Interview 

Backlash Against Anti-Racism Is a Constant Force Shaping US Politics

Philosopher George Yancy analyzes the contemporary expression of what W.E.B. Du Bois called the “entrails of whiteness.”

By Josh Friedberg ,

Truthout

August 26, 2026

Blank walls and empty brackets mark the spots where National Park signs memorializing historical facts about slavery were once mounted, before they were removed by the Trump administration, March 14, 2026, at the Independence National Historical Park in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.Andrew Lichtenstein / Corbis via Getty Images
Blank walls and empty brackets mark the spots where National Park signs memorializing historical facts about slavery were once mounted, before they were removed by the Trump administration, March 14, 2026, at the Independence National Historical Park in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Andrew Lichtenstein / Corbis via Getty Images

In the United States, the presidential administration is actively working to erase past gains in civil rights and environmental justice. This tendency is manifesting in many ways, including curtailing voting rights, whitewashing U.S. history teaching materials, and rolling back social services that disproportionately affect people of color. In this context, one of the most important books I’ve read from the last decade is George Yancy’s Backlash: What Happens When We Talk Honestly About Racism in America. I strongly believe that every white person needs to read and reckon with the ideas in Yancy’s book. Backlash is a tougher but more necessary book than most popular books on race, especially in the context of 2026 being the 250th anniversary of the United States’ independence. At a time when many cling to the myth of this nation as fair and equal while white supremacy continues to dominate national and global politics, Backlash is a stern yet compassionate reminder of the importance of defining racism in terms of power. Within this context, I conducted this exclusive interview with George Yancy, who is the Samuel Candler Dobbs professor of philosophy at Emory University, a frequent contributor to Truthout, and the author, editor, and coeditor of over 25 books.

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

Josh Friedberg: Let’s start with the letter you wrote in 2015, “Dear White America.” What motivated you to write it?

George Yancy: In terms of context, the letter itself was my essay contribution to a series of popular interviews that I conducted with philosophers on race for The New York Times philosophy series, “The Stone.” The motivation had to do with the desire to find a critical discursive format for addressing the issue of whiteness. How does one speak to white people about something that is so familiar to them, like water is to fish, so normative and yet opaque, and thereby invisible? Indeed, how does one deploy a mode of address that attempts to speak the truth about their whiteness without resulting in forms of irrational defensiveness on their part? I wanted to communicate something about whiteness that critiqued its normative structure and how it falsely equates itself with humanity per se.

In his book Performing Purity (2003), whiteness scholar John T. Warren argues that “like layers of sand constituting a rock, the repeated enactments of [white] identity become sedimented and seemingly fixed, as if they had always been there.” I wanted to communicate to white people that their identity as white — along with the tropes of whiteness as “superior,” “virtuous,” and “pure” — was historically constructed, and that it is through their complicity that whiteness is sustained as a process of racial privilege, domination, and oppression. And I wanted them to own this hard truth. I thought that through my own show of vulnerability — where I talk honestly about my own sexism — I could perhaps touch the souls of white readers. I wanted to get them to use my capacity to expose my own complicity with sexism as a bridge that encouraged their own capacity to be honest about their whiteness and its link to anti-Blackness.


Trump Relies on Centuries-Old Notions of Whiteness to Activate His MAGA Base
Whiteness is baked into the US’s DNA. Can it be structurally dismantled?
By George Yancy , Truthout April 4, 2026

I saw the letter as one grounded in love. Like James Baldwin, I wanted to demonstrate a form of love “not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.” I was asking for nothing short of self-confrontation. As you know, the invitation was met with hatred and denial. I was called by the n-word more times than I would like to remember. Being called that word, and so many other despicable words, lends credence to my pessimism vis-à-vis white America’s honesty with itself and its history of anti-Black violence. Like W. E. B. Du Bois, I possess “a hope not hopeless, but unhopeful.”

You later wrote a booktitled Backlash about the responses you received to your letter. In my blog, I related your book to America 250 and our current incarnation of white supremacy in the U.S. Do you think Donald Trump’s presidency has affected the presence of racism in the U.S.? In other words, is racism worse with him in office or is it more of the “same old, same old?”

Writing Backlash was cathartic for me. I’ve been told that the book is hard to read — not because of its philosophical jargon, but because I don’t withhold sharing the raw vitriol that was directed at me by so many white readers. The responses were vile projections spewed from the historical formation of the white imagination — an imagination imbued with myths of “white purity.” Racialized xenophobia and white fear and resentment were unambiguous:

“He should f*** off to Africa if he doesn’t like living in a white country.”

“You’re going back to Africaaaaaa!”

“Deport him to Africa to ponder racism there.”

The irony is that I never asked white people to bring me here, to take me from Africa, to enslave me, to brutalize me, to lynch me, to make me the object of white anti-Black fantasies and desires. It was never about me, about Black people. It was about whiteness and the historical fact that white people created a fictionalized conception of Blackness to conceal their own lack. Whiteness is a structural lie that underwrites and perpetuates its delusions of ontological supremacy.

Linking Backlash to the U.S.’s 250th birthday and to Donald Trump’s presidency (2.0) is important as neither one speaks to the eradication of the toxicity of whiteness. This country’s founding is predicated on the genocide of Indigenous peoples and the denigration of Black people. Those realities speak to the ontological binary structure of whiteness. In short, whiteness creates conditions of ontological apartheid.

For me, whiteness is not anti-Black or racially xenophobic because it has gone awry; whiteness is anti-Black because its very being is anti-Black; this is how it thrives. Racism is not “worse” because of Trump. He is just its latest manifestation, the latest conduit through which the ugliness of white supremacy expresses itself shamelessly. The U.S. is either a white supremacist state, or it isn’t. There is no in-between.

For Black people, this doesn’t mean that juridically there has not been any progress. But what is juridical progress when one remains part of a white state — that reinforces collective white psychic life — that needs you to remain abject? Let’s face it. Trump’s white nationalist xenophobia and anti-Blackness — from his discourse about Black “shithole countries,” to his expressed desire for the U.S. to accept more immigrants from Norway, to his false claim that there is genocide against white South Africans, and to his claim that Haitian immigrants are eating the cats and dogs of their neighbors — is unashamed. I can easily imagine Trump saying to me: If Yancy doesn’t like America, which is the greatest country the likes of which we’ve never seen before, then he should take his woke and radical left ideas to one of those shithole countries. In short, for me, contemporary white supremacy is more of the same old, same old.

