#cape malay

In South Africa, DNA testing has a complex and contested history, particularly given the eugenic underpinnings of the apartheid regime, which manipulated scientific research to justify white supremacy (Turner, 2024). In the post-apartheid era, narratives celebrating the benefits of DNA testing have proliferated, particularly with the rise of capitalist-driven initiatives such as AncestryDNA. These services offer possibilities for family reunification, contribute to the dismantling of bias, and inform research and narratives about marginalized groups historically excluded from official archives and other historical sources. For many, access to DNA testing has led to ambiguous and sometimes contradictory messages about belonging, communal identity, and origins. These tensions deeply affect key components of identity formation—such as ethnicity and race—and have, paradoxically, led to feelings of exclusion for some individuals.

Although this sense of exclusion can be profoundly damaging, it is often dismissed until it manifests in tangible societal outcomes, such as adverse mental health effects, social unrest, or the rise of nationalism and extremism (Macron, Rachuel, and Caulfield, 2020).

When I began my fieldwork in January 2024, DNA-related narratives were already prevalent online. One striking example included the claim: “Our Khoikhoi women, the carriers of the world’s most ancient DNA, have been the most beautiful on this land.” Such narratives have real offline impacts, particularly on the ethnic and racial constructions surrounding Coloured identities and communities. Since then, I have encountered a proliferation of similar narratives. Statements such as, “Many Coloured individuals can trace their lineage and history to the Khoekhoe/San tribes and are their ancestors,” initially seem to offer solidarity. However, these are often accompanied by conflicting or unresolved ideas about the legacy of slavery, colonialism, and apartheid, reinforcing rigid boundaries around the meanings of Colouredness and indigeneity.

While many individuals may now be able to trace their DNA, there is still a prevailing sentiment that “our youth are still left behind” because Coloured communities “refuse to acknowledge” or are “negligent in understanding” their complex “shared historical roots as Khoi people.” These online narratives not only increased in volume but also became flashpoints for tension, generating sharp conflicts between South Africans and their diasporic descendants over questions of Coloured identity.

In my own family, AncestryDNA testing confirmed long-held suspicions about several ancestors who, according to archival records, were frequently racially reclassified by state officials at different points in their lives, often between baptism and marriage. These ancestors were all born at least a century before the official start of apartheid, which meant that much of our familial history was preserved through oral storytelling, often fragmented by various forms of migration and the erasure of records.

When I discovered that my family’s roots also extend to Turtle Island, it took me over two decades to begin understanding decolonization. Although the term has become a buzzword among many Canadians, it remains a critical reminder to me, as a South African, that blame should not be placed solely on individuals. Rather, it is important to recognize that colonial systems have long adapted and persisted, actively enforcing structures of oppression through the erasure of knowledge, identity, and entire communities. South Africa is not immune to such manipulations. However, it appears that Turtle Island is, in some respects, further along in co-creating and preserving knowledge across communities to resist such erasures.

Midi Achmat

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: N/A

Ethnicity: South African - Cape Malay/Cape Colored

Occupation: Activist

Cape slaves — those who worked under Dutch colonizers — had a history of revolt and defiance. “Throughout the preceding 150 years of slavery at the Cape slaves had often resisted their owners. This was both by overt attacks on individuals or their property – fields and vineyards waiting to be harvested often went up in flames – as well as by less obvious means such as working slowly, breaking equipment or poisoning food.” -Nigel Worden for GroundUp

Tuan Guru, an Indonesian prince, came to the Cape as a political prisoner for conspiring against Dutch colonizers. Though a prisoner, his act of resistance opened the path for bringing Islam to Cape Town, where he established the first “masjid” or mosque in South Africa, Auwal Mosque.

Thania Petersen, b. 1980 I Am Royal South Africa (2015) [Source], [Source]

Between 10 and 5 says:

Thania Petersen’s current work began with a search to uncover her Cape Malay heritage and in doing so, to bring to light a vital aspect of her identity. This search was initiated by her father, who many years back traced her family’s lineage back to Tuan Guru – a prince from Tidore who became the first political prisoner to be held on Robben Island in the late 1700s, and is now regarded as the father of Islam in South Africa. 

Zackie Achmat

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 21 March 1962

Ethnicity: Cape Malay

Nationality: South African

Occupation: Activist, film director