Breaking Brotherhood: The Wilgenhof Story 

There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always – do not forget this, Winston – always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.

– George Orwell, 1984

September 2024. The End. Wilgenhof has fallen. The University of Stellenbosch has decreed that the country’s oldest men’s residence – here, at the foot of Africa, in an historic academic town of lime-washed buildings set amidst verdant winelands – shall be shuttered for a year. In its place, a glorious edifice shall rise – a reimagined and rejuvenated space, a clean slate for building a community, one that is New & Improved.

What this might look like remains unclear, but there are some early indications. An unidentified official told the press that the residence will be renamed. Elsewhere, it was stated that extensive renovations – both moral and structural – shall be taking place.

Once the doors swing open, young men of the future can look forward to “positive masculinity programmes”. They can also expect a “transformative student experience”. In the meantime, those Bad Eggs remaining at Wilgenhof shall be plucked from their nest and reassigned to other residences next year, spread out all across the campus.

With the veritable torrent of sensationalist reporting over the past nine months, one could be forgiven for thinking that closure might be a good idea. After all, Wilgenhof seems a dark and sinister place. A place where men, under the cloak of night, banded together to propagate white supremacist, Nazi thought. A place of horror and abuse, of racism, of violence, of sexual molestation. In short, a place in need of radical intervention.

But as with many of our New South African stories, not everything is quite as it seems. Indeed, the story of Wilgenhof, as it has been told, needs a new beginning. The seeds of this story can be traced back to the early machinations of a small group of activists: grassroots, academic, and media. Their efforts culminated in the outcome the residence now faces – an exercise that, during its active phase – unfolded over approximately five years.

Part I of this series analyses the flawed substance of the independent panel report that led to the closure of Wilgenhof, while Part II reveals the real nature of the residence’s traditions and how these fell victim to broader cultural movements within the university and society more broadly.

I

In the week of 9 January, whilst the residents were still on holiday, a small huddle of staff entered the Wilgenhof premises. Their purpose, it was later claimed, was to perform an “audit”. The story broke on News24 – on 24 January – and its initial iteration appeared fairly benign. Journalist Prega Govender reported that university management had found “concerning paraphernalia” in two rooms, but no specifics were provided regarding their nature.

Deputy Vice Chancellor Professor Deresh Ramjugernath issued a statement, assuring the public that a team would investigate the matter. Ramjugernath emphasised the institution’s unwavering commitment to the “well-being of everyone” on campus, so that students might enjoy a “positive transformative experience”.

But, according to Govender, the university’s residences had in recent times become “hotbeds of controversy”. There was that incident at Huis Marais in 2022, for example: the expulsion of Theuns du Toit for the drunken, somnambulant act of urinating on the belongings of Babalo Ndwayana.

In response to these mounting concerns, and “broader allegations of racism”, Vice Chancellor Wim de Villiers appointed Justice Sisi Khampepe to lead a commission of inquiry. The subsequent Khampepe report spoke of a “toxic and exclusionary culture” entrenched within many of the residences and university communities. In this report, the word “transformation” featured more than four hundred times, and the university duly responded. The Committee for the Institutional Response to the Commission’s Recommendations (CIRCoRe) emerged – a body charged with making these transformative changes for a more inclusive future.

The next day, on 25 January, News24 published its Big Exposé, giving readers an inside look into the Wilgenhof “House of Horrors”. Although the university had intended to conduct its own investigation – as explained by Ramjugernath just the day before – someone, a university insider, had other plans in mind. Over thirty photographs of these “two secret rooms” found their way into the publication’s hands.

News24 didn’t hold back in describing the contents of those rooms. The images revealed a collection of “shocking items”. There were “crude drawings” and “graphic sketches” of what appeared to be “male sexual assault” – a phrase that featured thrice in the article, whether in its teaser, body text, or captions.

Another drawing depicted “a person performing oral sex”. There were “drawings of sexual acts”. There were “sketchbooks depicting sexual acts”. The word “nude” featured twice; “nudity” three times; “naked” four times. All this, combined with the photograph of an apparently used condom (the word “condom” appeared seven times) was enough to conjure, in even the most stoic mind, only dread.

