It was day 18 of a cold and hungry strike, haunted by death. At Western Holdings, an Anglo American mine in Welkom, in the Free State province of South Africa, the mood of the penniless crowd threatened to turn ugly; many were angry and wanted to go back to work.
To make matters worse, the news had broken that the mining companies had begun firing workers over the strike for a 30% pay rise. In two turbulent winter weeks of 1987, police had shot and beaten strikers to death; along with worker kangaroo courts, for strike breakers, it brought the death toll to nine. The first flexing by the new National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) proved painful.
Into the eye of this angry storm stepped fresh-faced strike leader Frans Baleni to address 50,000 strikers at Western Holdings.
“I was 27 years old. I was very nervous, I was shaking, I was not sure what was going to be the reaction,” he recalls nearly 30 years to the day.
<blockquote>“I told them we had two choices: stay out, or go back to work and forget the people who died. I said if you don’t accept this, kill me.”</blockquote>
There was deafening silence for a few seconds and then a chant of: “Amandla (power to the people).”
“All of a sudden, I was in the sky. The crowd had picked me up and were carrying me, singing, to the beer hall about 800 meters away. I was not sure whether I was going to fall. When we got there they bought me a drink!”
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The joy was short lived. The mining companies threatened to fire 50,000 miners and on the 21st day the strike caved in. For current South African deputy president Cyril Ramaphosa – the lawyer who founded the NUM in 1982 – it must have been a bitter blow made worse by the fact he heard the news, not from the employers, but from a journalist. Many years ago I interviewed an activist who went with Ramaphosa on an early appeal for union recognition at one of the big mines in Carletonville, west of Johannesburg, one rainy afternoon. They had to use the backdoor and were forced to stand, soaking wet, before the seated bosses in the boardroom.
The first strike ended in defeat, but Baleni, who went on to head the NUM in 2006, believes it was worth it.
“We didn’t get a pay rise but it saw the birth of the provident fund that is now worth R27 billion ($2 billion)!” chuckles Baleni.
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Baleni also believes the strike opened the way for black workers to be trained for whites-only jobs. He helped the employers to select candidates, but his activism saw him fired in 1988 and he never was trained himself.
One of the chosen was Senzeni Zokwana, who trained as a shift boss and safety specialist at President Steyn Gold Mine in the Free State. In 2000, he became president of the NUM and in 2014 he became probably the first minister of agriculture in South Africa’s history to hold an underground blasting license.
Out of three weeks of misery and violence sprang some good.

‘I Said Kill Me, They Said Cheers!’

