South Africa’s WTC Win Might Be the Most Symbolic in All of Cricket's History

In cricket, some wins are historic. South Africa's World Test Championship win wasn't. It was revolutionary.

South Africa's World Test Championship win was a tale of rebellion.

(Photo: X)

In case you haven’t noticed, the fourth edition of the ICC World Test Championship has already commenced. Najmul Hossain Shanto and Mushfiqur Rahim have already scored centuries. The ambidextrous Tharindu Rathnayake has struck twice with the ball.

All of this — within three days of the previous edition’s finale.

Cricket, on its own, is not the culprit. The unrelenting commercialisation of sport has driven every discipline — and its gatekeepers — to chase the summit of revenue. Take football, where teams, barely rested from a grueling season, are now being marched into the FIFA Club World Cup during what was once sacred as an off-season.

In this breathless conveyor belt of spectacle, lest you forget South Africa. Lest you forget how, four days prior, Test cricket — considered as the ‘purest’ by the gatekeepers of elitism — had a black captain leading his team to sporting pinnacle. That too — a country still scarred by the legacies of apartheid.

It has been two centuries and a half since the formation of Marylebone Cricket Club, yet, cricket’s most culturally significant victory might have been delivered on 14 June.

But, why do we say so?

Cricket Was Not Meant for Guys Like Temba Bavuma

Claiming sports as a global unifier has merit. For where else are you judged solely on skill, unshackled from status, surname, or wealth? Extraneous strength can only get you so far. Faiq Bolkiah, nephew of the Sultan of Brunei, with an estimated net worth of $20 billion, did manage to make it to the Leicester City team. However, he could barely make a mark. Motorsports has had the likes of Nikita Mazepin and Peter Ecclestone.

Per that logic, cricket could be defined as among the few great levelers society and life has to offer. Arjun Tendulkar, son of the sport’s holiest figure, is still waiting to prove his mettle. In the same team, a lesser-known left-arm pacer from a nondescript Mohali village — Ashwani Kumar — lit up conversations as India’s next fast-bowling hope. Rohan Gavaskar couldn’t step into the giant shoes his father left behind. Aryaman Birla exited the game altogether

All of that remains true, for in the modern world, cricket, perhaps, is a meritocracy. A champion of equality in a world that thrives on differences.

Except, it was not always meant to be this way. Cricket was never meant to be played by guys like Temba Bavuma. Tournaments were never meant to be won by guys like Temba Bavuma.

Nothing ‘Gentle’ About the Gentleman’s Game

The game was meant to be the ‘gentleman’s game,’ as you might have heard. But no — gentleman does not denote chivalry or courteousness. Standing on the pillars of discrimination, much of the game’s early history involved splitting cricketers into two groups — ‘gentlemen’ and ‘players.’

Gentlemen were aristocrats — scions of Eton, Oxbridge, and empire. They honoured the game simply by gracing it. Players? The working-class — tradesmen, labourers — there to make up numbers and disappear.

These principles were not just relics of England. They were exported, stamped, and institutionalised across the British Empire —  be it India, the Caribbean, or in this case, South Africa. Initially started as a pastime activity for British officers in Cape Town, cricket soon became a tool of instilling what historians used to call ‘British values’ — hierarchy, gentlemanship, and such garlanded terms.

South Africa, in its pre-Apartheid era, was already choking on the brutal air of racial hierarchy. Embracing cricket’s alluring elitism was easy.

Consider this — 131 years before Bavuma conquered Lord’s, South Africa had arrived at the same venue for their inaugural cricket tour of England. The nation’s fastest bowler at the time was Krom Hendricks. Yet, owing to his race, Hendricks did not find a place in the team.

That was in 1894. But in a not-so-anachronistic world of 1968, South Africa refused to let Basil D’Oliveira — born in Cape Town but playing for England — be on the English touring squad for his race. The global outrage led to the nation’s cricketing exile.

