Chancellor, Professor Brian Figaji.
Vice-Chancellor, Professor Chris Nhlapo,
Deputy Vice-Chancellors, Professors Sheldon, Hay‑Swemmer, and Balkaran,
Registrar, Dr Masala,
Chair of Council, Dr Laurine Platzky; Deputy Chair, Dumisani Gumbi,
Members of the Governing Council,
My own families,
SARS Executive Committee and SARS colleagues — you are an important part of my village,
Distinguished guests, suitably proud families,
And most importantly: the Class of 2026.
There is a street, about thirty minutes from here, called Ventura Street.
It spans about ten avenues in Kensington, and somewhere along it is a house — number 23. It is not a famous street. You will not find it in any guidebook. But on that street, at house 23, a young boy grew up with his five siblings, their seamstress mother, and their general‑worker father. They had moved from a single room in Windermere into this three‑bedroom house that then felt like a palace. For weeks, the children continued to sleep in one room together with their parents until eventually they were coaxed into realising that there were two other rooms in the house they could use.
This house sat in the shadow of apartheid — the oppressive system that judged you not by your character or competence, but by the colour of your skin. A system that was rigged to deliberately limit your development, restrict your potential, and keep you a second‑class citizen in the country of your birth. With apartheid came extreme economic hardship, gross inequality, and deep social deprivation, by design. We were labelled as “hewers of wood and drawers of water”. To have aspired to more then, in itself, would have made you an enemy of the state.
I digress for a moment to bemoan the current reality that so many of our brothers and sisters in our beautiful country still suffer such horrific deprivation and are still denied the promise of our Constitution “to heal the divisions of the past… improve the quality of life of all citizens, and free the potential of every person…”.
And you only have to listen to the Mandlanga Commission, and witness the many service failures within municipalities and public services, to get a sense of how we’ve let our people down.
But let me return to 23 Ventura Street.
I draw attention to this house because I am the young boy who lived there. And my five siblings — who shared that space, a safe space — are here with me today. A safe space made possible by the incalculable sacrifice of our parents, Jocelyn and Edward.
It was in Ventura Street that I learnt a few lessons that have never left me.
From our mother: that the purpose of my life is to be a blessing.
From our father: the ethic and discipline of honest, hard work; he was a slave driver. (We hated school holidays because, for us, it was not a holiday. It was his opportunity for us to catch up on his job jar.) And I learnt the simple but radical wisdom to live within your means and save for a rainy day. A lesson I’ve never forgotten — “live within your means”.
From our mother, the lesson: “ons is arm, maar ons kan ordentlik wees” — we are poor, but we can be decent.
And from both of them together, I learnt not merely how to survive, but how to thrive in a world that is unjust, unequal, and fractured, and under a system designed to stereotype us as children of some lesser God.
At number 23, I learnt to be resourceful — to make something from nothing, to fix things that were broken, and to take care of younger siblings. They will tell you that I practised my management skills on them.
My parents would be the first to claim that they were not perfect people. But they were perfect for me — just the parents I needed. Today, in accepting this honour from my alma mater, I want to honour them. I am the fruit of their selfless sacrifice, their incredible labour, and their unconditional love.
They would have been bursting with pride today, but at the same time would have reminded me: “moenie laat jou kop te groot raak nie” (“don’t get a swollen head”). I carry them with me.
Beyond Kensington, it was in the church that I learnt to be a shepherd and to care for a community beyond my home. And, of course, developed a love for music, singing, and learning to be a young choral master. And it was at Harold Cressy High School, under the peerless leadership of our principal, Victor Ritchie — who has honoured me by accepting my invitation to be here today — that the resolve to become a social activist was truly forged in me. At Cressy, through the raising of my social consciousness, my deep desire to fix things extended beyond objects to a deep desire to fix the societal ills and injustices that we fought then — and quite frankly still fight now — to make the world just a little better than how we found it. That’s why I invited Mr Ritchie. I have spent my life pushing back against inequality, injustice, and poverty. I have always sought to use my many professional opportunities to serve a higher cause. That has never left me. It never will.
And then there is this institution — then a humble place in the bush. As if cast out into the wilderness, we were sent to study here. Some of you may not know that in those years we needed ministerial approval to study at UCT.
When I was told that CPUT wished to confer upon me an honorary doctorate, I felt truly humbled, undeserving, and deeply grateful. I felt something that is hard to clothe in words — the weight of a full circle now closing. Let me explain.