It is a Tuesday morning in Rustenburg, the heart of the platinum belt, in the north west of South Africa. On days like this, at the end of the month, this town is usually buzzing with business. The hardship of months of striking at the platinum mines has turned Rustenburg into a ghost town – a poor one at that.
“There’s no business at all here, sales have dropped drastically since the strike resumed in January. We don’t even come close to the business target. Food is going to waste as there are no customers buying. The business has reached its all-time low figures,” laments a restaurant manager who has put her staff on short time.
The manager at this restaurant, who asked not to be named, says because of the long Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (Amcu) strike she was instructed to reduce her staff’s working hours and pay.
“The bosses are aware of the situation. Generally, a sound business practice is that if you fail to make profit, you either close shop or downsize the staff. I have a fear this will happen if the strike does not end soon. People are suffering; I have a fear that crime will rise because people are desperate to make ends meet. In this shop we also fear for our lives. What if someone walks in armed and demands we hand him chicken,” she says.
At around lunchtime, Marikana Fruit and Veg co-owner, Michael Bendu, was removing rotten bananas from the shelves. He says he hasn’t had a customer all day.
“For me the business is 80% down and I am about to close shop if it continues like this in this month. Electricity, salaries, the rent of this shop and my house are taking their toll. I can’t deal with it.”
Bendu supplies mine hawkers and was making $955 a day before the strike.
“You can stay with me for the day; I promise you will hardly see customers entering the shop. Those who come are not buying in bulk. We can’t carry on like this. I have plenty of credit accounts with my customers but they can’t pay and I understand their plight,” he says.
Bendu often ends up giving away his fruit rather than see it rot.
“Here we survive by mineworkers. The mines are the backbone of our economy. I don’t know what will happen when the backbone collapses,” Bendu.
A few hundred meters from Bendu’s shop stands Marikana Wholesalers, operating since 2006, a stone’s throw away from where miners camp.
Owner, David Neto, says he lost around $955 though rotting food in March alone. In the past, he used to lend money to his hard-up workers but he can’t afford that anymore.
“I am at my bones. I can’t afford to further cut down the prices. It doesn’t make business sense,” says Neto.
“My staff is currently on flexi-hours. I have to force them to take leave, taking advantage of the poor business. The current situation is hurting everyone, I can’t afford a fulltime domestic worker anymore and I need a plumber but I can’t call him. The situation is creating all kinds of nonsense. Everyone is desperate these days. Taxis are forcing passengers off buses. It’s chaos here. My turnover is half of what it used to be. It is painful that I am paying my workers to look at passing people and watch the sun turning,” says Neto.
The taxis that ferry thousands of miners are also feeling the pain.
“Business is bad; the strike is the worst in the history of platinum mines. These are the days we would be seen busy but people are not using our services. This strike must come to an end because the banks will repossess our taxis as we are failing to pay our debts,” says Mojalefa Rantoa, a taxi driver.
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On the side of the road, two Mozambican hawkers, Gina Javana and Julia Makwakwa, watch their pile of spinach and tomatoes rot, along with their dreams.
“Worst time ever. We are so despondent. We came to Marikana to make ends meet but now we don’t know why we should stay when things have turned this bad. We couldn’t return home in December and Good Friday is here. We have no means to see our families, we are stuck here,” says Makwakwa.
Godfrey Jakaya, a 30-year-old Tanzanian herbalist, says in his five years in Marikana it’s never been so bad. He has had to move to a smaller shop to save rent.
“The business is not doing well, my family is living off my savings but it’s drying up. I am just glad my two children are too young to understand what we are going through with my unemployed wife. No more KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) meat for them.”
The strike has led to increased violence in the area. Business owners are the targets of robbers who are desperate to get their hands on their stock. Some striking miners have also been involved in clashes with police and workers on their way to the mines.
It has been tough on the strikers, who used to earn around $400 a month, as well. A group of striking Amcu members is seen walking aimlessly in the market area.
“Our landlords are on strike as we are. They understand we can’t pay as we are not earning a penny. But we have an understanding that we hustle for electricity and that’s all we can manage,” says one striker, who refused to give his name.
If the strike is still on when you read this, the hustle of Rustenburg can only get worse.

