The Constitutional Court has opened a door that no one can close. With one ruling, it has handed the surnames of South Africa to the world. A man named Zhang can now be Mthembu. Patel can now be Dlamini, Mohammed can now be Mogakane and Ivanov can now be Radebe.
And once the surname is secured through marriage, what stops the citizenship that
follows?
This is no longer just about dignity in marriage. It is about power, politics, and the ownership of South Africa’s future.
This argument emerged this weekend at my father’s after tears in Bushbuckridge, where grief gave way to prophecy.
The elders, between their sips and sighs, warned that the ruling would one day cause a revolution.
And if Bushbuckridge has formulated a view, you can be sure it is something already on the lips of ordinary folks in every township, from Soweto to Umlazi, from Seshego to Mdantsane.
The ruling was simple: the apex court declared that a husband may adopt his wife’s surname just as a wife has long been free to take her husband’s.
In the court’s view, it is equality and dignity at work. In the township view, it is the first step to surrender.
The Patriotic Alliance and Operation Dudula, self-appointed guardians of the borders, are the biggest losers here.
How do you scream ‘mabahambe!’ to a Mr Khumalo from Delhi once he has married a local woman?
Their slogans collapse the moment a foreign national legally carries an Nguni, Sotho, Tsonga or Venda surname.
Shouting “foreigner” may one day be met with “but my legally obtained ID says Mahlangu”.
The Bushbuckridge elders even pushed their suspicion into a full-blown conspiracy theory: the ruling, they claimed, is designed to undermine Black ownership of the country.
After all, no one imagines a Munangagwa from Zimbabwe marrying into an Afrikaans family and becoming a Van der Merwe.
The law seems tailored to allow the appropriation of Black South African identity alone. A Mr Wong, they argued, can marry a Mofokeng daughter and instantly become Mr Mofokeng, consuming Black lineages through the convenient language of love.
Picture this: Mudzingwa marries an Mbalula daughter and becomes Mr Mbalula. Adebayo from Nigeria marries into a Mantashe family and becomes Councillor Mantashe.
Patel from Karachi weds a Dlamini and rises as Mayor Dlamini. Ivanov from Moscow marries into a Radebe clan and becomes MP Radebe. Suleiman from Sudan joins with a Shabalala and emerges as speaker Shabalala.
This may sound like Bollywood fiction. However, it is the logical path of law. Marriage gives a foreigner legitimacy.
Legitimacy makes permanent residence easier. Residence makes naturalisation almost certain.
And once naturalised, who will stop them from being on the ballot? What is the criterion for standing for elections? You must be a South African citizen and 18 years or older.
What will stop the Pakistani guy who married into the Mashego family and legally changed his ID to Abdul Mashego from standing for election once his citizenship has been fast-tracked due to his conjugal vantage point?
The elders argued that councils, mayorships, and parliament will no longer belong only to the clans of this soil but to anyone who has borrowed a surname through love, strategy or
convenience.
Why would a Mudzingwa, once married into the Mbalula family, be denied citizenship? Why would Patel, after years of running a spaza shop in Soweto under the name Dlamini, not qualify to lead the ward he has served economically?
When the law has made the surname legal, the state cannot credibly deny the citizenship.
Now imagine not one or two, but a million Mudzingwas, Khans, Zhangs and Suleimans.
Worse, imagine three million foreign nationals, scattered in townships where spaza shops already dominate.
All it takes is marriage into Ndlovus, Lesufis, Mathabathas and Mabuyanes, and suddenly the councils of tomorrow are filled with foreign-born South Africans carrying our surnames.
And here lies the danger: this ruling cannot be overturned by a court of appeal.
It is a ConCourt decision: the apex. The only way to undo it is through a two-thirds majority in parliament.
The Constitutional Court may have wanted dignity. Instead, it appears its ruling has planted a potential seed of revolt.
Today it is about marriage. Tomorrow it is about mayorships. The day after, it may be about the very soul of South Africa. Are we babysitting a revolution?
• Mogakane is Mpumalanga correspondent