Something that struck me in your book was your compassion and empathy, as well as tough-mindedness, for whites, as you acknowledged your own sexism as a man. You see racism as being about power and privilege, not value — your approach is not,“This person is a racist and is therefore a bad person.” Can you expand on that, addressing the tension between the compassion and the toughness in your writing?

Sure. My position is grounded in the prophetic love of James Baldwin when it comes to critiquing whiteness. This doesn’t mean that I love white people because of their whiteness. That is part of the lie and seduction of whiteness, that somehow BIPOC people are expected to love whiteness, its symbolism, its aesthetics, its tropes of “greatness.” I refuse to be a consumer of that poison, to wear a white mask and forget the fact that I’m seen as a “problem” by the white state. That seduction — that act of mask-wearing — can cost me my life.

Baldwin didn’t forget that he was Black. Rather, he resisted the derogatory definitions that white people imposed upon him. So, I would say that the compassion or empathy that you’re talking about is, for me, a manifestation of Baldwinian love that will, as he says in The Fire Next Time, “force [white people] to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it.” That is Socratic to the core. When white people begin to truly interrogate their whiteness, this will place them within a state of danger. Why danger? Because this will or should generate a powerful form of disenchantment with themselves and the world that has come to accept the lie that whiteness is innocent.

I have had BIPOC students ask me, “Why do you spend so much time talking to white people about their whiteness, when you should be talking to Black people and people of color?” Well, I can do both. More importantly, I talk to white people — I place the ethical burden upon them — because they must take responsibility for the violence of whiteness and its structural binary, its us-versus-them mentality. To get white people to face the lie of their white innocence is to — perhaps — save the lives of Black people.

Also, I would add that it is too easy to say that to be racist is to be a bad person, but white people must, because of their complicity with white supremacy, carry the weight of how their whiteness denigrates me and how they are thereby positioned within a network of social relations that holds them collectively responsible. In this way, white people don’t escape the unethical dimensions of whiteness.

With the current controversies around ethnic studies and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), how do you think the ideas in Backlash have held up since its publication? Is there anything you would change or add to them now?

I think that Backlash captured the unmitigated aspirations that white people possess when it comes to desiring “white purity” and evading the reality of structural white anti-Blackness. Hence, since its publication, I’m reminded that whiteness will do anything to survive, especially through the deployment of the social, political, and existential chimera of being a target of “anti-white racism.”

In his book Ethnic Studies at the Crossroads (2026), George Lipsitz — writing about the fiction of reverse racism — writes: “Once affirmative action was invalidated by the Supreme Court and [critical race theory] lost its luster as privileged villain, it quickly became supplanted by opposition to DEI programs. Beneath the surface, this succession of moral panics about an imaginary ‘reverse racism’ entails opposition to the project of ethnic studies and indeed to any visible manifestation of larger antiracist social formations.” Lipsitz goes on to mark the difference between what I would call a form of political patchwork vis-à-vis racism as opposed to something far more substantive: “It is not that nothing ever changes in history, but that when it comes to racism the changes are often more cosmetic than substantive. W.E.B. Du Bois compared white supremacy in the U.S. to a crack in a plate that was once broken but had been patched up. Whenever the plate was dropped again, it broke along the lines of the patched-up crack because the weakness was structural, not surface.” If I was to add anything different, I would make explicit the insights of historian Jeanelle K. Hope regarding the historical and contemporary ways in which U.S. whiteness and U.S. fascism are inextricably linked.

Does your work in Backlash relate to any current or upcoming projects you are working on? Are there any parts of it that you’d like to see other thinkers and scholars reckon with?

I am currently editing a book under contract with Temple University Press that explores how Black and white philosophers and public intellectuals interpret James Baldwin’s view that white America invented the N*****. So, I continue to explore and expose what W.E.B. Du Bois, in “The Souls of White Folk,” called the entrails of whiteness. In terms of other scholars, I would especially like to see more white philosophers come to terms with their structural positionality as white and how their whiteness manifests as anti-Black. Perhaps how I write — bringing the pain and suffering close — might inspire that kind of deep psychic work, the work of lived experience, that is courageous and honest without resulting in white “innocence” framing race/racism as a distant conceptual object, buried in arcane philosophical works written by Anglo-American and European philosophers of the past.


This article is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), and you are free to share and republish under the terms of the license.

Josh Friedberg
Josh Friedberg is an author, TEDx speaker, storyteller, and music historian. He has over 100 articles published, including as a staff writer at the web magazine PopMatters. He has won many awards from Illinois and national communications contests since 2017. He holds a master’s degree in English from Northeastern Illinois University and lives in Chicago, where he tutors college students in writing.

The Mecca Pact Redraws Asia’s Security Map – Analysis

Credit: OpenAI / Ramesh Jaura


August 27, 2026

By Ramesh Jaura

Key Takeaways:

Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, and Pakistan pledged in Mecca that an attack on one would be treated as an attack on all; they are now adding ministerial mechanisms, exercises, and defense-industry ties—but the pact still lacks NATO-style command, definitions, or automatic obligations.

The deal grew from Gulf insecurity after Iran-related strikes and doubts about U.S. guarantees; Washington has welcomed it as burden-sharing, while China, Iran, Egypt, and India each read it through their own interests.

Ambiguity is both deterrent and risk: members do not share the same rivals, nuclear implications are unofficial and unproven, and a crisis involving India, Iran, Yemen, or the Mediterranean could test whether the promise holds.

Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan have pledged to treat an attack on one as an attack on all. Egypt is weighing membership, Washington has welcomed the move, Iran wants reassurance, China sees opportunity, and India is watching closely. A new security order may be forming, but its direction is unclear.

The place was chosen with care: Mecca, Islam’s holiest city, where Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif met on 7 August and declared: “Any armed attack against any one of the three States shall be regarded as an attack against them all.”

It was a short sentence with a long shadow.

For Saudi Arabia, it offered protection when American guarantees no longer felt sufficient. For Türkiye, it gave Erdoğan another route to make his country an independent centre of power. For Pakistan, poor but militarily important, it reminded others that Islamabad cannot be ignored.

Together, they bring a rare mix. Saudi Arabia has wealth, energy power and influence across the Arab and Muslim worlds. Türkiye has NATO’s second-largest army and a fast-growing defence industry. Pakistan has a large, battle-tested military—and the only nuclear arsenal held by a Muslim-majority country.

It did not take long for commentators to call the new grouping an “Islamic NATO,” or sometimes a “Sunni NATO.” The description is tempting. It is also misleading.

NATO was built over decades. It has integrated command, military plans, shared procedures and a bureaucracy that works even when leaders disagree. The Mecca pact has none of that yet. It does not define an attack, say who decides one has occurred, or spell out what each member must do.