Rotten Food,  Rotten Strike

It’s the first day of the strike, on January 23, and a huge crowd gathers at the Wonderkop Stadium, near Rustenburg in South Africa, to listen to Joseph Mathunjwa, the chairman of the Association of Construction and Mineworkers Union (Amcu). Seventy thousand union members have downed tools at the platinum mines.
As early as 7AM, police officers and the mine’s security guards keep watch. The venue is surrounded by razor wire and armored vehicles. The stadium is a few hundred meters from Marikana, the site where 44 people died in a clash between striking miners and police in August, 2012.
<div id="attachment_2516" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-2516" class="size-medium wp-image-2516" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/IMG_6885-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />The Miners are Coming</div>
“People are watching this strike, speculating it is Marikana II. That will not happen. We’re peacefully fighting for our rights as workers. We want a better life. The blood of our brothers was shed fighting for better wages. We won’t betray them,” Mathunjwa says in Zulu to the roaring crowd.
Despite the leadership’s assurance of a peaceful protest, a few strikers are seen carrying traditional weapons, sjamboks (heavy whips) and sticks.
“It is not a foreign thing for Nguni men (a broad ethnic group of South Africa) to carry their sjamboks and sticks. We are not going to war or planning to violate others rights to choose who to associate with,” says Jack Mkhoba, the chairperson for Amcu’s Lonmin branch.
Mathunjwa calls for tolerance and respect for those who continue working. The National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), which lost its majority at the platinum mines to Amcu, is not part of the strike. There is still simmering tension between the unions.
Mathunjwa also accuses the mine of trying to make the negotiations drag on.
“The time to fool around with black people is over. The African economy must benefit Africans. We are not negotiating percentages, they mean nothing to us; we only understand the rand, our currency.”
Mathunjwa says the government, media and economists are too quick to criticize the union  for destabilizing the economy.
<div id="attachment_2515" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-2515" class="size-medium wp-image-2515" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/IMG_6517-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />The Miners are Coming</div>
“When CEOs and bosses give themselves more than R21 million ($1.9 million) in bonuses, they do not condemn that. Whose side are they on?”
Mathunjwa had the crowd in stitches when he shared anecdotes of the encounters he had with the management of the mining companies.
“One Sunday afternoon, I was invited over by the employers. Upon leaving the discussion, I left them with homework to figure out how much they are spending on their dogs, which is ridiculously way over what the employees take home?”
James Nichol, the British lawyer representing the victims of Marikana, gave the workers a surprise visit in a striped red tie. He stood out like a sore thumb.
Nichol danced to struggle songs with the workers and encouraged them to fight for their demands.
“It’s your duty to get justice for yourselves and families by fighting for R12,500,” says Nichol.
Amcu’s national organizer, Dumisani Nkalityana, encouraged the strikers to not let up.
“There’s no red carpet towards achieving our demands, we need to make sure we make it for ourselves,” he says.
The union members are far from united. A faction of Amcu say Mathunjwa is a dictator and accuse him of living large at the expense of workers. Mathunjwa dismisses the allegations, referring to the group as mischievous former Amcu members.
The mines, losing a fortune every day the strike continues, are hoping a solution can be found-quickly.
On this day, Anglo American Platinum, the largest platinum company, says its losing approximately 4,000 ounces and R100 million ($9 million) per day.
<div id="attachment_2518" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-2518" class="size-medium wp-image-2518" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/IMG_6411-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200" />The Miners are Coming</div>
“We are adamant that we will continue to engage with Amcu and have accepted the offer by the deputy president for a government-facilitated mediation process in order to find a resolution. Striking is not a constructive solution if we are to return the company to a sustainable financial footing and secure existing jobs,” says Chris Griffith, the CEO of Anglo American Platinum.
Griffith says the company will work with law enforcement agencies to help maintain peace and stability during the strike. His words were in vain.
Anglo American reported a 10% employee attendance rate on the first day of the strike and closed operations.
&nbsp;
DAY TWO
On the second day of the strike, South Africa’s mining minister, Susan Shabangu, brokers a three-day wage negotiation between Amcu and three of the big mining companies at the Southern Sun Hotel in Pretoria. Amcu books rooms at the hotel for its officials.
The Commission for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration (CCMA) is appointed as the facilitator between the union and Anglo American Platinum (Amplats), Impala Platinum (Implats) and Lonmin. The companies’ initial offer of an 8.5% increase falls short of the union’s demand of a R12,500 salary for entry level employees.
By the end of the negotiations, the mines have a new offer of 9% on the table. Amcu is unimpressed.
“How can you be satisfied with an offer that does not address the living wage?” asks Amcu spokesman, Jimmy Gama.
“The talks were cordially conducted in a positive atmosphere but I can’t say they were amicable as we are not getting what we wanted, which is R12,500.”
The companies’ response is unchanged. They say the demands are unrealistic and unreasonable.
“We are not issuing any threats to anybody at this point. We are very clear that employers can afford what the union demands,” adds Joseph Maqhekeni, the chairman of National Council of Trade Unions (Nactu)—the federation that Amcu is affiliated to.
On the last day of negotiations, union members are seen checking out of the hotel. It doesn’t look good. They are in a somber mood and are seen milling around nervously. Two shop stewards play struggle songs and the national anthem, Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika, on the hotel’s piano.
Most of the union members do not believe they will receive positive news; they are all keen to continue with the strike.
&nbsp;
DAY EIGHT
January 30 is D-day for the striking mineworkers. An offer of a 9% wage increase is on the table.
On a scorching morning, Amcu members, in their green union shirts, gather outside mine shafts around the North West province of South Africa to hear from shop stewards on the negotiations.
Striking workers at Amplats’ mine in Bleskop, Rustenburg, are among the first to turn down the revised wage increase. The mineworkers sit in the shade of a tree, talking and drinking beer. At least it is peaceful. A security guard confirms there is no intimidation.
At Batho Pele mine, another Amplats operation a few kilometers away, striking miners play cards and listen to music in their cars. Under the watch of security guards in armoured vehicles, the miners meet in the shade of a marquee.
The irate miners stand firm. They say the increase is insufficient and will not cover their bonds or match rising inflation.
Meanwhile, the mining bosses are counting the cost. Griffith says the strike halted production of around 40% of global platinum supply.
“We estimate that the daily cost to the country is closer to R400 million ($36 million) a day,” he says.
&nbsp;
DAY 15
A week later, a clash between strikers and police officers, at the Amplats mine in Limpopo, sees the death of a shop steward. A non-striking miner also was attacked near the Khuseleka mine in Rustenburg, while one vehicle and an excavator were set alight. Fourteen other vehicles were also damaged.
“It is with sadness that we learnt of the death of one of our employees. We extend our heartfelt condolences to the families, friends and colleagues of the deceased. We strongly urge striking employees to adhere to the picketing rules and remain within the picketing designated areas as agreed with Amcu. We condemn any act of violence, intimidation and damage to property,” says Griffith.
This violent period does not deter strikers. As of going to print, there was no end in sight to one of the most expensive strikes in African history.