I did not arrive here the way most of you did. I came as an apprentice, and later as an engineering technician, because my parents could not afford university, and I had to find work when I left school. I had to earn my keep already at high school. As a member of the Class of 1976, we spent little time in classrooms and many days studying at home and plotting to overthrow a government. I studied hard after hours, once I had left school, to improve my mathematics and science results, and eventually arrived at what was then PenTech — a member of the Class of 1978.
Now, dear Class of 2026, that disappointment — not going to UCT — turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of my life.
Because what this institution taught me — what the technikon tradition carries in its very bones — is that theory must connect to application. That knowledge without consequence is incomplete. The question is never only what do we do, and never only how, but always, relentlessly: so what? And more fundamentally still: why? The question of purpose.
Seeing things work in practice, and watching that work change people’s lives, is what has always brought me joy.
I walked these grounds with remarkable people — Franklin Sonn, who has sadly passed; a young Brian Figaji; and Anthony Stark. Intellectual giants who expanded my sense of what was possible. We debated ideas and turned them into action. We took lectures from archaic overhead‑projector slides and photocopies of books we could not always afford. And yes, Professor Figaji — when you were not looking — we played endless games of klawerjas in those prefabricated classrooms that left us cold, but warmed our hearts, on those wintry Cape Flats mornings. And as a member of the SRC, I had many engaging conversations with our Rector, Franklin Sonn. I don’t think I ever won an argument with Franklin.
We were young, fearless, and hungry. And we did not yet know what we were capable of, but we remained relentlessly in pursuit of the conviction that a better future was up to us. We could not leave it to others. Whilst some chose politics, I chose teaching and the ministry to lead positive social change.
Class of 2026 — that is precisely where you stand today.
Enjoy this moment of well‑deserved recognition and the fitting sense of accomplishment. But this is not the end of the road. It’s a brief pit stop. And in the words of our beloved Tata Madiba:
“I have walked that long road to freedom... I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb... But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not ended.”
— Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom, 1994
So enjoy the view today as you stand on the pinnacle of this hill. But look at the many hills ahead. Set out not only to master them, but to use them to leave this world a better place.
I never set out to have the varied career I’ve had. I merely set out to solve problems that mattered. What I discovered over forty years is this: the skills required to turn around a struggling power station are not fundamentally different from those needed to fix a financial‑services company or rebuild a revenue authority — not if you focus on doing the right thing rather than the convenient thing. In every institution, you face the same challenge: people, systems, culture, and the stubborn gap between what an organisation says it will do and what it actually delivers.
In your career, always choose to do what is right — not that which is convenient. Do not serve narrow interests. Serve a greater cause. A worthy cause!
I want to speak to you about leadership, because you are about to step into a world that is desperately short of it. And there is only one purpose to leadership: to serve.
Leadership is not about a single personality. The most dangerous leaders I have encountered are those who confuse being in charge with actually leading. They are not the same thing.
Leadership is stewardship. Stewards are the guardians of others’ interests and well‑being.
Look around — find a problem that matters. In our democracy, there is no shortage of problems. Find one that can improve the lives of people around you. When people feel that — truly feel it — you earn their trust. And trust, earned through consistent and verifiable delivery, is the only foundation on which lasting institutions are built.
People do not expect their leaders to be perfect. They expect them to be authentic. That means showing up. It means showing vulnerability. It means saying “I don’t know” when that is the honest answer. It means holding yourself accountable and not looking for excuses that glorify mediocrity.
When I returned to SARS in 2019, the institution had been deeply damaged by state capture. What restored public confidence was not a big communications campaign. It was consistent, verifiable delivery — month after month, year after year. Truth told plainly. Promises kept visibly. That is how public trust went from 48% to 75%, how service went from 54% to 90%, how voluntary compliance reached 70%. That is how we collected almost R12 trillion in seven years.
Three things I leave with you:
- Tell the truth — even when it is uncomfortable. People handle honesty far better than being misled.
- Build institutions bigger than any individual, including yourself. The true measure of a leader is not what happens while you are present. It is what endures after you have gone. Which is why I say “ngiyahamba ukuthula” (“I am leaving in peace”). Because when I look at those men and women over there, under the stewardship of Dr Makhubu, I know that I leave it in good hands, because the institution has been strengthened. Leaders must work themselves out of a job.
- And take your work seriously. Never take yourself seriously. Far too many leaders take themselves seriously instead of taking their work seriously.
