South African schools must recognise non-European cultural forms of expressions

Durban has a rich culture of Afro-Indian and English traditions rarely appreciated and hardly acknowledged outside of one’s cultural orbit. So when great events happen they do so in cultural silos.

The Playhouse in Durban this week had an unusual audience of indentured offspring from the South Indian Tamil and Telugu communities, all bedecked in richly coloured silk saris known as Kanjivarum - named after the part of India where this silk is spun and woven into 6 metres of wearable garments.

These saris are considered to be as valuable as gold. They had come together to witness a young girl’s coming of age through dance and music. This auspicious occasion is a celebration of the glory of a great tradition of an ancient culture rarely known or appreciated outside of its cultural ambit.

An Arangetram is a significant event in the life of a classical Indian Bharatanatyam dancer, as it marks the end of training and the beginning of a career.

It is a showcase of the dancer’s skills and the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. The Aarangetram is the final expression of years of learning, understanding, and practice of devotion, moulding the body to the mind in a graceful expression of gratitude to the Lord under a master. As a classical dance form, Bharatanatyam, dates back over 2 000 years.

Despite its complex grammar, rich philosophical roots, and spiritual significance, it continues to be sidelined in schools across the country – especially in elite private schools, where Eurocentric art forms, such as ballet, are revered as the pinnacle of cultural expression.

We have come a long way today in terms of opportunities for our children in dance and drama, but cultural silos limit our appreciation of the arts to a particular sector of society, and whilst ballet may be regarded as mainstream, Bharatnatyam is still very much an exclusive art form peculiar to South Indians and embedded in religious and cultural practices.

Bharatanatyam remains largely unrecognised outside of the Indian community in South Africa. It is a troubling reality that in many of our elite private schools, particularly those steeped in colonial legacies, ballet continues to be upheld as the gold standard of artistic expression. It is considered “classical”, “elegant”, “culturally enriching”.

But Bharatanatyam – one of the oldest classical dance traditions in the world – is often ignored. Not funded. Not included in eisteddfods. Not celebrated in school assemblies. Not considered worthy of school colours or cultural recognition. This erasure is not innocent. It reflects a narrow, Eurocentric lens that continues to define what counts as art and what is seen as “ethnic,”“folkloric”, or irrelevant.

Children should never be made to feel that their culture is a second-tier identity, that their history is too foreign to matter or that their form of excellence doesn’t fit the frame. And yet this is what one-dimensional thinking does. It silences multiplicity. It narrows the imagination. And in doing so, it robs us all of enlightenment.

In South Africa, we speak often of diversity. Our Constitution enshrines it. Our political slogans celebrate it. Our marketing campaigns are awash with it. And yet, when it comes to the arts – particularly in our education system – our understanding of diversity remains painfully narrow.

In a truly post-apartheid South Africa, our schools and institutions must reflect the diversity of our society. We cannot continue to uphold only Western art forms as valid or worthy. We must make room on the stage for all our stories – all our rhythms – all our children. Bharatanatyam, like ballet, is classical. It is demanding. It is intellectual. It is spiritual. And it deserves its rightful place in our schools, our funding frameworks, our national stages.

Culture does not survive on nostalgia alone. It survives when it is practised, taught, shared, funded and valued. For young Indian students in these schools, this erasure is more than symbolic. It sends a powerful message: that their heritage, no matter how rich or rigorous, does not belong in the public narrative of excellence, that their art is too foreign to be taken seriously and that their stories are best left on the margins.

I have spoken to students who have trained in Bharatanatyam for over a decade – mastering complex tala (rhythm), abhinaya (expression), and natya (drama) – only to be told by their schools that their achievements do not “fit” into the established criteria for recognition. Meanwhile, their peers performing ballet or Euro-American dance styles are applauded, celebrated, and awarded honours.

This is more than an oversight. It is a form of structural exclusion. And it is not limited to dance. Indian musical forms, poetry, religious philosophy, and even languages continue to be viewed as private pursuits – meaningful only within the Indian community – but not seen as part of the South African cultural mosaic.

The KZNPO, for example, is funded by the City, but it represents and reflects the dominant Western musical genre. Occasionally an Indian instrumentalist may be given a space to perform with the Eurocentric orchestra. I sit on the board of the KZNPO and am aware of our bias, and I struggle with how one can balance the needs and aspirations of all our communities.

This raises troubling questions: Who decides what is worthy of public recognition? Why is Western culture still seen as the norm and everything else as an add-on? And what does it say about our commitment to transformation if we cannot even make space for the full expression of our citizens’ cultural lives?

We must empower our educators to learn about these forms. We must push our school boards to expand their definitions of excellence. We must challenge our arts funders to support all classical traditions – not just those with European roots. And we must encourage our children to take pride in their heritage, even when the world tells them to shrink it.

Because when a child sees their art celebrated, they begin to see themselves as worthy. And when that happens, something begins to heal – not only in them, but in the fabric of our fractured nation.

| Rajab is a psychologist and award-winning writer.