of students makes of The Fall
Image: Ngoma Mphahlele
The new production of The Fall at the Market Theatre takes place on a stage marked by a large red hashtag. All around it, scored in neat rows across the floor and the backdrop, are dozens of smaller hashtags. If you know anything about SA universities circa 2015-2016, you know what the icons signify: #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall.
Ten years on, these social media throwbacks may seem rather quaint. At the time, however, they solicited powerful responses from students, university staff members, parents and members of the public — euphoria, dread, idealism, cynicism. The Fallist movement marked a new departure in post-apartheid SA: an overdue reckoning with the slow pace of institutional change, a damning indictment of state neglect, and an urgent call for socioeconomic redress.
The Fall was created by a group of drama students at the University of Cape Town (UCT) under the direction of Clare Stopford. It premiered in 2016 at the Baxter Theatre and over the next two years it became an international hit, touring to the US, Europe, the UK and Australia. For many audience members in these countries, it served as a kind of explainer, showing how SA political discourse has shifted since the early democratic period.
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For local audiences, the play was more than a primer in decolonial rhetoric; it was an invitation to understand Fallism from the inside, to wrestle with its contradictions, to empathise with individuals rather than generalise about collectives. Many involved in or directly affected by the movement embraced it as an opportunity to process their often-traumatic experiences of student politics.
The decision to stage a new production at the Market, recognising the 10th anniversary of the Rhodes Must Fall protests — which led to the removal of the notorious bronze statue of Cecil John Rhodes from UCT’s main campus in April 2015 — prompts a reconsideration of the play and its originating context. This version, co-directed by Mahlatsi Mokgonyana and Billy Langa, includes four of the original cast members in the ensemble of seven.
The characters in the play are partly based on the creators’ own participation in Fallism but also draw on other recognisable “types” and prominent figures in the movement. It is noteworthy that, though the general tenor of The Fall is one of impassioned, earnest conviction, the actors create opportunities in their narrative for moments of self-deprecating humour. This does not detract from the pathos evoked by their expressions of pain, frustration or anger. On the contrary, it adds depth to the students’ youthful idealism and revolutionary fervour.
If the first half of The Fall risks rehearsing familiar slogans and events, the second half reminds us of the nuances and faultlines in Fallist politics. The intersection of race, gender and class affects each of the characters differently. The women and queer activists find themselves marginalised by patriarchal attitudes and behaviours within the movement; the all-embracing notion of being “Biko black” is fractured by comparisons between “African” and “coloured” identities.
The collective falls apart a few times and reconstitutes itself. Along the way there is plenty of collateral damage. As the action ebbs and flows, the hashtags begin to suggest other associations: disagreements over strategy (protest as a game of noughts and crosses); physical or psychological scars from the violence of clashes with riot police and private security; and tally marks counting off the passage of time.
In the end, despite the removal of the Rhodes statue and concessions around finances (The Fall predates Jacob Zuma’s non-declaration about fee-free education), the play’s opening optimism dissipates into disillusionment. Rhodes Must Fall and Fees Must Fall were certainly not mere hashtag activism. But beyond the spectacle and the symbols, we are left wondering how much actually changed.
It will be interesting to see what a new generation of students makes of The Fall. They will no doubt find discussions about the National Student Financial Aid Scheme (NSFAS) or the problem of “not being poor enough” to receive funding disconcertingly familiar.
And yet, in a world that sometimes seems to be going backwards rather than progressing towards greater freedom and equality, there is something invigorating about watching young people insisting on a better future.
• ‘The Fall’ is at the Market Theatre until May 4.
Business Day
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