In front of the thick stone walls of the Castle of Good Hope in Cape Town’s city center, Lucy Campbell, a native of South Africa, stands animatedly with her long, grey dreadlocks, her small frame being made more impressive by their towering height.
The 65-year-old activist-turned-historian has a message for the 10 American students who have come to hear her version of the city’s history. Campbell is well-spoken but wears a black hoodie and blue jeans, which often expresses her disdain for those who are to blame for Cape Town’s colonial past.
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“This castle speaks to the first economic explosion in Cape Town”, she says at the beginning of her five-stop tour of the city. It’s a “structural crime scene,” the author claims.
Campbell refuses to enter the 17th-century castle, which she sees as a symbol of the violence and dispossession that the colonial era brought to South Africa’s second biggest city.
She says, “That’s where people used to hang people,” pointing to one of the castle’s five bastions. It was built by the settlers of the Dutch East India Company, commonly known by its Dutch acronym, VOC. In an effort to establish a drinking port between the Netherlands and other East Asian trading centers, the VOC constructed the fortress. The castle is now run by the South African military.
Since 17 years ago, Campbell, an accredited tour guide, has been conducting scathing critiques of the city’s monuments and museums for dozens of visitors annually. He has started at the castle and has been conducting private tours like this.
She says most official tributes, such as the Slave Memorial erected in 2008 in Church Square, fail to do justice to the enslaved people who contributed to the construction of Cape Town and often neglect to acknowledge the Indigenous population that lived here for hundreds of years before the Dutch arrived in 1652, displacing them and introducing slavery to the Cape.
Campbell can still discern the “genocide” and disappearance of the Khoi people, the indigenous herders who had resided on this land for a long time. She remembers her mother’s stories about how this history personally affected her family, who are descendants of the famously wealthy Hessequa, a subset of the Khoi. The Dutch seized control of the Hessequa’s land and livestock.
Known as “the people of the trees”, the Hessequa lived for centuries in the farming area now known as Swellendam, about 220km (137 miles) east of Cape Town. They were converted from landowners and cattle owners to peasant workers employed by white people with the arrival of European settlers, a trend that still exists today in many places.
Land ownership in Cape Town and South Africa as a whole remains overwhelmingly in the hands of the white minority. Additionally, rights organizations have accused white farmers of occasionally abusing and evicting predominantly mixed-race agricultural workers on a whim, a practice that has been practiced since the colonial era.
“Many of them have worked there for generations, and they are just being evicted”, Campbell says. There is no pension, it is. There’s nothing. The past’s ailments continue therefore.
The museum’s coloniality
With a resume that includes posts ranging from trade union administrator and mechanic’s assistant to historian, Campbell started her tours after working at the Groot Constantia estate of the VOC colonial Governor Simon van der Stel, now a museum. She first experienced history here.
When she started working on the estate as an information officer in 1998, she found that the history of enslaved and Indigenous people was largely erased on the property, including the “tot” system, the use of wine as payments to workers that dates back centuries and was still in use on some Cape Town farms years after the fall of apartheid in 1994.
Campbell left the estate and began a history degree, alarmed by this erasure of her ancestors. Armed with a postgraduate degree specialising in the history of slavery in the Cape,  , Campbell established Transcending History Tours in 2008.
Her academic research revealed that museums are inherently colonial in their own right. She discovered that human remains were held in museums, universities and in private ownership, especially in Europe. Human remains from the South African Museum, which were established in 1825, were used in studies to support racist ideologies, such as those that sought to demonstrate that non-Europeans were less than white. Even though these studies have been halted, the remains continued to be housed by these institutions.
Campbell and the majority of the Khoi and enslaved people who live in the Cape Flats, a largely nonwhite working-class neighborhood, would prefer that the museums she visits be decentralized and relocate there. She argues this would make the museums more accessible to these communities, bringing them closer to their personal histories and demonstrating that their current difficult living conditions and marginalisation are not natural or inevitable, but rather the result of a cruel past.
On a sunny morning in September as the tour leaves the castle, she says, “This place is filled with homeless people at night.”
A few steps away, past two lions perched on pillars at the castle’s entrance and a moat filled with fish and pondweed, a barefoot man is asleep on the sidewalk while a woman in a bra and camouflage pants scrounges for food in the shrubs. They are people of color, just like the majority of the unhoused on the wealthy city’s streets.
The tour passes the Grand Parade, the city’s public square and oldest urban open space, where the mud and wood predecessor to the existing castle stood. Before turning into a marketplace, surrounded by striking structures like the Edwardian City Hall, it served as the colonial garrison’s training facility for many years.
The parade’s most famous moment in modern South African history was as the setting of Nelson Mandela’s first public speech after his release from prison in 1990. Today, traders still trade everything from colorful dashikis (traditional clothing) to kitchen electronics in this area.

