Why Do the History of the Anti-Apartheid Struggle and its Heritage Work Matter to Anyone and Everyone?

My name is Akira Nakajima, and I am a recent master’s graduate of Postcolonial Studies in London. At the age of 9, I moved to Johannesburg from the northernmost island of Japan. Now I’m a researcher in the making, working towards a Ph.D. in historical sociology and human geography of southern Africa. The seed of my curiosity was planted during the 3 years I spent in Johannesburg as a primary school student. 15 years on, my lived experience in Johannesburg has turned into more than just a matter of curiosity, but my life reference. Now I am also enjoying the privilege of supporting the Anti-Apartheid Legacy Centre as a volunteer.

(image from author’s family albums, author age 9 running, with Johannesburg skyline in distance)

The time of Apartheid is not a thing of the past. Even as a primary school kid, it was difficult to unsee its traces in the everyday experience.

The Japanese community in South Africa has never been significant in population. However, Japan was the largest trading partner of the Apartheid regime for cars, electronic appliances, and mineral resources such as platinum. Despite the worldwide boycott movement, the Japanese corporate and government were repeatedly condemned for their reluctance to reconsider their relationship with the Apartheid regime. Being ‘temporary visitors from the far east’ with little possibility to threaten the Apartheid system while economically beneficial, the Japanese were often allowed to access white areas and public facilities while being classified as ‘non-white’. This ambiguous categorization even resulted in the circulation of the bizarre term ‘honorary white’ in the early 1960s onwards. The term was initially used by South African journalists to mock the hypocrisy and indifference of the Japanese and, above all, the absurdity of the Apartheid racial categorization. Later, however, this derogatory term came to be adopted by Japanese residents in South Africa themselves on some occasions to passively evade the Apartheid policy (such as to request ‘white treatment’ when using hotels or restaurants).

(Left: “Honorary Whites” – South African newspaper where the term ‘honorary white’ first appeared. The Star, 8 Feb 1962) 

(Right: Japaranda – This caricature mocks the Pretoria City Council battling over whether Japanese are allowed to compete in the same swimming pool as whites – The driver says to the Japanese swimmers: ‘It’s nothing serious. They’re just practicing our real national sport – arguing over colour issues!’ Die Burger, 3 Feb 1962) 

For both images see reference 1 – in footer

My lived experience in Johannesburg took off with this awkward doubleness as an outsider. I lived in one of the gated communities in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg, whose residents were predominantly white upper-middle-class. High walls with electric fences and armed security guards protect the superficial copy of European gardens, and the residents are allowed to look away from all the hypocrisy outside. A small separate cottage for domestic workers in my backyard was a footprint of the migrant workers system. My parents didn’t hire a domestic worker, but when visiting the homes of many of my Japanese friends, domestic workers did all the house chores. Swimming pools, tennis courts, and golf courses were not rare sights and there were regular parties for Japanese trading company employees in Sandton. I remember when I first arrived, a Japanese girl of my age gave me this generous advice, ‘Never make eye contact with anyone outside a car because it’s dangerous.’

(Left: A glimpse of the gated community I lived, 2009.) 

(Author on the left in the swimming pool, 2009)

But there are moments in everyday life where you get dragged out of such bubbles of ‘privilege’, completely out of the blue. Let me tell you a short story of an encounter with a newspaper seller at Beyers Naude Drive, which was named after Afrikaner theologian and Anti-Apartheid activist, Beyers Naude. 

Every early morning when my sister and I went to school, my parents used to give us a lift. As we would stop at the traffic sign at the junction to join Beyers Naude Drive, there was always a newspaper seller standing there. One day,  sitting on the back seat as usual, I felt the guy was looking at me through the car window. At first, I pretended I didn’t notice him as I had been advised to. But he didn’t take his eyes off me, so I looked at him. Then he held his arms and did a comical ‘it’s cold’ gesture with a smile to me as if to say, ‘it’s very cold today, neh!’ I felt something so warm in his gesture, something that pulled all my guards down at once. I smiled back and nodded at him to say ‘yes, it’s so cold!’ Since that day, our conversation over the car window with eye contact and subtle body language became our routine. It didn’t even take too long before my parents started to grab a newspaper from him every morning and have an instant conversation while waiting for the signal. Later, he revealed that he had been diagnosed with HIV, and occasionally, he stood on the street looking unwell. We lost touch after we moved back to Japan.