‘The Time To Fool Around With Black People Is Over’

Less than nine months after the shooting that shocked the world, conflict and tension are back at the richest mines in Africa. Thirty four miners were shot and killed, on August 16, following a week of wildcat strikes in Marikana, South Africa. Now the platinum belt is at war once again.
Miners at Lonmin downed tools for two days following the death of a union leader. The wildcat strike sent share prices tumbling a day after the company had posted positive results. Lonmin shares fell more than 10% over the two days while the rand retreated to a three-week low against the dollar, on fears that the unrest might spread across a sector that accounts for nearly half of South Africa’s foreign exchange earnings.
As an inquiry into the deaths of the 34 miners continued around 40kms away, in Rustenburg, hundreds of miners belonging to the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (Amcu) marched to the infamous koppie, where the massacre occurred.
In 2012, the strike was over wages; this time around it was union rivalry. Amcu accused the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) of killing one of their office bearers. NUM denies it. Amcu, which has 70% of the membership at Lonmin, is demanding NUM leave their offices at the mine.
In the scorching heat of Marikana, it was a menacing site as miners chanted and danced their way to Wonderkop Stadium. More than 6,000 Amcu members chanted anti-NUM slogans and sang: “Who killed Steve, the man we loved so much”. This referred to the killing of 46-year-old Mawethu Steven, a shop steward who was shot dead while watching football at a tavern on May 11.
“If they have proof of us committing the killings then they must take it to the police,” says Lesiba Seshoka, spokesperson of NUM.
Following a marathon of meetings with Lonmin management, Amcu regional leaders addressed members at the packed stadium just after 4PM on a day where they vowed not to return to work until Lonmin management had kicked out NUM.
Addressing members, who were sitting on the grass using a loudspeaker system, an Amcu leader said the meeting they had attended yielded no results, as Lonmin management had declined to shut down NUM offices.
“The main issue at the meeting was our demand for the closure of NUM offices. After a meeting that started at 5AM, there’s nothing we’re bringing to you. What they [Lonmin] are saying is that they want you to go back to work,” says the leader.
Members reacted angrily and refused to go back to work at the 13 shafts that lay idle at Lonmin. Following deliberations, the leaders invited six workers from the 13 shafts, which have been affected by the strike to respond to the outcome of the meeting.
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All six workers said their co-workers would not return to work because management and government are colluding with NUM. They added that they [Lonmin and government] are allowing their members to carry dangerous weapons to the shafts.
“The employer is clearly showing that he is sleeping with NUM and government. We are not going back to work until NUM vacates the mine,” he says.
Another miner refusing to go back to work said: “What management is saying is the same as farting under water—you can’t hear it”.
Three days later, miners made a U-turn and returned underground.
Meanwhile at Anglo American Platinum (Amplats) Rustenburg, the planned retrenchment of 6,000 miners is set to get ugly. Miners are prepared to fight back and embark on a massive strike that will halt production and send shockwaves around platinum shares.
Workers committee member Evans Ramokga says the company is not backing down on retrenchments, and workers had taken it upon themselves to fight. He says after mass meetings at different shafts, workers have decided to go on strike.
“Unions have done their part and negotiated on our behalves. Now the workers have decided to lead their cause. No one is happy about the retrenchments. Workers are saying if Amplats cannot run the mines they must leave and surrender the mines to another company that will save jobs,” says Ramokga.
Meanwhile on May 21, security guards fired rubber bullets at strikers at Lanxess mine, Rustenburg—one of the biggest suppliers of chrome ore. Five people were injured. The illegal strike was over bonuses.
Days of unrest lie ahead.