But then there was also the matter of the ever-lurking wit gevaar, as evidenced by the “black hoods”. These resembled those worn by “members of a known white supremacist group”. Moreover, a curious symbol – the number 88 – found painted on some of these dark outfits and above a door frame.

Govender wrote that although the meaning of the symbol was “yet to be ascertained”, the number was “widely known” to be a white supremacist symbol, because the numbers served as shorthand for a “Nazi salute”.

What stood out at this stage of the unfolding drama was that, despite the sudden revelation of these disturbing items during the university’s “surprise inspection”, there seemed to be a wealth of extant knowledge about Wilgenhof. Govender’s sources included an article penned by Paul Joubert, a sociology student at Stellenbosch University, written in 2020 and titled The Truth About Wilgenhof. Another source, a male student, remained nameless, but seemed to have significant insider knowledge.

Nevertheless, the next day, on 26 January, the university issued a statement, to reaffirm its commitment to human dignity. The “disturbing items” had been promptly removed and the rooms “sanitised” by a fresh coat of paint. The institution said that it would “continue unabated” to “eradicate unacceptable practices”. Vice Chancellor De Villiers also appeared, grave and reassuring, via video message. He said the images circulating in the media were “on the face of it, deeply disturbing”.

On 30 January, De Villiers once again addressed students and staff, acknowledging that the contents of the rooms had been “deeply distressing.” Yet, it was also the start of a new academic year, and the university remained steadfast in its commitment to providing a welcoming home for all. De Villiers said the university had “embarked on a process of deep introspection”. He said that CIRCoRe was “rolling out initiatives across the university” and “deepening and fast-tracking our institutional reformation” – including the “culture in the residences”.

On 13 February, the university announced that the panel to investigate the two rooms had been finalised. Advocate Nick De Jager, senior counsel, would lead the panel. Assisting him were Dr Derek Swemmer – a former Registrar at two other South African universities – and Ms Penny van der Bank, SU’s Deputy-Registrar for Governance.

The university also enlisted the professional expertise of others within the institution to consult on the “historical, cultural and symbolic dimensions” of the two rooms and the “enculturation practices” of Wilgenhof within the “broader institutional culture”.

After significant delays, the panel finally delivered its report on 10 June. Within 48 hours, the university issued a statement. The Rectorate had “received and considered the final report” and – in unanimous accord – accepted the panel’s principal recommendation: Wilgenhof must be closed.

De Villiers would now advocate for this closure to the Council and also suggest that “alternative uses be considered for the buildings”. Council deliberations were scheduled for 24 June. De Villiers said, “Given the body of evidence presented by our expert panel, we have accepted its main recommendation that closure [of Wilgenhof] is the appropriate action going forward.”

II

The phrase body of evidence seems to suggest something that is both vast and serious. Something well-considered, impartial, academically rigorous, factual, and rational. Something that might ensure that the arrival, at any particular conclusion, would result in an outcome that is ultimately just. The outcome, in this case, is the closure of a 120-year-old residence steeped in history. A residence, moreover, that seems to have produced some of the country’s greatest captains of industry, an array of sporting giants, and a whole panoply of human rights defenders. (All no doubt delighted to have learnt that they are white supremacist Nazis.)

Image: Wilgenhof Reunion 2023 – pre-event celebrations. Pictured from left to right: Edwin Cameron (former Constitutional Court judge and Chancellor of Stellenbosch University), Nico Steytler (Professor Emeritus at the Dullah Omar Institute and former SA Research Chair in Multilevel Law and Development), Johan Froneman (Constitutional Court judge) [SOURCE: Facebook]

Given the media portrayal of Wilgenhof as a House of Horrors filled with torture, abuse, and sexual violence, the most important sentence in the report, the one that should have made headlines, is that the panel found “no evidence of physical violence, sexual violence or sexually inappropriate behaviour having been perpetrated by the Nagligte against the Wilgenhof residents.”