Would military support be automatic? Could one member decline to fight? Would Türkiye’s obligations under the new pact conflict with its duties as a NATO member? The agreement leaves these questions open.

But dismissing the pact as a ceremonial gesture would now be equally misleading.

Six days after the signing, Türkiye’s Defence Ministry began giving the pact substance. The partners plan political and military mechanisms linking foreign ministers, defence ministers and commanders. They intend to hold exercises on land, sea, air and cyberspace, and to cooperate on drones, artificial intelligence, electronic warfare, military production and technology transfer.

Reuters reported that the three defence industries would also be brought closer together.

The Mecca Agreement is not yet an Islamic NATO. But neither is it merely a piece of paper. It is an alliance being built while the surrounding region burns.Subscribe
A pact born in a frightened region

The agreement emerged, at least in part, from fear.

The United States and Israel attacked Iran on 28 February 2026, triggering a confrontation that crossed borders and sea routes. Iranian missiles and Tehran-aligned armed groups threatened Gulf states, oil facilities and commercial shipping. The Houthis intensified attacks from Yemen. The Strait of Hormuz and Bab el-Mandeb again became places where one strike could raise prices and shake governments.

Soon after the pact was signed, three Pakistanis were killed in a Houthi attack on a vessel in the Bab el-Mandeb Strait. Their deaths underlined a hard truth: conflicts in the Gulf, Red Sea and South Asia can no longer be kept apart.


The immediate danger explains why they signed the agreement. But behind it lies an older anxiety: can the United States still be trusted to protect its partners?

For decades, Gulf monarchies lived under an American security umbrella. US troops, intelligence, weapons and political commitments sustained the regional order. That relationship still matters. Saudi Arabia buys vast quantities of American arms, and no regional combination can easily replace America’s military reach.

But trust has thinned.

The 2019 attacks on Saudi oil facilities Abqaiq and the Khurais oil field exposed how vulnerable the kingdom had become to inexpensive missiles and drones. Washington did not retaliate directly against Iran. Riyadh remembered.

Then came America’s chaotic withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021. Regional governments watched how US forces left. The circumstances were different, but the question travelled beyond Kabul: if American priorities changed, who might be left next?


Washington was turning towards China while its Middle Eastern partners dealt with Iran, proxy forces, missiles, drones and the aftershocks of the Gaza war.

Donald Trump’s return to the White House did not remove uncertainty. His administration has shown it is willing to use enormous force. But that does not mean partners always know when America will act, how far it will go or what they will endure when it does.

Saudi Arabia is not breaking with Washington. It is doing something more careful: ensuring Washington is no longer its only option.

The kingdom has strengthened relations with China, restored diplomatic ties with Iran, kept channels open to Russia and invested heavily in its defence industry. The Mecca pact adds two more layers of protection: Türkiye and Pakistan.

It does not announce the end of American power in the Gulf. It shows that American power is no longer accepted as the only pillar on which security rests.
America applauds—but may not control what follows

Washington’s response has complicated the idea that the pact is an act of rebellion against the United States.

On 16 August, Trump said he was “very happy” that Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan had “recently, and finally” signed the agreement. He called it a “big, bold, and important first step” and praised the three governments for becoming better able to defend themselves. Anadolu Agency reported his remarks.


Trump has long argued that America’s allies should spend more and carry more of their own defence burden. From that angle, the Mecca pact is useful. It could allow regional states to handle more of their security without repeatedly calling on Washington.

The arrangement does not immediately threaten America’s position. Türkiye remains in NATO. Saudi Arabia still depends heavily on American weapons, intelligence and logistical support. Pakistan continues to work with Washington on terrorism and regional diplomacy.

For the moment, the United States can welcome the pact as burden-sharing.

But there is a catch.

If the three countries produce weapons together, exchange intelligence and build crisis procedures, they will need less American permission and protection. Greater capability will give them more freedom to make choices Washington may dislike. The pact may not be designed to push America out, but it could help create a region where America is no longer central to every calculation.
What the three partners want

Each of the three countries sees something different in the agreement.

For Saudi Arabia, the attraction is protection—and access.

Pakistan has trained Saudi officers and soldiers for decades. Pakistani troops have served in the kingdom before. The military relationship is not new; the pact gives it a more formal and politically stronger shape.

Türkiye offers something else: a defence industry that can supply weapons more cheaply and often with fewer conditions than Western governments impose. Its drones, missiles, warships, armoured vehicles and electronic-warfare systems have attracted buyers across Europe, Asia, Africa and the Middle East.

Saudi Arabia wants to produce more of its own weapons under Vision 2030. Joint ventures with Turkish and Pakistani companies could help reduce its dependence on expensive Western imports.

For Türkiye, the pact is an opportunity to expand its reach.

Erdoğan does not want Türkiye seen merely as NATO’s difficult southeastern member. He wants it recognised as a power in its own right, with influence from the Black Sea and Mediterranean to the Middle East, the Red Sea, and the Indian Ocean.

Weapons are now an important part of that ambition. Turkish drones have affected the course of several wars. Defence exports bring money, influence and long-term political relationships. The Mecca pact opens a much larger field for all three.


Pakistan’s gains are different but just as important.

Islamabad’s economy remains fragile. Saudi loans and deposits have helped it through crises. Türkiye has supported Pakistan politically, especially over Kashmir, and the two countries have developed close defence ties.

By standing beside the rulers of Saudi Arabia and Türkiye in Mecca, Pakistan sent a message: whatever its economic troubles, it remains a country whose military strength and nuclear weapons give it strategic value.

The agreement also confirms the weight of Pakistan’s military establishment. Field Marshal Asim Munir has been publicly credited with helping to bring it about. In Pakistan, the most important ties with China, Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and the United States are rarely shaped by civilian diplomacy alone.

Yet the three partners do not share the same enemies.

Pakistan’s principal conventional rival is India. Türkiye is preoccupied with Syria, Kurdish armed groups and its disputes involving Greece, Cyprus and Israel. Saudi Arabia is focused on Iran, the Houthis, missile and drone attacks, Red Sea shipping and the security of its oil installations.

Sooner or later, those differences will matter.

Would Türkiye and Saudi Arabia regard an Indian strike on Pakistan as an attack on all three? Would Pakistan be expected to help Türkiye in a clash with Greece, another NATO member? If the Houthis struck Saudi Arabia, would Islamabad and Ankara be required to join a war in Yemen? What if a Saudi–Iranian confrontation escalated?

The pact does not answer.

Ambiguity can deter. An adversary may hesitate if it cannot predict how three countries will respond. But it can also tempt an ally to take risks, expecting support that may not arrive.

