The Truth About Cape Town's Well-Run Image: A Cape Flats Perspective

I grew up in Cape Town, but not in the mountain-facing suburbs or trendy neighbourhoods tourists see. I grew up on the Cape Flats—where the sound of gunfire is as familiar as the ice cream truck, where kids play in the street until they don’t, because someone got shot again. So when I hear politicians like Premier Alan Winde, MEC Anroux Marais, or Alderman JP Smith talk about Cape Town as a "well-run city" in a "well-run province," I want to ask: for whom?

It’s not that I don’t want to believe them. I do. I’d love to live in a well-run place. But what they describe doesn't reflect my everyday reality or that of my neighbours. Last week alone, 15 people were murdered and more than 10 critically injured in places like Mitchells Plain, Nyanga, Hanover Park, and Kalkfontein. That isn’t a rare week. That’s what life has become. And that should never be normal. We live in communities soaked in trauma. Every gunshot reminds us how little our lives matter to those in power.

We don’t have the luxury of debating safety from the comfort of leafy suburbs behind security gates. We can’t "opt out" of the crisis. For us, it’s personal. It’s walking your younger sibling to school and wondering if you’ll make it back. It’s choosing which roads to take based on gang boundaries.

It’s checking your WhatsApp community group, not for neighbourhood watch updates, but for the names of those who died last night. What’s worse is that we are constantly told things are getting better. The City of Cape Town pours billions into safety, over a billion rand on LEAP officers, and millions more on ShotSpotter, drones, CCTV, and body cams. Yet none of that seems to reach us. None of that technology has made me feel safer walking to the shop or waiting for a taxi.

We are told that crime-fighting is the responsibility of the national government, and sure, SAPS is under national control. But that’s not the whole story. The City is not powerless. JP Smith controls 21 safety units, including Metro Police and specialised crime intelligence. The City has its own enforcement agencies, resources, and officers. So why, with all that, can’t they keep us safe? The answer, I think, lies in priorities.

The City has perfected the art of PR, press briefings, safety digicons, branded uniforms, social media posts showing new gadgets and flashing lights. But that’s not safety. That’s optics. And optics don’t save lives. Let’s be honest: if this level of violence were happening in Constantia, Sea Point, and Rondebosch, there would be an uproar. There would be emergency council sessions, task forces deployed overnight, and helicopters circling nonstop. But it's another tragic statistic because it’s happening in the Cape Flats. Another week. Another headline. And yet, the people here are not passive victims.

We fight every day to survive, to build, and to protect one another. Parents walk their kids to school in groups, neighbours check on each other, and local NGOs run after-school programs and trauma counselling with barely any support. We do what we can. But we can’t do it alone. We need a government that doesn’t just manage the city from a distance but lives up to its responsibility to all its people.

I’m tired of hearing that Cape Town is a model city because it balances its books and runs clean audits. You can’t measure human safety on a spreadsheet. A well-run city isn’t one where the lights are on in the CBD but the streets are dark in gang territories. It’s not one where some kids have access to well-funded schools and libraries while others grow up fearing stray bullets. The violence we face isn’t just about gangs. It’s about inequality, disinvestment, and a broken social fabric. And until those root causes are addressed—not just with PR but with real policy—we’ll keep burying our youth.

As a young person from the Cape Flats, I don’t want miracles. I just want to live without fear. I want to study, to work, to build a future here. That’s not too much to ask. But right now, our so-called "well-run city" is failing us. And if this is the best the City can offer, then clearly it’s time for a new definition of leadership—one that sees, hears, and protects us. Until then, Cape Town has not been truly well-run. It’s just selectively run. 

*Mayalo is an independent writer and commentator

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