South Africa may have attained political emancipation but economically the chains largely remain. (File photo)
South Africa is the most unequal society in the world. In one suburb, rows of tidy houses with manicured lawns and sparkling blue swimming pools portray a life of comfort and affluence. Yet just a short distance away, sprawling informal settlements tell a starkly different story — clusters of makeshift shelters cobbled together from corrugated iron, plastic sheeting and cardboard. These fragile structures offer little protection against the Cape’s harsh winters. For thousands of South Africans, however, this is the daily reality — marked by inadequate access to clean water, electricity and sanitation.
Under apartheid, black South Africans were forcibly removed to remote Bantustans and systematically barred from white urban areas through segregation laws and pass systems. After apartheid formally ended, millions migrated to cities like Johannesburg and Cape Town in search of work and a better future. But the post-apartheid state — hamstrung by the economic compromises made during the political transition — was ill-equipped to accommodate this wave of urban migration.
The result has been the persistence — and in some ways the deepening — of inequality, now often described as “economic apartheid”. Although a small black elite has joined the historically privileged white minority, the underlying economic structures have remained largely untouched. This continuity was no accident. During the early 1990s, national attention was focused on constitutional negotiations promising a non-racial democracy. In contrast, economic negotiations occurred quietly behind closed doors, with little public involvement or scrutiny.
In many ways, South Africa’s democracy was born in chains: politically emancipated, but economically constrained.
Though the National Party was prepared to relinquish political power, it secured key economic concessions that severely limited the ANC’s capacity to implement transformative reforms. Fundamental decisions regarding land redistribution, nationalisation and economic justice were effectively placed beyond the reach of the new democratic government — like land redistribution and economic restructuring. One of the most enduring constraints was section 25 of the 1996 Constitution, known as the “property clause”.
While this section affirms the state’s duty to enable equitable access to land, it also enshrines strong protections for private property. Expropriation is only permitted under narrow conditions: it must serve the public interest and be accompanied by compensation. In practice, this has meant that land reform could only proceed under a “willing buyer, willing seller” model — an approach that has been slow, prohibitively expensive and largely ineffective.
Despite widespread dispossession under colonialism and apartheid, landowners remain shielded by the Constitution, and courts have often interpreted “just and equitable” compensation as close to full market value. This legal and financial framework has entrenched historic patterns of ownership, where the vast majority of arable land remains in white hands, and black South Africans continue to be economically marginalised.
This constitutional compromise sharply diverged from the vision articulated in the Freedom Charter of 1955 — a foundational document of the liberation movement. The Charter boldly declared, “The land shall be shared among those who work it,” and called for the nationalisation of banks, mines and industries. It imagined a South Africa in which economic justice accompanied political freedom. Yet during the democratic transition, these radical goals were abandoned in favour of neoliberal economic orthodoxy.
To compound matters, the new government inherited huge apartheid-era debt, which consumed much of the national budget. Resources that could have been used for free electricity, housing and public services were instead directed to debt repayment. Social spending was restricted by macroeconomic frameworks such as GEAR (Growth, Employment and Redistribution), which further narrowed the space for structural transformation.
These were not accidental omissions but strategic efforts to contain the radical potential of the liberation movement. Guided by the International Monetary Fund, World Bank and Western governments, the ANC was encouraged to adopt neoliberal economic policies, marketed as necessary for investor confidence and global integration.
The promised influx of international capital never materialised. Instead, inequality soared.
Turning to Palestine, if a one-state solution is ultimately realised — a vision I strongly support — there remains a real risk that democratic processes reflecting the will of the majority may be obstructed. As history has shown, dominant economic classes often “confuse, conquer and divide”, relying on co-optation, manipulation and bribery to maintain control. In this context, Israeli economic dominance could persist — or even expand — paralleling the enduring power structures seen in post-apartheid South Africa.
Nevertheless, it must be stated unequivocally: the two-state solution is not a path to justice. Borders do not resolve economic inequality. A two-state outcome would only entrench disparities, legitimising the vast gap between a first-world Israel and the humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza and the West Bank, driven by decades of Israeli land confiscation, resource theft and the denial of Palestinian rights. Moreover, statehood alone does not guarantee economic sovereignty or viability. Palestinians have long been expected to compromise their sovereignty in exchange for vague promises of peace or security. Under such an arrangement, true economic freedom would remain elusive.
The lessons of South Africa’s transition serve as a cautionary tale: political liberation without economic justice is a hollow victory. True freedom requires dismantling the structures of economic domination — not merely changing who holds political office. As Palestinians continue their struggle for liberation, it is essential that any future political arrangement be grounded in both justice and international law.
International legal frameworks such as the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) affirm the right to adequate housing, food, water, education, and health — rights that cannot be realised under systems of structural inequality. Likewise, the right to self-determination, enshrined in Article 1 of both the ICESCR and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, guarantees not just political independence, but also the right of all peoples to freely pursue their economic, social, and cultural development.
These principles must form the foundation of any post-apartheid vision in Palestine. The continued exploitation of Palestinian resources, the fragmentation of Palestinian territory, and the suffocating blockade on Gaza all constitute clear violations of international humanitarian and human rights law. Any political solution that fails to dismantle these economic structures and guarantee full Palestinian sovereignty — including control over borders, trade, and natural resources — falls short of the standard of justice required by international law.
A two-state solution that legitimises economic asymmetry would amount to the legalisation of injustice. If Palestinians are to achieve true liberation, it must be a liberation that is not only political, but deeply rooted in economic equality, sovereignty, and binding international legal standards. Anything less risks repeating the unfinished revolution of post-apartheid South Africa. If Palestinians are to achieve true liberation, it must go beyond flags and borders. It must be a freedom rooted in justice — economic, political and legal — otherwise, history will repeat itself, and apartheid will wear a new face.
Sõzarn Barday is a writer and attorney based in South Africa and has a particular interest in human rights within the Middle East. Opinions shared represent her individual perspective.
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