Even NATO’s celebrated Article 5 does not automatically send every member to war. It allows each ally to take “such action as it deems necessary.” Political leaders still decide what solidarity means.

The Mecca pact will face the same test. Promises made in a palace are one thing. Keeping them when soldiers may die is another.
The nuclear question no one can avoid

Pakistan’s nuclear weapons hover over every discussion of the agreement.

Has Islamabad quietly placed Saudi Arabia or Türkiye under a nuclear umbrella? Would Pakistan threaten nuclear retaliation if the Saudi state faced an overwhelming attack?


Nothing in the public text says so. Pakistan has announced no nuclear guarantee. No evidence shows it has transferred weapons or control to either partner. Saudi officials insist the agreement is not tied to nuclear ambition or an arms race.

That caution matters. Speculation should not be mistaken for fact.

Saudi Arabia is a non-nuclear member of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Türkiye is also an NPT member and already participates in NATO’s nuclear arrangements. Any transfer of nuclear weapons would create an international crisis.

But nuclear deterrence depends as much on uncertainty as on published doctrine.

A country considering a devastating attack on Saudi Arabia must ask whether Pakistan would remain uninvolved if the kingdom’s survival were at stake. The absence of an answer may be part of the deterrent.

It may also make the region less safe.

Israel has an undeclared nuclear arsenal. Iran has advanced nuclear capabilities. Pakistan has tested weapons. Türkiye belongs to a nuclear alliance. American forces are spread across the region. Now a new defence pact enters this crowded landscape with unclear nuclear limits.

There is another source of concern. The Trump administration has pursued a civilian nuclear agreement with Saudi Arabia that reportedly drops safeguards Washington previously demanded, including a categorical Saudi renunciation of uranium enrichment and reprocessing and acceptance of the International Atomic Energy Agency’s Additional Protocol.

Reuters reported that arms-control advocates and members of Congress feared that the proposed terms could weaken non-proliferation standards.

A civil nuclear programme is not a nuclear-weapons programme. But in this region, intentions are viewed through a lens of fear. Iran’s capabilities, Pakistan’s arsenal and weaker safeguards around Saudi nuclear development would inevitably be considered together.

A shield built to make Saudi Arabia feel safer could deepen the nuclear anxieties of everyone around it.
Is Iran the enemy—or a neighbour to be reassured?

Because the three signatories are Sunni-majority countries, the pact has often been described as an alliance against Shia-majority Iran.

The timing strengthens that interpretation. Iran and armed groups aligned with it have attacked Saudi interests. Türkiye cooperates with Tehran in some areas while competing with it in Syria, Iraq, Central Asia and the Caucasus. Pakistan shares a difficult border with Iran and has exchanged cross-border strikes with it.


But the relationship cannot be reduced to an old sectarian divide.

Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan says the pact identifies no enemy. Pakistan calls it “purely defensive.” Iranian Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmaeil Baghaei initially responded with caution rather than outrage. Iran, he said, need not fear regional self-reliance if it remained inclusive and addressed the real causes of insecurity.

Hard-line voices in Tehran were less forgiving. They asked how Pakistan could join a defence agreement with Saudi Arabia while claiming to be an honest mediator between Iran and the United States. Others warned Riyadh that a written pact would not guarantee its safety.

Erdoğan then demonstrated how the new allies hope to use their position.

On 17 August, Erdoğan urged Trump to return to talks with Iran and offered Türkiye’s help. Ankara said it would keep working with the United States, Iran, Pakistan, Qatar and other mediators. At the same time, Erdoğan praised the Mecca pact as a contribution to regional security—Reuters reported Türkiye’s attempt to combine deterrence with diplomacy.

Pakistan is trying to do the same.

Field Marshal Munir was due in Tehran on 24 August for talks with senior Iranian officials. The agenda was expected to include Pakistan’s efforts to mediate between Washington and Tehran, the Mecca Agreement, the Houthis and the dispute over the Strait of Hormuz. Reuters reported that the planned visit to Washington would pave the way for another round of punishing sanctions against Iran.

Munir’s visit carries special weight. He is not only Pakistan’s most powerful soldier but also a central figure behind the Mecca pact. Iranian officials will want to hear from him directly: is this alliance a shield, a sword or both?

Pakistan has placed itself in a difficult position. It must persuade Saudi Arabia that it is a dependable defence partner while convincing Iran that it has not joined a hostile front. It must keep Washington engaged without becoming an instrument of American pressure.

The pact’s first serious test may therefore come not on a battlefield but in a room in Tehran. Can Pakistan and Türkiye help deter Iran without making dialogue with Iran impossible?
Egypt stands at the door

Türkiye has made clear it does not want the alliance to remain a three-member club. Egypt is the most obvious prospective member.

Cairo is no longer merely observing. Egyptian Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty says his government is studying membership “very seriously,” though any decision must fit Egypt’s constitution and legal commitments. Chatham House sees the hesitation as political as well as legal. Egypt has long avoided binding military blocs and wants to preserve its role as mediator. Joining could look like taking sides against Iran, Israel, the UAE, Greece, Cyprus or India without giving Cairo clear security gains. For now, Egypt has reason to wait, watch how the pact works in a crisis and keep its options open.


The Gulf states face the same problem. Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates do not always agree on regional priorities. Qatar and its neighbours recently emerged from a bitter blockade. Oman prizes its independence and role as mediator.

The Mecca pact is therefore unlikely to become a military organisation embracing all 57 members of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation.

A smaller core is more plausible, surrounded by looser arrangements for tasks: protecting Red Sea shipping, sharing intelligence, coordinating missile defence, countering drones, fighting terrorism and producing weapons.

That may sound less dramatic than an Islamic NATO. It could prove more useful.
China: The Power Outside the Pact

China did not sign the Mecca Agreement, and no evidence shows Beijing designed it. Yet its influence is impossible to ignore.

Pakistan’s “all-weather” partnership with China is one of Asia’s deepest military relationships. Beijing supplies aircraft, missiles, air-defence systems and warships, and the two countries jointly produce the JF-17 fighter. In April, Pakistan commissioned the first of eight planned Chinese-designed Hangor-class submarines, four to be built in Pakistan under a technology-transfer deal. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute⁠, China supplied 80 per cent of Pakistan’s major arms imports between 2021 and 2025.

The pact could bring Chinese, Turkish and Western systems into the same network. Türkiye offers drones, missiles, electronic warfare and a growing defence industry. Saudi Arabia brings money but still relies mainly on American and other Western equipment. Making these systems work together will require compatible communications, command procedures, maintenance chains and training.

