In South Africa’s long and painful journey from apartheid to democracy, the de-racialisation of law and statecraft has been both a moral imperative and a constitutional necessity.
Ours is a society founded on the idea that race, once the central axis of oppression, should never again be the determining factor in the shaping of one’s rights, status, or opportunities. This principle is etched into the preamble of our Constitution and clearly echoed in its first founding value: non-racialism.
Yet South African legislation remains heavily racialised. Despite the Constitution’s clear commitment to non-racialism, numerous laws continue to define entitlements, access, and opportunity on the basis of race. This tension—between the promise of a non-racial society and the persistence of race-based legal provisions—has become one of the defining paradoxes of our democratic project.
It still astounds one that in the 21st century, it is contentious to advocate against racial classification of any kind, despite this being the generation that has been born into freedom and equal opportunity.
However, racial classification and identification of nationality is exactly what is being required by the Chief Registrar’s Circular No. 3 of 2025, which requires all individuals involved in property transactions to complete Form LLL. This form demands the disclosure of race, gender, nationality, and citizenship status, ostensibly “for statistical and land audit purposes.”
At first glance, it appears benign—just another piece of paperwork in the already elaborate process of property transfers. But under closer scrutiny, this requirement signals a subtle yet troubling re-racialisation of property rights in South Africa.
Let us be clear: this is not an argument against redress, nor is it a dismissal of the need for sound data in public policy. But when the state begins to embed identity markers—especially race and nationality—into legal documents tied to property ownership, we must ask to what end, and at what cost?
A Dangerous Normalisation
The circular offers no real answers. There is no legal clarity about how the information will be used, who will have access to it, how it will be protected and what the purpose and justification for collecting this information is. There is no option to withhold one’s race or nationality, no assurance of anonymity, and no evident accountability mechanism for those using the data.
The collection is compulsory, comprehensive, and open-ended. It quietly reintroduces racial identity as a required component of participating in a fundamental economic right, namely the right to own, transfer, and register property. This once again aims to classify and divide South-Africans into categories of race rather than uniting South Africans under the commonality of being South-African citizens.
The mechanics of classification are mired in ambiguity. What does it mean, practically, to declare one’s race on a government form in 2025? May individuals self-identify at will, regardless of appearance, ancestry, or cultural affiliation? Will officials simply accept what is written on the form, or will there be verification, cross-referencing, perhaps even disputation? The circular offers no guidance on this.
And therein lies the dilemma: either the state passively accepts self-classification—rendering the data unreliable for any meaningful analysis—or it asserts the power to verify or question one’s declared race, echoing the worst instincts of a bygone era. Both options are fraught. It is an impossible position—and one that has no place in a society committed to individual dignity and non-racialism.
The justifications offered are vague and unsubstantial: the data will be used for transformation, for land audits, for statistical reporting. But this is policy-making by innuendo. No specific goals are cited. No measurable, meaningful outcomes are offered. No public reports or timelines are proposed. And fundamentally no public input has been sought. It’s as if the act of collecting the data is an end in itself.
South African governance, particularly in recent years, has become increasingly enamoured with the appearance of action. Forms are filled, registers updated, strategies launched—all without a corresponding impact on the ground. The Circular exemplifies this phenomenon.
It reflects a bureaucratic zeal for data collection, untethered from any meaningful articulation of what will be done with the data. It is administration for administration’s sake. And there is no transparency and no accountability from the government when questions are raised on the relevance of adding to the ever-growing administrative burden without any targeted outcomes.
This is a worrying trend. When governments default to symbolic paperwork in place of real progress, they not only waste public resources—they erode public trust. Citizens grow cynical. Officials grow complacent. And the actual work of development—delivering title deeds, enabling meaningful land reform, supporting ownership—remains unfinished.
This once again emphasizes that the government has the appetite to talk big when it comes to meaningful land reform, but that it lacks the conviction to implement fundamental change. Instead it is more focused on appearances, and would rather ‘be perceived to be tackling the issue’ than actually pursue solutions.
The Weaponisation of Identity
The timing of Form LLL is equally fraught. South Africa is heading into an election season marked by rising populism, declining institutional credibility, and intensifying racial rhetoric, following the Trump fallout. Identity politics, never far from the surface, are now central to our political discourse, yet again. We run the risk of race no longer being simply a historical lens, it may become an active currency of political mobilisation.
In this environment, requiring racial data in land transactions is not a neutral act. It is, to borrow a phrase, a loaded gun left on the table.
Consider what might happen in the months ahead. A populist politician seizes on demographic data to argue that “too much land is still in the hands of X group.” Not hard to believe right? We have seen versions of this rhetoric—in debates over quotas, over farm ownership, over economic empowerment. The distinction between land reform (a constitutional imperative) and racial grievance (a political weapon) risks becoming increasingly blurred.
Embedding identity data into the legal infrastructure of property rights all but guarantees that future debates will be fought not over principles, but over percentages.
Race as a Bureaucratic Gatekeeper
Even more troubling is what this requirement says about the state’s view of its citizens. By demanding demographic disclosure in order to transact property, the state effectively turns identity into a gatekeeper, with the state solely in the position to grant access. You may own land, but only if you tell us what racial category you belong to. You may register your title, but only after you categorise yourself.
This contradicts the very spirit of constitutional democracy, which holds that individuals are rights-bearing persons—not demographic units useful to the state. The state may reasonably ask for one’s ID number or proof of ownership. But race?
That belongs to a darker chapter of our past, one which for the sake of the future generations of South Africa must be a closed chapter, not to be repeated again.
And the worst part? There is no legislative basis for this. Nowhere in the Deeds Registries Act, nor in its amendments, is the Registrar empowered to compel racial disclosure. This is not an Act of Parliament. It is a circular. A policy note dressed up as law. In constitutional terms, it is a form of bureaucratic overreach—a violation of the principle of legality that says all state power must be rooted in law, not internal memos.
The Illusion of Competence
There is also a certain irony in the state’s appetite for demographic precision, given its abysmal record on land reform. After three decades of promises, fundamental land reform remains a byword for bureaucratic dysfunction.
Farms have been transferred without support, funding or the appropriate skills training to ensure success. Vital title deeds have been promised but never delivered. Restitution claims are mired in litigation. Billions are spent with little to show.
And now, we are to believe that the same machinery will handle sensitive demographic data responsibly, transparently, and for the public good?
It strains credibility.
A Different Path
There are, of course, legitimate reasons for gathering demographic data. Policymakers need tools to identify disparities, evaluate progress, and design interventions. But this must be done with transparency, consent, and clear constitutional grounding. And it must never become a prerequisite for exercising your rights as a citizen.
We must return to the foundational idea that the state serves individuals, not racial categories. That property rights are universal, not contingent on identity. That transformation is not served by embedding race into every corner of state bureaucracy, but by fundamentally providing equal access to opportunities for all South-Africans.
Form LLL may seem a small matter. But it reflects a larger drift: away from non-racialism, toward a future in which who you are—on paper—matters more than what you own, build, or contribute to society at large.
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The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR.
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