The Ghosts Of Marikana

The wise, white-haired lawyer who has seen a thousand trials, nodded sagely as he spoke about the shooting that shocked the world. He believes the South African Police Services and government will pay for the deaths of 34 miners at Lonmin’s Marikana mine in Rustenburg, north-west of Johannesburg.
London-based criminal defense lawyer James Nichol traveled 5,600 miles to Johannesburg for a couple of weeks, to give his services for free. Those weeks turned into months of shocking evidence.
<div id="attachment_1590" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-1590" class="size-medium wp-image-1590" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/DSC_1167-300x235.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="235" />James Nichol</div>
“There is no question of self-defense here, these are police officers who had gone completely berserk and had fired into these people. And in some cases there’s evidence of a number of strikers who had been shot in the back,” says Nichol.
The hearings are revealing evidence on how the miners died and 78 others were injured. The week before, 10 people—six miners, two police officers and two Lonmin security guards—were killed as thousands went on a wildcat strike, over pay.
When Nichol saw the images of the Marikana massacre in his living room in England, it reminded the 67-year-old of the shock he felt about the Sharpeville massacre in 1960. On that fateful day in the township south of Johannesburg, the police shot into a crowd of around 5,000 unarmed anti-pass protestors, killing 69 people—many shot in the back—and wounding more than 200.
At 15 years of age, he took to the streets, in his hometown of Newcastle, calling to boycott the apartheid regime.
Nichol knows how hard mining is. He started work as a miner at 15, while his father worked at a coal mine from age 14 near Newcastle. Nichol senior died from dust related heart disease when he was just 40. It left Nichol bringing up his siblings—their mother had died earlier from tuberculosis.
Nichol worked his way up to specialize in miscarriages of justice and is a lawyer for the Socialist Workers Party, of which he is a member. He defended miners during the famous miners’ strike in Britain between 1984-1985.
With the help of a legal team from the Socio-Economic Rights Institute of South Africa (SERI), Nichol represents the families at the commission, which is chaired by retired judge Ian Farlam. It is examining whether the police were justified in using lethal force, whether union rivalry triggered the violent strike and whether Lonmin played a role.
Nichol says the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) had abandoned its members. He says the union did not write to the bereaved families or represent them at the commission.
“I can think of no graver betrayal than to do nothing for the family of a dead member of your union.”
The families were wholly ignored by the state until Nichol and Joseph Mathunjwa, the president of rival union the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (AMCU),  found them.
“It seemed to me that it was wrong. I knew then that I was here to stay,” says the lawyer.
However, NUM’s general secretary, Frans Baleni, says that it is the responsibility of the company or the owner of the infrastructure where the incident happened, to call or write to the bereaved families. He added that the families would have had to give consent to be represented by the union and its lawyers.
Nichol believes that the killings could have been avoided because stopping the strike was not about public order but more about strike breaking.
The evidence suggests the police set up an operation of 800 officers the night before the massacre, including several machine guns, rifles with stun grenades, gas grenades and water cannons, plus helicopters and razor wire. The operation also organized ambulances and fire brigades.
“The decisive point for me that this was not about public order and more about strike breaking came on the morning of August 16, when two statements were made: one by the police commissioners when she said: ‘This strike stops today’ and one by the head of press for SAPS when he said: ‘Today is D-day.’ Why? Why did it have to be today?”
Many witnesses will appear over the next few months. A ruling by Farlam is expected in May. Nichol will be listening.