That helps explain why Türkiye’s Defence Ministry has put joint exercises, production, technology cooperation and “sustainable maintenance and logistics support” at the centre of the deal. Reuters reported⁠ that cooperation will span land, sea, air and cyber operations, with attention to drones, electronic warfare and artificial intelligence. Over time, this could create a military-industrial network that Beijing does not control, but that depends less on the West.

China’s economic presence matters too. The China–Pakistan Economic Corridor links western China to Gwadar on the Arabian Sea. China is also a major buyer of Saudi oil and an investor in the kingdom’s infrastructure, telecommunications and renewable energy. Its mediation of the Saudi–Iranian rapprochement in 2023 showed it can exercise influence in a region long dominated by Washington.

Saudi Arabia does not expect China to replace the United States as its military protector, and Beijing has shown little interest in assuming that burden. But China offers trade, investment, technology and another option. Türkiye’s ties with Beijing are more guarded because of NATO, Europe and differences over Uyghurs. Even so, Erdoğan values relationships that widen Ankara’s room for manoeuvre.


Beijing can stay outside the pact and still benefit. It may gain from a less American-centred region, finance infrastructure and supply weapons without defending the alliance. For India, already facing China’s military partnership with Pakistan, that is hardly reassuring.
India has reason to watch—but not to panic

India’s ties with China have steadied slightly. Talks on the disputed frontier have resumed, but the damage from Galwan remains: troops are still deployed, claims unresolved and mistrust deep.

China’s support for Pakistan adds another layer to India’s concerns.

The China–Pakistan Economic Corridor runs through territory India claims. New Delhi sees it as both an economic project and a breach of sovereignty. Indian planners must still weigh pressure from Pakistan and China at once, even if neither side wants a two-front war.

The Mecca pact could connect this tense South Asian picture to West Asian politics.

Pakistani forces, already heavily supplied by China, may gain access to Turkish technology, Saudi money, shared intelligence and joint planning. Such shifts rarely appear overnight; they gather force slowly.

India’s government has said it is examining the pact’s implications for national security and regional stability and will take the necessary steps to protect Indian interests.

New Delhi is right to seek clarity.

Türkiye has backed Pakistan on Kashmir. The two countries cooperate on warships, exercises, training and aircraft modernisation. Saudi Arabia’s 2025 defence agreement with Pakistan laid the ground for the trilateral pact.

In a future crisis, Pakistan could invoke the Mecca Agreement even if Riyadh and Ankara had no wish to fight India.

Would the pact apply only after an unprovoked attack? Could Islamabad invoke it after a terrorist incident or an exchange across the Line of Control? Who would decide who started the conflict?

India is asking those questions quietly without turning concern into panic.

Saudi Arabia’s ties with India have deepened. The kingdom supplies energy, invests in India and hosts a large Indian community. The two governments cooperate on trade, terrorism, technology, maritime security and defence.

Riyadh has no reason to sacrifice this relationship for Pakistan. Saudi foreign policy has become practical and flexible. It can maintain a defence pact with Islamabad while expanding relations with New Delhi.


India appears to be taking the same approach: deepen Gulf ties, seek assurances, monitor Pakistan’s defence links with Türkiye and China, and strengthen its naval presence in the Arabian Sea.

The Ministry of External Affairs has dismissed reports that India sought an urgent mutual-defence pact with Israel as fabricated. India already has close defence ties with Israel. Turning them into an openly anti-Muslim alignment would damage decades of careful diplomacy across the Arab world.

India’s strength has long been its ability to deal with rivals at the same time: Saudi Arabia and Iran, Israel and the Arab states, the United States and Russia.

The Mecca pact makes that balancing act harder—and more necessary.
A promise waiting to be tested

The agreement does not prove that a new regional order has arrived. Its members may find unity easier to declare than to practise.

But it does show that the old order is fading.

Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan are not abandoning old relationships; they are adding new ones. They want choices and no longer want security to depend on a single power whose priorities can shift after an election, war or crisis.

Trump sees burden-sharing. China sees opportunity. Iran wants to know whether the pact targets it. Egypt is weighing membership. India is asking whether Pakistan’s reach has grown.

The pact remains several things at once: a shield, a warning, an arms partnership, a diplomatic tool, and a claim to greater independence.

It could make the three countries safer. It could also spread conflicts across regions.

An India–Pakistan crisis could gain a Middle Eastern dimension. A Saudi–Iranian confrontation could draw in Pakistan and Türkiye. A Turkish dispute in the Mediterranean could test commitments Riyadh and Islamabad never expected to keep.

The stronger the alliance becomes, the more restraint it will need.

Its members must define aggression, set clear consultation procedures, keep politics in control of military decisions and clarify where conventional cooperation ends and the nuclear shadow begins.

Mecca produced a dramatic promise: an attack on one will be treated as an attack on all. Weapons, exercises and political machinery now support it. Its meaning, however, will remain uncertain until someone asks the three countries to keep it.

When that day comes, the question will not be what leaders signed in Mecca, but what they are prepared to sacrifice—and whether their shield makes a frightened region safer or gives it new reasons to fear.

About Ramesh Jaura
Ramesh Jaura is a journalist with 60 years of experience as a freelancer, head of Inter Press Service, and founder-editor of IDN-InDepthNews. His work draws on field reporting and coverage of international conferences and events.
View all posts by Ramesh Jaura →

French soldiers disciplined over Rhodesian flags linked to white supremacists

France's Ministry of the Armed Forces has launched disciplinary proceedings against several soldiers photographed holding flags linked to Rhodesia, a former white minority-ruled territory in southern Africa whose symbols have been embraced by white supremacists.


Issued on: 26/08/2026 - RFI

France's Ministry of the Armed Forces has launched disciplinary proceedings against several soldiers photographed displaying Rhodesian flags, which have become associated with white supremacist movements. AFP - LUDOVIC MARIN

Two separate groups of French soldiers – one in Nîmes in southern France and another in the United Arab Emirates – have been pictured displaying the same banner, with the images later shared in online groups glorifying the former British colony – which operated a white-minority ruled system similar to South African apartheid – investigative website Mediapart revealed.

One image posted on social media shows three soldiers holding a flag with three green and white stripes. At its centre is a coat of arms depicting a pick axe on a green background, flanked by antelopes and topped with a golden bird.

Another image shows four French soldiers in front of a tank holding the same banner.

The Ministry of the Armed Forces said the soldiers involved had been identified and disciplinary proceedings were under way. It said the two incidents were separate, with no connection between the soldiers involved or their activities.