The second most important sentence concerns the issue of misconduct. The panel investigated possible contraventions of various institutional policies, regulations, rules and codes for the years 2009, 2012, 2017, 2019, 2020, and 2023. But the panel did not “receive or note any complaints of specific transgressions”. Despite coming up empty-handed, the panel summarily concluded that there were nonetheless “almost certainly” transgressions.

Given that the panel found no evidence of violence, sexual abuse, or specific misconduct, save perhaps the allegation that the Nagligte, as an unofficial body, was not properly constituted - and the matter of an event held on a private farm - upon what then was the radical decision to close the residence based?

Mainly on the interpretation of “symbolism” and “history” and the combination of these two “in context”. But to substantiate their interpretations, the panel supplied only a paper–thin bibliography – a weak one moreover – and relied on written submissions (choosing to take only some into account), interviews, and the assistance of a nameless, faceless group of “experts” for whom only the fields of study were provided – namely: sociology, social anthropology, clinical psychology, history, and political philosophy.

The report provides little to no indication of the nature or extent of these “expert” submissions, making it difficult to counter any specific claims. However, there are some patently obvious errors that are deeply concerning, especially given that these were made with the assistance of the “professional expertise” from an academic institution.

The two rooms discovered at Wilgenhof were known as Hool 88 and the Toe Argief. The former was located on the ground floor of the Wilgenhof building – a “secret” room that, it should be noted, faced and opened onto the central quad.

Hool 88 (“Den” or “Lair” 88) was the room where the Nagligte, the residence’s internal disciplinary committee, allegedly performed some of their so-called “initiations” and “punishments”, while the Toe Argief (“Closed Archive”) contained more than a hundred years of the residence’s documented history.

The panel alleged that the Nagligte used “symbols and practices echoing the KKK”, such as their “black robes and pointed hoods”. There were furthermore “striking parallels” between their “costumes, symbols, and practices” and the “late-night raids of the KKK.”

Wilgenhoffers explained in their submissions that the costumes were theatrical in nature and represented those of medieval executioners. They also pointed out that many other cultural traditions used pointed hoods, such as those in Spanish religious ceremonies.

However, the panel members remained unmoved and stuck with their own interpretation, as confirmed by the university’s “experts”. But at no point did the panel consider that there was never any significant – if any – historical presence of the KKK in South Africa, and not dating back to the early 1900s.

Instead, the panel went into extensive but irrelevant detail about the Klan’s American history – and the horrific crimes they committed against black people – but provided no record whatsoever of the Klan’s activities or influence in South Africa (let alone on Wilgenhof). The finding was therefore not only unserious, but also profoundly emotive and manipulative. The report asserts that - despite the blanket repudiations from past and present Wilgenhoffers of this thesis - the Nagligte activities still conveyed the same “absolute power exercised by white males”.

The next symbol to be interpreted was the number 88. The panel said that, according to the “experts”, the number had “an established symbolism and association with white supremacy: the number references the phrase ‘Heil Hitler’ or ‘HH’, which becomes 88, when H (the eighth letter of the alphabet) is replaced with 8.”

The panel baldly concluded that the symbol had been used at Wilgenhof “to convey notions of white supremacy”. And yet, while it is true that the number is indeed used by white supremacist neo-Nazis, organisations like the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) also caution that “it should be noted that 88 can be found in non-extremist contexts”. For example, several famous NASCAR drivers use it, resulting in a range of merchandising options for fans, such as car stickers. Ham radio operators also use it to convey “hugs” or “hugs and kisses”.

Nevertheless, to support their assertion that the symbol has white supremacist connotations, the panel cited a short guide by the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s research department titled Decoding Hate. While the guide is useful, it offers only a brief overview, consisting of large images complemented by text across nine pages.

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I contacted the Wiesenthal Center and spoke with Rick Eaton, the organisation’s research director, to enquire about substantive academic literature regarding the origins of the symbol and its initial usage.

Eaton said there was no definitive answer but said he had interviewed skinheads, including some reformed ex-prisoners. He explained that the symbol gained popularity during the skinhead movement – starting in the late 1980s and firmly establishing itself in the 1990s.

