The Road to Mossel Bay: A tribute to Bruce Kannemeyer and the legacy of his generation

By a Son of the Post-'85 Generation

Die nag was lank. Sleep would not come. Memory is a stubborn thing—it pulls, it tugs, it refuses to loosen its grip. So I got up—to read, to reflect, to make sense of the past and the present.

Today, ek ry weer die pad na die platteland toe, na Mosselbaai. This is not the first time. This road is too familiar now, always leading to the final farewell of a comrade, a broer, a sister, a warrior, a peacemaker, a freedom fighter. This time, it is Comrade Bruce Kannemeyer.

Bruce was five years my struggle senior, one of the ouens who arrived at UWC in 1986, in the thick of the State of Emergency—the apartheid regime’s last violent gasp, a desperate grip on power, like a wounded beast thrashing. Marshall Law was, in effect, a lockdown more brutal than Covid could ever be—35,000 young people jailed between 1980 and 1990. The state lashed out, and we—the COSAS and SAYCO youth—pushed back.

By the time I got to UWC in 1990, the hek toe battles were in full swing. 1989 had been the year of the Defiance Campaign—the final push for freedom. That year, like so many of my comrades, I was detained under Section 30 and sent to Victor Verster Maximum Prison as a political detainee.

I remember it like yesterday. 18 July 1989—Mandela’s 70th birthday. The world is celebrated with concerts, protests, and solidarity, and we? We did it the way the Cape Flats does things—we lit up 70 tyre-burning protests from Mitchell’s Plain to Langa, Bonteheuwel to Athlone, the township skylines burning with our defiance. The goeie ou dae, the days when we knew exactly what we were fighting for.

There are bonds that only struggle can forge—bonds deeper than blood, forged in fire and resistance. And in those years, in those places, we found each other, shoulder to shoulder, fists raised high.

The Architect of Non-Racialism at UWC

Bruce was nie net ‘n student leader nie, hy was ‘n pionier. As SRC President at UWC in 1986, he helped shape the very character of activism on campus. UWC was a battleground of ideas, a predominantly Coloured institution where African students were beginning to integrate in greater numbers. The old regime had tried to divide us with race and ethnicity, but Bruce and his generation? Hulle het die formule reggekry.

They were proud of their rural roots, proud of their Coloured identity, but never in a way that separated—it was always about connection, always about building bridges. They didn’t just talk non-racialism; hulle geleef dit. They broke down the barriers between Coloured and African communities, reminding us that our fight was not about small differences but about one thing—justice.

"We are each other’s keeper," we used to say. And Bruce lived by that.

From Student Leader to Movement Builder

When Bruce left UWC, he didn’t just disappear into the system—hy het aanhou bou, aanhou struggle. He became an organizer in WECTU (Western Cape Education Teachers Union), working alongside comrades like Yusuf Gabru. Com Gabru, my old mathematics lecturer at UWC, gave a moving tribute at the Paarl memorial, speaking of Bruce’s deep and lifelong commitment to the movement and his people.

Bruce was an educator/ organizer in every sense of the word—not just in a classroom, but in communities, in various mass democratic movements, in the young minds he helped shape. The COSAS 'Each one, Teach one'—that was the principle, and he embodied it fully.

By the late 1980s, he was a teacher, activist, and community leader in Paarl, Boland, and across the Western Cape, at a time when the country was on the edge of change. The UDF and MDM structures were at their strongest, and young activists—die laaities van die struggle—looked up to leaders like Bruce. As he was organizing, I was in the high school and youth formations in Mitchell’s Plain, but we crossed paths time and again. Our hatred of the Apartheid and our lives for our people liberation bound us.

From Revolutionary to Public Servant

Post-1990, as South Africa transitioned, Bruce—one of the young ANC Turks—was called to serve in a new way. In 1999, he was elected as an ANC MP, representing the Western Cape in Parliament. Hy was kwaai! A quiet but firm leader, never one for the limelight, but always carrying his responsibilities with diligence. He served on the Standing Committee on Public Accounts, holding power to account in the name of the people.

Later, he moved into local government, becoming the first Black municipal manager in Stellenbosch. At that time, 1999 to 2006, I was serving as the Chief Director for Local Government in the Western Cape. That era was a golden age for local governance—a time of transformation of real progress in our communities. We had fought for these positions, and now we were in them, making real changes on the ground.

Cde Bruce was a baie goeie municipal manager. He worked hard to integrate the communities of Stellenbosch, bridging the gap between the rich and the poor, building policies that served all. He carried that same spirit of non-racialism, of inclusivity, into governance. And the people—die local manne en vroue—they’ll tell you about his legacy.

Bruce could be deployed anywhere. Boland, Drakenstein, OR Tambo, Phumelela, Ngwathe. A cadre in the truest sense—versatile, dedicated, unwavering.

A Leader Without a Title

Bruce understood something many never do—you don’t need a title to lead.

Our paths crossed again when I was elected as Provincial Secretary. By then, many comrades had moved on. Some had taken different paths, but Bruce? Hy was nog daar. Not for status, not for position—maar vir die werk, vir die movement, vir die mense.

He was always the volunteer-in-chief, showing up where he was needed, providing strategic guidance, and helping wherever he could. If the organization needed support, he would be there. If young activists needed direction, he was there. He reminded me that leadership is not about the position you hold—it’s about the service you give.

Bruce’s wisdom, his commitment, his humility—dis iets wat ek nooit sal vergeet nie.

A Life Remembered, The Struggle Continues

And now, he is gone. Another son of the Southern Cape. Another giant who built a liberated zone now laid to rest in land that remembers.

The road to Mossel Bay stretches before me. I know this road too well. I have driven it to say goodbye to Winston October, Wayne Jordaan, Jovan Bruiders, and the Pedro Brothers. Dié keer is dit vir Bruce.

Mossel Bay—once a liberated zone—is now held by conservatives, the whole Garden Route swallowed by reactionary politics. This is a reminder that the struggle is never over. Ons moet aanhou baklei.

Last week, former ANCYL Secretary, now ANC Head of Policy and NEC member, Comrade Febe Potgieter, gave powerful tribute to cde Bruce. She spoke of his leadership, his faith, his courage, his gees. She spoke of a man who never wavered.

And we feel it—die pyn van verlange, the gratitude for having known him, the loss of a kameraad we will never share a laugh with again.

But Bruce would not want us to sit in sorrow. Hy was vol grappies, always the life of the party. His life was movement, was action. The greatest tribute we can pay him is to continue his work—to keep organizing, keep mobilizing, keep die vuur van geregtigheid burning.

Today, as I drive to Mossel Bay, I do not drive alone.

Hambe Kahle, Mkonto! Rus sagies, Kameraad.

From the pen of Cde Faiez Jacobs 

Faiez Jacobs is an activist and former leader of the opposition in the Western Cape. He writes in his personal capacity.

The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.