“The ministry's position is unambiguous: French armed forces do not tolerate any manifestation of a racist, supremacist or extremist nature,” it said.

“Military personnel are subject to a particular requirement of exemplary conduct and neutrality, which also applies to their behaviour and posts on social media.”

Defying decolonisation

Rhodesia's prime minister, Ian Smith, unilaterally declared independence from the United Kingdom on 11 November, 1965 in an effort to preserve political power for the white European minority – which made up just 5 percent of the population, fewer than 250,000 people.

Rhodesia's green and white flag was first raised on 11 November, 1968, three years after Smith's declaration, which was made without British agreement or international recognition.

“Rhodesia wanted to signal to the world what it regarded as a betrayal: the fact that the United Kingdom was accepting the decolonisation of Africa,” South African historian Saul Dubow, who teaches Commonwealth history at the University of Cambridge, said.

Rhodesian propaganda portrayed the territory as “threatened by Communism” and therefore forced to defend “civilised standards”.

In practice, this meant defending the social and political superiority of white people, Zimbabwean researcher Bruce Berry wrote in his thesis on Rhodesian identity and its symbols.

African nationalist movements resisted Smith's government, particularly Joshua Nkomo's Zimbabwe African People's Union, known as ZAPU, and Robert Mugabe's Zimbabwe African National Union, or ZANU.

The conflict between Rhodesia's white minority government and African nationalist movements became known as the Bush War, or Second Chimurenga. It killed thousands of people, most of them African nationalists and civilians, and led to the militarisation of Rhodesian society.

As this civil war intensified in the country during the 1970s, Rhodesia became heavily dependent on neighbouring South Africa, then operating an apartheid regime, for its survival.

Negotiations and a ceasefire followed, and Rhodesia became the independent and renamed state of Zimbabwe on 18 April, 1980 – with ZANU leader Mugabe as prime minister.

Military mythology

With the white population having rallied behind its soldiers and the country's founding myths, those narratives survived beyond the ceasefire and the birth of the new country, feeding nostalgia for a “heroic” past – one in which the suffering of the black population was concealed.

“There is an enormous body of literature written by people who took part in the Bush War. They celebrate their victory and talk about black people in very insulting terms,” Dubow explained.

Many white Rhodesians, he said, became convinced that they had not lost the war, but had instead been abandoned by their leaders and cheated by politics.

“It is the myth of the small white minority that resisted the black majority for 15 years,” said Hugh W Macmillan, a professor from the region.

That fascination with Rhodesia's military past has also surfaced among soldiers elsewhere.

In 2018, Canada's military opened an investigation into some of its personnel accused of running a website selling equipment and memorabilia inspired by the "Fireforce" – a tactic developed by Rhodesian forces to surround and attack independence fighters in the bush.

Flags from apartheid-era South Africa and Rhodesia were among the items sold by the online shop.

Symbol of a 'lost cause'

In some white supremacist circles, Rhodesia provides a similar function to the southern Confederate States in the United States, with both seen as “lost causes” unjustly condemned by history.

In June 2015, white supremacist Dylann Roof opened fire in a church in Charleston, South Carolina, killing nine African American worshippers who had gathered for bible study.

Roof had written a racist manifesto published on a website called The Last Rhodesian. In a photograph that became notorious, he wore the former orange, white and blue South African flag on his jacket lapel, with the green and white Rhodesian flag immediately below it.

As Berry wrote in his thesis: “These flags – Rhodesian and South African – are popular in white supremacist circles because they allow people to signal their beliefs to others who share the same ideas, without exposing themselves as openly as they would by wearing or displaying a swastika."

This article has been adapted from the original version in French by Liza Fabbian

 

The hidden chemistry behind glow-in-the-dark art

Researchers study how eye-catching phosphorescent and fluorescent pigments age — with hopes of finding ways to preserve the colors for art, fashion, and safety applications

American Chemical Society

Facebook

XLinkedInWeChatBlueskyMessageWhatsAppEmail

 

image: 

A swath of spandex fabric with DayGlo pink graffiti designed by Stephen Sprouse, 1984-1985.

view more 

Credit: Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Gift of Joanne Sprouse, in memory of her son Stephen Sprouse, 2020.42.

CHICAGO, Aug. 25, 2026 — Some of the world’s brightest colors don’t just reflect light, they create it. Scientists and museum conservators are now uncovering why these luminous pigments fade and how to preserve them for future generations. The findings could help protect artwork while informing the development of longer-lasting phosphorescent materials for a variety of applications, from fashion runways to airport runways.

The researchers will present their results at the fall meeting of the American Chemical Society (ACS) during the “Chemistry Behind Art and Art Conservation” symposium in McCormick Place. ACS Fall 2026 is being held August 23-27.

“Artists have always been attracted to bright, emissive colors. They allow you to do exciting things that you just can’t do with a regular pigment on the artist palette.” — Gregory Smith

Most paints and dyes are seen because they bounce visible light back to our eyes. Fluorescent and glow-in-the-dark pigments are different: They absorb light and give it back as a vivid glow. This produces the attention-grabbing visual effects found in pop art, fashion, traffic signage, and the glowing stars that many people stick to their bedroom ceilings as children.

Over time, however, these bright materials break down. And as the colors become duller, the artwork loses some of the oomph that was initially intended. “For artists, the effect isn’t simply cosmetic, because they intentionally use these colors for their visual impact,” says photochemist Sarah Schmidtke Sobeck, Professor of Chemistry and Dean for Faculty Development at The College of Wooster.

“Artists have always been attracted to bright, emissive colors,” says Gregory Smith, Senior Conservation Scientist at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields. “They allow you to do exciting things that you just can’t do with a regular pigment on the artist palette.”

And because fluorescent and phosphorescent materials attract attention and improve visibility, they’re also important parts of safety signs and markings. By understanding how these materials break down over time, Sobeck and Smith want to help manufacturers develop products that stay brighter longer, such as luminescent paint for airplane runways.

The duo has spent years studying daylight fluorescent and phosphorescent pigments through a collaboration that began 10 years ago when they met at a cultural heritage science conference in Maine. Their work initially centered on testing the emission of light from samples in the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfield’s Stephen Sprouse collection, which features fashion with bold fluorescent colors and attention-grabbing designs.

For Sobeck’s presentation at ACS Fall 2026, she will share new findings from her studies of glow-in-the-dark phosphorescent pigments. For this research, Sobeck and colleagues first identified what the materials are made of. Then, the researchers examined the pigments’ photophysics — how they absorb, store, and emit light — and how the processes change as the materials age.