A “blazer” in the field
A few blocks away, the group stops to look at a plaque in St George’s Mall dedicated to one of Campbell’s heroes, Krotoa, a Khoi woman known as the progenitor of Cape Town’s mixed-race population after her marriage to a Danish surgeon.
Campbell claims that the plaque honoring her in this busy modern commercial area is superficial and disrespectful. It also denies acknowledging the woman’s historical significance. Campbell also dislikes the commonly used image of Krotoa on the plaque, which she says is fabricated.
She is a trailblazer, according to Krotoa, as I am aware. She’s an interpreter. She bargains, Campbell claims.
The niece of the Khoi chief Autshumato, Krotoa joined the household of the first Dutch governor in the Cape, Jan van Riebeeck, at about the age of 12. She played a significant role in the cattle trade, which was crucial to the survival of the settlers at the Cape, as one of the first indigenous interpreters. She also negotiated in the conflict that arose between locals and the settlers.
Krotoa eventually became the first indigenous person to receive the Christian name Eva and be baptized in van Riebeeck’s government as a result of her influence. She married a Danish soldier, who was later appointed as the VOC surgeon, Pieter van Meerhof, in 1664, and the couple became the Cape’s first recorded interracial marriage.
Krotoa was ultimately a contentious figure: Khoi leaders criticized her for exhibiting colonial behavior, and Dutch officials and she were accused of spying on the other side.
“She went right into the kitchens of the Dutch”, Campbell says. She once said, “I know you. I know who you are. You are unable to support yourself. Slaves have to do everything for you. ‘”
Campbell claims Krotoa played a key role in the first Khoi-Dutch conflict, which spanned 1659 to 1660 and was the result of a campaign led by local Khoi leader Nommoa, or Doman, to reclaim the Cape Peninsula. The Dutch were victorious against the two Khoi groups, the Gorinhaiqua and the Gorachouqua, and expelled them from the peninsula to mountain outposts about 70km (44 miles) away.
When asked what she thought would make a good Krotoa memorial, Campbell replies, “Monuments are hierarchical and Eurocentric. Where her memorial should be, I am not sure. I am aware that her story and memory should be a common one in classrooms and other tertiary learning. She and her Danish husband van Meerhof were sent to Robben Island. She also spent a lot of time at the first castle, which is now the Golden Acre [shopping mall] and her so-called plaque in Castle Street is a humiliation of the contributions she made to the struggle for her people against colonialism.

profits over people
Around the corner from Krotoa’s memorial in Castle Street, Campbell stops at another VOC landmark – the cobbled walkway featuring the VOC’s bronze emblem framed by an outline of the castle’s five ramparts.
She says, “I want you to see how the VOC is deeply rooted in the fabric of the city,” pointing to the street’s insignia.
Then she directs her tour’s attention to nearby skyscrapers, which she views as symbols of wealth rooted in VOC exploitation.
Workers taking lunch breaks as she speaks pass by stalls along the mall selling beaded jewelry, paintings, leather handbags, and other items. Most of these workers live in overcrowded townships far outside the city, which is famed for its French Riviera-like lifestyle and has often been voted one of the world’s top tourist destinations.
In order to explain the roots of capitalism in the area, Campbell says, “It’s important to speak of that company, the first company that came here.”
“It comes from there – profits before people. It dates back to the past. … The VOC is alive and kicking in the city”.
restoring memory
The most haunting stop on the tour comes next: the Slave Lodge. It is directly opposite the parliament building and the gardens that the VOC established to serve ships moving between the East and the Netherlands.
Thousands of enslaved people from as far away as Angola, Benin, Indonesia, India and Madagascar were housed here from 1679 to 1811. It was converted into a museum, and it now houses a plinth with the names of the enslaved people, including slave owners’ names when they arrived at the Cape, along with shackles and the reconstructed hull of a slave ship.

Campbell criticizes the clean exhibits, saying they stand in stark contrast to the building’s dark history of suffering and violence. One of the most horrific aspects of life there was the sexual violence inflicted by soldiers on women, including rape and coercion into sex work, often with payments made to the VOC.
According to Campbell, this violent culture has had a long-lasting impact, contributing to the Cape Flats’ current high rates of domestic violence and sexual crimes.
“The Slave Lodge does not get the reflection that it should get”, Campbell tells her tour. It has been thoroughly veneered and aesthetically pleasing. It doesn’t bring the voices of the women in”.
The tour ends in the Slave Lodge, where Campbell accompanies the tourists with a bizarre sight that they might otherwise miss. On a traffic island in the middle of Spin Street is the spot where the city’s slave auctions were once held. In 1916, a tree that had marked the location was cut down. In its place, a slab of stone was installed in 1953, inscribed with a fading and barely legible message about its historical significance.
The Afrikaner leader Jan Smuts statue, who is ostensibly positioned in front of the Slave Lodge, where the plaque containing his name has been restored to a brilliant gleam, is strikingly different from what Campbell describes as “it looks like a drain.”
In 2008, the city tried to rectify this oversight at the auction site, unveiling a commemorative art installation designed by prominent artists Gavin Younge and Wilma Cruise across the street. 11 granite blocks, all about knee-high, have names assigned to enslaved people and words that evoke their tortured past: “Suicide, infanticide, abscond, escape, flee”
Activists have criticised the installation for being too cold and failing to convey the deep wounds left by nearly 200 years of slavery.
According to Campbell, “Birds s*** on it, people sit on it, but they don’t know what it is.” “They have the names of the slaves that were held at the Slave Lodge, but there’s no story. In the end, it’s a monument that only serves the master because it doesn’t bring out the suffering of the people.
” I would have loved to see a high rise to bring out the memory of the people, … something more visible. “