It frequently appeared in email addresses and was often paired with the number 14 (as in 88/14). I mentioned to Eaton that the earliest recorded use of the number at Wilgenhof – as found during the panel investigation – dated back to a set of architects’ plans drafted in 1962. The original building was due to be renovated, and the plans referenced KAMER 88 (“Room 88”). Eaton replied, “The odds are certainly against that being a white supremacist reference back in 1962”.

Perhaps most significantly, the panel noted that the Toe Argief housed a “rich archival record” documenting Wilgenhof’s history. This wealth of historical material was due to the residence’s annual tradition of electing an “archivist” to sit on their House Committee. The report states:

“This residence records everything. There are records of House Committee meetings over the years, disciplinary processes of the Nagligte, records of ‘crimes’, poems, sheet music, artworks, to name but a few. There are also books, periodicals, anniversary publications, photographs, posters, sketches, records of events, artefacts, examples of costumes, curiosities (such as a gravestone for the departed squirrel) and many other historical pieces.” (Emphasis added.)

Yet, despite this extensive record, the panel could not cite any other corroborating evidence or documentation to substantiate their claims of “white supremacist” symbolism. The panel mentioned a solitary photograph in the Toe Argief that “appeared to be” a Nazi uniform bearing a swastika on the sleeve.

But “appeared to be” is not confident language. The reason behind this cautious – if not wholly dishonest – phrasing might well be that the panel harboured doubts about the image reflecting actual white supremacist convictions.

Consider, for instance, that Wilgenhof hosted annual events on May 31st – before and after 1961 – to commemorate Union Day and Republic Day, respectively. Residents donned “snaakse” (strange or amusing) uniforms that referenced historical events and then paraded through the streets – on foot or by motorbike.

Image: Historical photos of a Wilgenhof Republic Day event where residents dressed up in historical costumes and paraded through the streets of Stellenbosch on foot or by motorbike. [SOURCE: Former resident Pierre de Wet’s self-published online manuscript of his personal recollections of Wilgenhof]

Later in the day, the residence’s “best orators” would then deliver “speeches” at women’s residences and, in the afternoons, there were daredevil Grand Prix bicycle stunts performed back home within the quad.

Image: The Grand Prix event in Wilgenhof’s quad as part of the annual Republic Day festivities. [SOURCE: Former resident Pierre de Wet’s self-published online manuscript of his personal recollections of Wilgenhof]

Nevertheless, the panel again dismissed the explanations and outright denials put forth by Wilgenhoffers. Curiously, none of our human rights luminaries have stepped forward to fess up to the fascist ideologies and symbols they supposedly condoned or helped propagate.

The point, however, is that nobody knows where the symbol originally comes from, but perhaps the simplest explanation lies in history: the original farm, before the property became a men’s residence, was known as Willows. It was renamed Wilgenhof – in 1881.

III

It is important to note that residents and alumni were denied access to the evidence against them and their institution. Instead, they had to rely on the images disseminated by the press – despite repeated requests for transparency from the alumni association, for example.

Eventually, after multiple attempts, they merely received a textual inventory of the items in question. Wilgenhoffers’ submissions were furthermore often downplayed or outright ignored, despite the overwhelming number of positive testimonies. The report itself occasionally even veered into sly ridicule. These actions cast serious doubts on the fairness of the entire inquisitorial process. One might even posit that the scandal was contrived and manipulated to push through predetermined institutional reforms.

Indeed, the language used in the report reveals a deeply ideological mission. The historical narrative disproportionately emphasised “white, Afrikaner males” and their culture, casting them as problematic and all-powerful oppressors. Meanwhile, black residents were condescendingly portrayed as victims. Despite the report’s strong emphasis on inclusion, diversity, and transformation, the actual perspectives of black Wilgenhof residents and alumni were almost entirely erased.

Many of the racially-charged cases that have in recent years entered our national discourse – like those involving matters of free speech, for example – follow a distinctly similar pattern. Significant portions of the court documents or related reports contain lengthy sections describing South Africa’s history, rather than addressing the facts at hand.