Yet, its spirit was kept alive. Between 1972 and 1991, the disenfranchised — black, Indian, Malay communities — carved out their own world: the Howa Bowl. An unrecognised competition, with barely any funds, but soul aplenty, played on dusty, sub-standard fields.

Why We Are Still Having This Conversation in 2025

But why dwell on the past, you ask?

Because the past never really passed.

It would have been reasonable — even comforting — to believe that apartheid’s end marked the beginning of inclusion. That, with the fall of legislated segregation, its shadow would vanish too.

But it didn’t.

Mkhaya Ntini was South Africa’s first black cricketer, and arguably, one of the nation’s most accomplished bowlers in recent times. You would think that he would have had a superstar status in his playing days, but by his own account, Ntini felt ‘isolated’ and ‘forever lonely,’ for no teammate would ever check on how he has, or invite him to the official parties.

Ashwell Prince, Lonwabo Tsotsobe, Robin Peterson and many others have documented their plights.

And when did these stories truly begin to surface?

When the world itself was on fire. Following George Floyd’s murder, the Black Lives Matter movement surged across continents. In this global reckoning, South Africa’s Lungi Ngidi suggested his team take the knee in solidarity.

And just like that, fault lines were exposed.

‘The BLM movement is nothing more than a leftist political movement, started by Marxists whose aim was to break down family life,’ said Boetta Dippenaar.

‘It is nonsense,’ said Pat Symcox.

‘It is a load of crap,’ said Brian McMillan.

With disparity being deep-rooted, that, Bavuma’s appointment as the nation’s first-ever black captain would be termed ‘quota pick,’ was along expected lines. Not good enough. Not earned. A ‘token’ captain, just to pacify the black populace.

Essentially, Bavuma knew that whilst all cricketers are equal, some are more equal than others. He knew he had to go above and beyond, and achieve what not many has, to merely be seen. As he always has done.

An Act of Defiance Called Temba Bavuma

Bavuma was born in 1990, when Aparthied was on its last legs, at Langa — a historically Black township in Cape Town created under apartheid to segregate African residents. Must it be mentioned that during Apartheid, residents were forcibly relocated to Langa under the Group Areas Act.

His natural gift with the bat opened doors. A scholarship followed, and with it, admission into an elite private school — his first real encounter with the chasm between two South Africas. On one side: the polished corridors of privilege. On the other: the grit and resilience of a township that had taught him to endure.

South Africa’s first black cricketer to score a Test century, he was announced as the captain in 2021, to which he said:

Captaining the Proteas has been a dream of mine for many years as those closest to me would know. The responsibility of captaining one's country is not one I take lightly, and I am looking forward to this new challenge

Temba Bavuma

Challenge accepted. The mission? Triumphant.

Under Bavuma, South Africa clinched their first ICC title in 27 years — only the second in the history of their men’s game. But amid the euphoria, Bavuma didn’t let the weight of history slip through his fingers. His speech, delivered in the afterglow of victory, wasn’t just celebration. It was communion.

As a country, it’s a chance for us to rejoice in something, to forget about our issues and really come together. I hope it inspires and continues to inspire our country. Here’s an opportunity for us as a nation, divided as we are, to unite.

Temba Bavuma

On his individual accomplishment, he said:

The experiences I’ve had in the last couple of years, it hasn’t been easy. It’s not easy being captain of South Africa and all the sacrifices, all the disappointment, it feels worth it. When you’re going through it, giving up is always an option but something kind of wills you on. For me, it was that moment there. To be recognised as more than just a Black African cricketer, but to be seen as someone who’s done something the country has wanted.

Temba Bavuma

Historian CLR James, whilst documenting the intertwined fabrics of cricket and colonialism, had said: “A black man playing a cover drive with grace was an act of political beauty, a defiance of colonial hierarchies that deemed them uncultured or inferior.”

Bavuma lifting the mace, and then his son, being cheered by the elite attendees, before being serenaded by song specifically made for him, the cover image of this article being a black man holding the Test mace on the historic Lord's balcony, were all acts of political beauty. It was, indeed, defiance.