Igenge yegroove: the groove generation

I have been trying to imagine the lives of the people behind the pictures of the Savanna antics: who are these people? What are their lives like? Where do they live? Other than igroove what else gives them the space to be as creative and as playful as they are in these images? What do these images tell us about the condition of blackness? Could it be that there’s a reproduction of young black people who are caricatures rather than wholesome people who direct their lives in meaningful ways?

My conservative bent does not allow me to be generous nor expansive in my imagination. I have made up a dull image in my mind: possibly unemployed young people who have been let down by a system that has not given them the space to expand their creativity. Or young professionals who are battered from working in corporations which dim their light. So all they have is igroove and pursuing dead-ends in a country that has shrunk the opportunities for young people (in spite of whether they have ticked all the boxes such as going to school and getting a degree). 

When I heard about the matric rage and how the children of the elite had behaved at a super spreader event, I was simply annoyed: on brand, rich people’s children who think they are entitled to their rite of passage no matter the consequences. 

When young people in Mabopane blocked the highway and had a party, their videos and images were shared and it was reported that the Minister of Transport  “was appalled by the behaviour of the group…disappointed by the trending videos which showed revellers gathered and partying with scant regard for Covid-19 safety protocols”. According to IOL he said “these dastardly acts invariably end in tragedy…this conduct is unacceptable, and our law enforcement authorities will show no mercy towards people who turn our roads into party spots”. In a Facebook post where I first came across the news, a friend commented on the double standard: Can we talk about the disparity in approach, when the state engages with Black, working class people vs when it engages with predominantly white middle class people?

I’ve been watching a series on Shomax, Industry. It follows the lives of young people who work in the corporate financial belly of London. There is sex, drugs and alcohol galore and yet their lives continue in spite of the stressful work environment which has a severe impact on their personhood and mental health (one of the characters dies at work from a drug overdose while trying to meet a deadline). What I find fascinating about the series and the characterisation is that while these young people are living seemingly reckless lives, there is a buffer which prevents their complete crash (I haven’t finished the series so this is based on the 5 episodes I’ve watched). There is always death looming but having money, an education and a social network wards off the death and destruction which would otherwise befall them. I am including this fictional world here because it offers a contrast to the images and the stories behind the images I have alluded to. This fictional world resembles the world of Sandton elites where cocaine is so common it’s no longer an open secret. But the privilege of being middle class protects them. These young people are the minority and fall off the radar because in the bigger scheme of things, their privilege will protect them.

There have been many accounts of young people behaving recklessly because of igroove not only in South Africa but across the world as lockdown regulations have been eased or flouted. In the past, pictures of young people living their best lives would not have garnered outrage or moralistic judgement. However, a global pandemic has changed how we read youthful exuberance. Much has been said about the selfishness, the disregard amongst a long list of other lamentations (and memes).

Underlying this commentary has been about the relationship South Africans have with alcohol. Moreover, the history of alcohol in South Africa is the current we seldom pay attention to as another friend pointed out on Facebook which was received with gusto on Twitter: in short, South Africa’s relationship with alcohol is deeply connected with the past which was meant to impoverish African people. The consequences of alcohol have often meant death, violence and social death. We all talk about the drunk uncle as the norm in our families.

Behind the images and the videos going viral on social media are the whispers from the past. It is the whispers of ancestors whose lives were destroyed by the dop system, which has had a generational effect. There are the whispers of the 1976 children who fought with their parents who were wasting away in township taverns while their children were fighting the apartheid government. Another friend described this relationship with alcohol as grief: people are drowning their grief and the excessive alcohol is the medium.

After the latest alcohol ban, Beer Association of South Africa made a statement opposing the ban citing loss of revenue and loss of jobs (I’m not sure about the exportation of alcohol and the extent to which that was affected). They also cited the increase in illicit sales which were rife during the previous alcohol ban. While these are valid concerns I was left wondering who makes money from people’s impoverishment because of alcohol? What would it mean to rebuild an economy which did not rely on industries which were complicit in people’s demise? 

Igenge yegroove may or may not be thinking about these questions but they know that something is amiss. They know there’s a global pandemic which places their livelihood at risk. They have also lost love ones during the pandemic. Yet they choose to dance anyway. They choose igroove because it makes them feel something or nothing. What they are mostly thinking about is how long their stash will last them, or what kind of life they will have without the ability to go to igroove—where will they escape to? The streets? Whatever the choices available, it seems to me igroove is a way of being in the world. It is a lifestyle. A religion. It is a cultivated condition. A practice. A set of choices. It is a series of images and videos of young people living what they see as their best lives in a country that has let young people down.