The team found that many phosphorescent materials contain inorganic compounds and mineral-based pigments and differ significantly from the organic dyes commonly used in fluorescent colorants.

New studies on a white pigment powder called lithopone will add another dimension to the ACS presentation. Eleanor Fleming, an undergraduate chemistry major in Sobeck’s lab, will use photography to track how long phosphorescent materials containing lithopone continue to glow after being charged by visible light.

One of the most surprising initial findings is that prolonged exposure to high levels of humidity can play an equally important — and sometimes greater — role than prolonged exposure to ambient light in breaking down phosphorescent pigments. This information will “inform improved storage and exhibition conditions for artworks containing this pigment,” says Sobeck.

Earlier studies of fluorescent pigments from the Sobeck lab revealed that the compounds responsible for enhancing brightness, called optical brighteners, degrade faster than the pigmentary dyes themselves. As a result, colors appear to darken even when the pigment molecules remain intact. Wooster alumna Georgia Hopps-Weber, a double major in chemistry and art history, helped uncover these unexpected results.

These results also highlight why conserving modern artworks can be challenging. Conservators restoring fluorescent artworks must match colors under both visible and UV light, while the pigments themselves continue to change over time, making long-term restoration difficult.

The researchers also see their innovative collaboration as an opportunity to share with their students how chemistry combines with nearly any discipline.

“I’ve been able to establish a lot of different opportunities for students who are pursuing double majors in art history and chemistry, or chemistry students who are really interested in seeing how they can apply their studies to different real-world scenarios,” says Sobeck. “It shows how chemistry and art can come together to answer important questions.”

The research was funded by the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields and the Hamburger Endowment for Collaborative Projects and Program Development at The College of Wooster. The DayGlo Color Corporation provided sets of pigments for analysis.

###

The American Chemical Society (ACS) is one of the world's largest scientific organizations and a global leader in advancing scientific knowledge. Founded in 1876, ACS' mission is to advance scientific knowledge, empower a global community, and champion scientific integrity. Guided by its vision of a world built on science, ACS brings together people, ideas, and resources to drive discovery and innovation, support the professional growth of scientists and students, and advance scientific discussion. Through its trusted publications, scientific meetings, community networks, education and career resources, and scientific information solutions, ACS helps scientists, educators, and students make a lasting impact on their communities and the world at large. Together, these efforts support ACS' commitment to improve all lives through the transforming power of chemistry.

Registered journalists can subscribe to the ACS journalist news portal on EurekAlert! to access embargoed and public science press releases. For media inquiries, contact newsroom@acs.org.

Note to journalists: Please report that this research was presented at a meeting of the American Chemical Society. ACS does not conduct research.

Title
Glow in the light & dark: Investigations of the photochemistry of emissive pigments used in art

Abstract
Modern materials present unique challenges for art conservators due to limited studies of their properties and long-term stability. Synthetic chemistry has introduced a range of new dyes and pigments—originally developed for commercial and industrial applications—that have since found popularity in art. Daylight fluorescent materials, such as products manufactured by the Day-Glo Corporation, and glow-in-the-dark “phosphorescent” pigments begin to appear more prominently in art in the mid-20th century, though earlier pigments exhibit related emissive properties. This talk highlights ongoing studies into the chemical composition, spectral properties, and stability of these emissive artists’ materials. Our research focuses on how the unique photochemistry of these pigments influences viewer experience and informs considerations for museum exhibition and storage. Special attention is given to its relevance within the museum’s Stephen Sprouse Collection.

 

A pantsuit adorned with phosphorescent paillettes appears white in normal, visible light but glows green in the dark.

Credit

Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Fashion Arts Society Acquisition Fund, 2013.310A-D.2.

 

The darkening on the bottom half of these fluorescent tape strips shows that the optical brightener in the tape degraded faster than the pigmentary color when exposed to light. The top half of the strips was shielded from light exposure.

Credit

Sarah Sobeck / The College of Wooster

 

Attention-grabbing DayGlo orange shirt and pants with Stephen Sprouse’s trademark graffiti pattern.

Credit

Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Fashion Arts Society Acquisition Fund, Joanne Sprouse Acquisition Fund, purchased with funds provided by Penny Rosenthal, 2021.187.

 

A close-up of a fluorescent mural at Newfields showing bright red DayGlo paint in an area formerly protected from light by the green vinyl lettering.

Credit

Amanda Holden / Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields

A swath of fabric with a bright orange Saturn covered in black graffiti designed by Stephen Sprouse, 1984-1985.

Credit

Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields, Gift of Joanne Sprouse, in memory of her son Stephen Sprouse, 2020.58.

 

By understanding how fluorescent and phosphorescent pigments break down over time, Sarah Sobeck wants to help manufacturers develop paints that stay brighter longer.

Credit

Matt Dilyard / The College of Wooster

South Africa

How the 1976 uprisings led to the people’s education movement of the mid-1980s in Soweto

Monday 24 August 2026, by Terri Maggott

Fifty years ago, the student uprisings of June 1976 radically altered the terrain of the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa. They laid the foundations for the mass resistance of the mid-1980s, as they opened up new possibilities for solidarity between students, workers, parents, and teachers, and galvanised nationwide resistance beyond Soweto. Until today, the events of June 1976 remain a global symbol of resistance to apartheid and genocide beyond South Africa.

Fifty years ago, the student uprisings of June 1976 radically altered the terrain of the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa. They laid the foundations for the mass resistance of the mid-1980s, as they opened up new possibilities for solidarity between students, workers, parents, and teachers, and galvanised nationwide resistance beyond Soweto. Until today, the events of June 1976 remain a global symbol of resistance to apartheid and genocide beyond South Africa.

Ten years after June 1976, Sowetans were again at the forefront of education resistance. In December 1985, local organisations saw 1986—the tenth anniversary of the Soweto uprisings—as a watershed year in Black education, given the sustained interruptions to schooling since 1976. Activists in Soweto and other townships drew power from the emerging civic movement that was seizing control over local governance, as well as from the trade union movement with the launch of Cosatu in 1985. They called for a “people’s education” that spoke to the histories, hardships and hopes of all South Africans.

Trade unions and civics

The June 16 uprisings erupted from students’ frustration with the implementation of Afrikaans as the language of instruction in Black urban schools from 1976 onwards. However, the protests that followed transcended the language issue. The militancy of students was grounded largely in the ideology of Black Consciousness (BC), which pushed them beyond their school grounds and into the struggle against the racial capitalist system of apartheid, during which they forged strategic ties with workers and trade unions. In August and September of 1976, students and workers waged two successful stayaways that bridged intergenerational divisions evident during the uprisings.

