THEY say history repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. Cape independence? We’ve seen this movie before. It played out in 1910 when the British stitched together four colonies into a union that served the white minority while black South Africans were cast aside. It played again in 1948, when apartheid turned segregation into law, carving up the land and its people with brutal precision. Now, in 2025, a group of disillusioned dreamers wants to rewrite the script once more, cutting the Western Cape from South Africa as though history never happened.

The Cape Independence Advocacy Group (CIAG) wants the Western Cape to break away, arguing that the province should govern itself, free from the "failures" of national rule. They’re even taking their case to the United States, as though Washington is a fair judge of territorial integrity. But let’s call this what it is: a desperate attempt to preserve privilege under the guise of self-determination. It is not about governance; it is about power. It is not about democracy; it is about exclusion.

We have been here before. The first colonial settlers came by ship, claimed land they did not own, and built a society that only served themselves. Then came apartheid, where land was stolen and laws were written to make theft look legitimate. The Cape, with its vineyards and mansions, remains a stronghold of that legacy. The idea that it must now “secede” to protect its interests is a final insult to the people who built it—the black South Africans who toiled in its fields, served in its homes, and were buried in its unmarked graves.

Cape independence is a rejection of democracy itself. The Western Cape benefits from South Africa’s resources, infrastructure, and labour, yet its independence advocates want to pull the plug when the national government no longer suits them. It is a tantrum disguised as a movement, the political equivalent of packing up the toys and storming out when the game doesn’t go your way.

And who would suffer most? The same people who have suffered through every historical betrayal. The farmworkers in Paarl, the labourers in Khayelitsha, the families living in backyard shacks because land ownership remains a distant dream. What happens to them in an “independent” Cape? Will their citizenship be questioned? Will their land claims be erased? Will they be cast adrift in a sea of bureaucracy while wealthier residents sail smoothly into a new republic of convenience?

This is not self-determination; this is selfish determination. It is the fantasy of a past that never was, where the Cape could exist as a prosperous, European-style enclave at the tip of Africa, conveniently detached from the struggles of the rest of the country. But there is no independence in running from responsibility. There is no justice in drawing new borders when the old ones have not yet healed.

South Africa was broken for centuries, but we chose to mend it. Cape independence is not a solution; it is an escape plan for those who never wanted to build a nation in the first place.

integrity

Poetic Licence