(Beyers Naude Drive in 2011)

After moving back to Japan, I occasionally had difficulty dealing with the stigmas attached to ‘Africa’. The stereotype of a poor dark continent still lived on, and some people at school seemed to have found it to be a matter of laughter that I lived there. I couldn’t really fit in anymore. Then I stopped trying to fit in. I abandoned the myths of monoethnic nation-state, language, ethnic and racial purity, the idea of progress, and material abundance as a condition for shared connection and human prosperity. I wonder if these were the accessories that Japanese society picked up during its ‘modernization’? Its blind attempt to keep up with the Western imperial powerhouse came at the cost of friendships with other parts of the world. In the light of Anti-Apartheid history in Japan, a few organizations such as JAAC (Japan Anti-Apartheid Committee) saw denouncing the ‘honorary white’ label and rejecting the internalized racism as essential. But the humanitarian attitude of ‘giving aid’, where the materially and economically rich help the poor, preoccupied the way the Japanese business sectors, the government, and NGOs forged the relations between South Africa and Japan, and continues to do so.

What does meaningful solidarity look like? Having gone through many divides of colour, language, and values, I thought that the best way to begin was to trace the moments I felt free of such chains. Moments such as when I met that newspaper seller, when his warmth cut through the cold winter glass window of the car, the bubble of ignorance and indifference, and reached me. It is this deep sense of freedom that I hold onto. Freedom from the chains of narrow-mindedness of racism or nationalism or whatever locks us up and tears us apart. It gradually came to define my values.

I started to gravitate towards the world of postcolonial studies through the course of my higher education. I found some echoes between my lived experience and some influential scholars who make insightful comments on South African history and society. They claim that the desperation for freedom under Apartheid yielded ingenuity to find humanity in each other through obstacles, and this could be a strong reference for all of us. Within this unique relationship, people of different faiths, values, and worldviews would live side by side, while influencing and mixing with one another and coming together. This would create something energetic, vibrant, and shared.

Volunteering at the Anti-Apartheid Legacy Centre allows me to discover rich clues as to what such a relationship looks like. Exhibitions and the films of activists such as Norman Kaplan or George Bizos showed me the complexity of people involved in the struggle and their activism as far beyond their self-interest or petty battles over political ideology. In our digital mapping project, we are collecting and reorganizing materials about landmarks relevant to the Anti-Apartheid struggle across London. We also locate them on an online map to create an interactive and accessible platform. The number of sites that are relevant in London is eye-opening. It shows that Anti-Apartheid history is not an isolated matter of South Africa but relevant to the local community of London and the UK. History tells us that we are all interdependent and inseparable, just like a knitted fabric, which covers from South Africa to the UK, and elsewhere.

Assisting with some workshops and community events, I saw the local children and students in Islington. They were around the same age as when I was in South Africa. I was amazed not just by their ability to engage with difficult history but their diversity – and they behaved as if it was not unusual at all. It made me very jealous because that was what I yearned for as I grew up but didn’t really have. Recently, talking about such history seems difficult. But my journey with the centre convinces me that it’s still possible and important.

(Left: Table display at community street fair, Islington.)

(Right  Primary School talk, one of our workshops)

I sometimes imagine how my life would’ve turned out if I hadn’t moved to South Africa. The time I spent there got me out of the cage of narrow-mindedness.

‘Freedom is indivisible…the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another man’s freedom is a prisoner of hatred, he is locked behind the bars of narrow-mindedness.…The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity.’ 

From ‘Long Walk to Freedom’ by Nelson Mandela

The history of collective and voluntary will to end Apartheid is a powerful reminder that we still don’t need to give up on humanity. And the sacrifice to end Apartheid is a caution that freedom must never be under-appreciated. But I think it’s okay not to know because that’s precisely where I came from. If that’s the case, The Anti-Apartheid Legacy Centre at 28 Penton Street, Islington could be that newspaper seller for you.

(Author at Mandela House, Orlando West, Soweto, 2010)

1  Yamamoto, M. (2022). The Good, the Bad, and the Asian – Ethnoracial Politics of Honorary Whiteness in Twentieth-Century South Africa. 1st edn. Tokyo. Shin-yo-sya.

Makino, K. (2014). The Anti-Apartheid Movement in Japan: An Overview. https://www.ide.go.jp/English/Publish/Reports/Dp/440.html

by Akira Nakajima, Nov 2025

Email: akiranakajima1847@gmail.com

Acknowledgement – Sincere gratitude to Professor Meyu Yamamoto for kindly sharing her resource.