“It Seemed To Me That It Was Wrong”

South African mining is in tatters after weeks of spreading violence and chaos that has cost R4.5 billion ($544 million) in lost production and threatened many of the country’s erstwhile prosperous mines.
More than 1,000 soldiers have been posted to Marikana and a tight police cordon thrown around the operation.The Lonmin strike has seen one shaft mothballed and 1,200 contract workers sacked.
This is the bitter aftermath of the shootings at the Marikana operations of Lonmin, near Rustenburg north west of Johannesburg, in which 45 people were killed. In the weeks that followed, the wildcat strikes and wage demands spread. It is a sign of dangerous times that Anglo American Platinum (Angloplats) decided to suspend its Rustenburg operations, on September 12, to protect its workers from intimidation—a blow to the international image of South African mining.
“Well, it has been hurt, it has been damaged. You can’t have such a serious incident during a democracy. We have to work towards making sure that we bring back the image and the sanity of the industry,” says Susan Shabangu, South Africa’s minister of mineral resources.
Then there were more wage demands at nearby Implats, strikers stopped workers going underground at Royal Bafokeng Platinum, there was a wildcat strike by 15,000 workers at Gold Fields in Carletonville, 79 kilometers west of Johannesburg; at Marikana 28,000 thousand workers refused to go back and marched with weapons as peace talks failed and wage offers were rejected. The workers want a minimum of R12,500-a-month—triple the current wage.
The unions couldn’t call the workers back and the management appeared powerless to dismiss—often a swift way of squashing an illegal strike—for fear of even more unrest.
The biggest upshot of all this is the highly regulated labor relations procedures—which has helped keep the number of mine strikes down over the years—has been bypassed, at best, mocked at worst. In the past, under the eye of independent mediators, the Commission for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration, wage demands went through extensive talks and delicate mediation. Only an irrevocable breakdown would lead to a strike certificate and a legal walk out. Even then, at best there would be at most a day or two of posturing on the picket line, or even a last minute deal before a drill was downed.
“They are opening up the entire mining industry to pay demands and illegal strike action, you are not going to be able to control illegal strike action&#8230; My biggest fear is that we are not working towards a long term solution,” says the national spokesman of the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), Lesiba Seshoka.
The first bitter legacy of Marikana is growing distrust and animosity between workers and management in an industry where the deeper underground you work, the less you get paid.
“Let’s be fair, when CEOs get millions we say nothing, when miners ask for twelve thousand Rand everybody make a noise. The manner the economy is structured doesn’t benefit everyone,” says the president of the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union (AMCU), Joseph Mathunjwa, on August 31.
During question time in Parliament in Cape Town, on September 13, President Jacob Zuma blamed Lonmin for the unrest at Marikana saying the living conditions in the hostels left a lot to be desired and the company should have built family homes instead.
“Lonmin acknowledges that living conditions are not ideal but it is working towards better living conditions. We accept the criticism, but improving living conditions is a long process,” says Lonmin spokeswoman Sue Vey.
The second legacy of Marikana will be higher costs for mining companies, at a time when they can ill afford it, as workers appear to have proved they can ask for more wages when they want. In mining, most pay negotiations are run, in an orderly fashion, through the Chamber of Mines every two years. Gold and coal miners do this; there are proposals to bring platinum into these pay talks, but it may be too late.
Peter Major, a mining analyst with Cadiz Corporate Solutions, who has studied South African mining for more than 30 years, believes costs in platinum mining are likely to soar.
“Profit margins have fallen from 50%, a few years ago, to 10% now, quite simply the industry is running out of rope… We are getting to a point where people won’t be able to make money even at these platinum prices&#8230; It is terrifying, costs have been going up around 20% a year and these wage demands are likely to send these costs soaring even higher,” says Major.
In the angry chaos of South Africa’s mine, costs may prove the least of its problems.

Tag: Strike

FORBES AFRICA SOCIAL MEDIA

‘I Said Kill Me, They Said Cheers!’

Rotten Food, Rotten Strike

‘The Time To Fool Around With Black People Is Over’

The Ghosts Of Marikana

“It Seemed To Me That It Was Wrong”

The Jewel In The Dirt