In Soweto, another source of intergenerational solidarity came from progressive parents. Shortly after 16 June 1976, Soweto parents formed the Black Parents’ Association (BPA) to assist families of detained, missing and injured students. It included important activists such as Winnie Mandela, Dr Nthato Motlana, Sally Motlana and Rev. Manas Buthelezi. The BPA was banned in October 1977 but soon reconstituted as the Committee of Ten, chaired by Dr Motlana, a local physician and ANC member. Many of these activists were detained for their solidarity actions.

When the Soweto Civic Association (SCA) was launched in 1979, the Committee formed its first executive. By then, the state had dealt a lasting blow to the BC movement. This coincided with (or left space for) the re-emergence of Charterist politics through organisations such as the Congress of South African Students (COSAS), which was also launched in 1979.

Rather than crush resistance, state repression instead birthed a deeper commitment among the masses to dismantling apartheid. The regime tried to reform some of the more stringent apartheid laws, but the formation of the UDF in 1983 signalled mass rejection of any reform that did not grant full political power to the Black majority.

Liberation now, education later

By 1984, Black students were leading internal resistance to apartheid, with the mighty COSAS spearheading class boycotts across the country. By 1985, these had rendered township schools ungovernable. In August 1985, COSAS was banned, just one month after State President Hendrick Verwoerd—himself a key architect of Bantu Education policy—declared a state of emergency. The situation in schools was so violent that military and police presence had become an almost permanent feature of township school life. In response, many parents sent their children to the relative safety of the Bantustans. The boycotts in Soweto threatened to disrupt year-end exams scheduled for October 1985. Learning was virtually impossible, and the political climate was compounded by dilapidated school buildings, underqualified teachers, and lack of access to essential textbooks and stationery.

As boycotts continued, parents’ committees sprang up nationally. In Soweto, an SCA meeting on 13 October 1985 deliberated a collective response to the exam issue, and the Soweto Parents Crisis Committee (SPCC) was formed. It was mandated to meet with the Deputy Minister of Defence and Law and Order, Adriaan Vlok, about removing the military from Soweto schools so that exams could proceed in (relative) peace. A week later, the SPCC reported to a second meeting that Vlok was unavailable or unwilling to grant them an audience. Instead, representatives met with Sam de Beer, Deputy Minister of Education and Development Aid, who agreed that exams would be postponed to 7 January 1986. However, 1985 year-end exams were only written in March 1986, after a complicated battle with authorities.

Unlike the BPA, who had limited engagement with formal education authorities, the SPCC met with various ministers at least ten times, from its inception in late 1985 to its demobilisation in 1987. It was made up of key Soweto activists who were deeply impacted by 1976. Curtis Nkondo, of the non-racial National Education Union of South Africa (NEUSA), was the principal of Lamula High School in Meadowlands. He was also a leading figure in the Soweto Teachers Action Committee that mobilised teachers in a mass exodus of the profession in 1977, in defiance of Bantu Education. Dr Motlana, a leading ANC activist from Dube, was instrumental in the formation of the BPA and Soweto Committee of Ten. Like many young people after 1976, one of Motlana’s own sons skipped the border to join the liberation movement in exile, which shows the deep entanglement of personal and political life.

On Christmas Day 1985, the SPCC sent a three-member delegation to meet with exiled ANC leaders in Lusaka, Zambia, and thus consolidated its position in the constellation of Congress alliances.

People’s education for people’s power

Another pressing issue for the SPCC was the schools boycott. The banning of COSAS forced angry students to re-organise, and organisations like the Soweto Students’ Congress (SOSCO) and the Transvaal Students’ Congress (TRASCO) emerged to fill this void. They worked closely with the SPCC to organise what is perhaps the most historically significant convention in Black education, the National Education Conference at Wits University on 28–29 December 1985.

About 700 representatives from 200 organisations, including the South African Council of Churches, South African Committee on Higher Education, UDF, NEUSA, Azanian People’s Organisation (AZAPO), and many other student, youth and civic structures, attended. They resolved that students would return to school in January 1986, but on condition that the government meet six critical demands by March 1986:

• Reschedule examination dates to a time agreed on by students, parents and teachers;
• Lift the emergency in all areas;
• Withdraw the military from all townships;
• Unban COSAS;
• Reinstate all dismissed teachers and release all detained students; and
• Allow schools to elect democratic student representative councils (SRCs).

The Wits conference marked a massive shift in education resistance, and the earlier slogan “liberation now, education later” was replaced by “people’s education for people’s power”. This emphasised occupying and taking control of schools, rather than boycotting. Schools were thus repositioned as sites of renewed struggle. This shift coincided with a broader move towards adult literacy and worker education in the trade unions. The conference also mandated the formation of the National Education Crisis Committee (NECC) to coordinate national campaigns against apartheid.

As March 1986 drew closer, the SPCC realised that its demands would go unmet. Under the auspices of the NECC, the SPCC organised a second national conference in Durban on 27–28 March 1986.

The Durban conference defied the government by declaring COSAS unbanned. It called on students to elect SRCs in schools, and on parents to withdraw from school management committees and elect parent-teacher-student associations (PTSAs) instead. Both BC- and ANC-aligned groups participated in both conferences, and their differences produced tangible tensions over People’s Education. AZAPO representatives walked out on the first day of the Wits conference, and because the Durban conference took place on the same weekend as the national conference of the BC-aligned National Forum, ANC-aligned organisations dominated the trajectory of the process. But BC groups, especially students, participated robustly in the NECC up until the early 1990s.

Soweto activists lead

Ten years after 1976, Soweto activists were again leading education resistance. These activists drew on local political networks established in the 1970s and evoked the memory of 1976 to channel student frustration away from the frontlines and back into classrooms, towards “people’s education”. But on 12 June 1986, just days before the tenth anniversary, the government detained hundreds of anti-apartheid activists, including some of the SPCC. By 1987, the NECC itself was banned, and the SPCC activists that had been absorbed into its leadership faced serious police intimidation. By 1989, People’s Education was effectively demobilised. It was only in 1990 that a new layer of activists emerged, under the banner of the Soweto Education Coordinating Committee, to take up education liberation for Sowetans.

While the road from 1976 to 1986 was not linear, without the disruptive actions of students on that fateful day in 1976 and the politics that came from it (student-worker solidarity, parents’ organisations, and the proliferation of local education crisis committees nationally), people’s education would arguably not have manifested in the mid-1980s.

15 July 2026

Source: Amandla.

• Terri Maggott

  Terri Maggott is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Sociology at the University of Johannesburg.