The future is both intimidating and inspiring. We are entering the age of agentic artificial intelligence — systems that do not merely answer questions, but take autonomous decisions and actions at a speed and scale no human organisation can match. The gap between how fast technology changes and how fast institutions can adapt will become the defining tension of your working lives. Vice‑Chancellor, even this institution will not be exempt.
Do not fear it, though.
There are distinctly human capabilities that — if you embrace and develop them — will secure your irreplaceability. I believe these are the capabilities that will define who leads, who creates value, and who matters in the decades ahead:
- The ability to pose the right problems — problems that matter, worthy of solving — not just to solve the ones in front of you.
- Ethical judgement and moral courage — the willingness to stand in a room and say, “This is wrong, and I will not do it”, regardless of the cost, even if it is to your boss, the President, or the Minister. In my work, I am guided only by the law and my conscience — respect all, but beholden to no one.
- Contextual wisdom — reading a room, understanding history, culture, relationships, and nuance in ways that no algorithm can replicate.
- Empathy and human connection — the capacity to be genuinely moved by another’s reality, and to lead from relationship, not from position.
- Creative synthesis and imagination — the ability to hold contradiction, connect unconnected things, and simplify complexity, making a future that does not yet exist feel inevitable.
- Adaptive leadership — stewardship — the capacity to serve, to change course without losing people, and to build trust slowly, visibly, and consistently across differences.
These are not soft skills. That phrase diminishes them. They are the hardest skills there are. And they are precisely what a world of powerful, self‑learning, autonomous machines needs now more than ever from us as human beings.
Your qualification gives you entry into the arena of life. But you still have to play the game once you’ve entered. These capabilities give you impact.
Class of 2026, let me be direct.
You are graduating into a South Africa that needs you desperately — not eventually, but now. This country’s promise is real. But promises do not deliver themselves. Institutions do not reform themselves. Communities do not uplift themselves without people who choose to show up, stay the course, and lead with integrity when no one is watching.
Your qualification is a beginning, not a destination.
Find a cause larger than yourself.
Find something you love.
Become the best at it.
Then use it to enrich the lives of those around you.
The question that will define your life is not: What did I achieve? It is: What did I build that will outlast me? How did I impact the lives of others?
At SARS, we set out to serve — not to build a legacy. And yet a legacy has been earned. It is respected, admired, and enduring. It will outlast my tenure because the true legacy of any institution is never the leader — it is the people left behind.
I bequeath an institution today more valuable than what I inherited. I am humbled beyond words to have had the privilege to lead.
I began in a home in Kensington — a space shared by eight people, two of whom were determined to give their children something better than what had been given to them.
My parents’ greatest gift was not material resources. It was clarity of purpose:
Our calling in life is to be a blessing to the world.
That is what I wish for each of you. Not merely success. Not merely status. Not merely a salary that reflects your qualification.
I wish for you a life that blesses the world.
Go and close the gap between what South Africa could be and what it is.
This institution — our institution, CPUT — gave you a disposition: the habit of connecting knowledge to consequence, theory to practice, idea to action.
Now go and use it.
Congratulations, Class of 2026.
And to CPUT — to the university that shaped a boy from 23 Ventura Street into whatever I have become — thank you for this extraordinary honour. I receive it on behalf of every young South African who was told that where they came from would determine where they could go and how they would end up.
May your lives be incontestable proof that those who condemn us and tell us to know our place in life are wrong. That we did not limit our lives to the labels they chose for us, but that we lived to be the best versions we were always meant to be.
Enkosi kakhulu!
Opregte dank!
Thank you most sincerely!
Ed Kieswetter
In her opening speech, Brightness Mangolothi, Director: Centre for Diversity, Inclusion and Social Cohesion (CDISC), said that twenty years ago, CPUT was imagined as a place where transformation would not be a slogan but a lived reality. “Where inclusivity would not be optional but foundational. Where knowledge would not only inform but also inspire”.
In his keynote address, Vice-Chancellor, Prof Chris Nhlapo, said: “We celebrate this growing from greats acknowledging the people who were here before us in terms of the solid foundation that they have laid, I think it's important for me to acknowledge those that are no longer with us, some of which are still with us”
The event at District Six campus was opened by Centre for Postgraduate Studies (CPGS) Coordinator, Dr Selema Molopa, whereafter Prof Marshall Sheldon, Deputy Vice-Chancellor: Research, Technology Innovation and Partnerships, welcomed the postgraduate students.