This report was no different. It started with the Anglo Boer War, described the rinderpest cattle plague, the antagonisms with the British Empire, the rise of Afrikaner Nationalism, the formation of the Union of South Africa, the First World War, the Great Depression, flashed back to the Protestants’ arrival upon these shores, flashed forward to the establishment of the National Party, the establishment of the university, the creation of the Broederbond, the Ossewabrandwag, the National Party’s consolidation of power, and the influence of the Dutch Reformed Church, before concluding that it was this history that shaped “the prevailing residence culture of especially male residences at SU.”

But this is, again, a form of emotional manipulation. The strategy seeks to nullify any possible defence. Not only does it ignore black history – there is no mention of anything like the Mfecane, for example – but it also evades the real context. Namely, in this case, the actual historical culture at Wilgenhof.

Wilgenhof was known for example to be the most liberal residence at Stellenbosch. In a 2002 speech, Edwin Cameron described how the residence invited Franklin Sonn and his brother Julian to speak in 1973 – likely the “first black speakers on an Afrikaans campus”. In 1983, Wilgenhof was also the only residence to vote to open itself to all racial groups. Additionally, in his speech, which introduced reforms to the residence’s activities, Cameron spoke about Wilgenhof’s traditions, stating that these were based on “inherently sound values: independent thought, no parroting, inclusion for all, and respect for all.” He wished for these traditions to be “preserved” so that they might “flourish”.

In reality, the list of high-achieving Wilgenhoffers who have contributed a great deal to society is truly impressive. The residence clearly has some sort of recipe for success, and that no doubt includes many of its traditions. Yet the panel dismissed these men merely as “outliers” and any protestations as attempts to “vindicate the purity” of Wilgenhof culture.

This notion of purity of culture is revealing. Like with many other similar cases, the strategy often involves alleging that certain behaviour is “demeaning” and “humiliating,” and then declaring this “bigotry.” The forceful argument then follows that this must be “eradicated” and “stamped out”. Given that the panel found little to no evidence of actual transgressions of the various codes – it noted only a few possible examples, such as no alcohol being allowed to be stored or consumed in residences, a smoke detector being found covered, and the prohibition against residents undertaking any maintenance work themselves – it moved on to other minor infractions.

These so-called infractions took the form of “microaggressions”. The panel thus proceeded to inspect and denounce drawings, cartoons, and poems. It took issue with the inside jokes, the “vulgar” comments, the “profane” language, the “crude” commentary, and the “mocking jibes”.

It decried the residence’s elaborate slang – like Mrs Jones (the toilets) or Bekfluitjie (the building) – arguing that this fostered a culture of secrecy and excluded those who weren’t in on the joke. The Kremlin, a pithy nickname for the university administration, was also deplored. The argument that a little poem might come down to something called humour was dismissed for its “poor taste” and its capacity to “offend, hurt, and demean.”

This is because hurt and offence are great currency in this game. In this vein, the panel alleged the two rooms had created and exacerbated “deep divides on campus, especially along racial lines”. Staff and students were “moved to tears”. They were embarrassed. They were angry. They were traumatised. Their emotions ranged from “deep fragility and deep hurt to extreme anger and mistrust”. There was much “anxiety, stress, and emotion” to be processed, and they were making mental health a priority. The recommended remedy for all this was further struggle sessions in the form of “critical engagements”.

But institutions that create a coddling environment where students and staff become tearful, emotional, traumatised, and battle mental health problems when dealing with matters such as these – particularly as the drivers of such inquisitions – are not fit to offer moral, ethical, or intellectual guidance to society. It is one thing to have empathy for whatever feelings individuals may be experiencing, but quite another to foster collective hysteria.

Given then the questions surrounding the interpretation of symbols, the nature of the investigation, and the emotions involved, it is evident that other underlying factors have been at play – factors that originated several years prior – that have driven the closure of Wilgenhof. And these relate to the residence finding itself in the crosshairs of a much broader cultural movement.

To be continued ... 

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