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SA photojournalist Rashid Lombard wielded his camera and jazz as instruments of resistance and celebration
In documenting pivotal moments in South Africa's journey towards democracy, Lombard grasped the intersection of political life and the cultural world.
The click of a camera shutter and the improvisation of a jazz saxophone may seem worlds apart. Yet, in the hands of South African photojournalist and cultural organiser Rashid Lombard, they became inseparable instruments of resistance and celebration.
Born in Port Elizabeth (now Gqeberha) in 1951, Lombard began his journey as a photographer during one of the most turbulent periods in South African history. He documented pivotal moments in the country's journey towards democracy, including the release of Nelson Mandela in 1990 and South Africa's first democratic elections in 1994.
I am an African studies scholar working at the intersection of creativity, memory and restorative justice. Lombard's work came into sharp focus when I conceptualised and curated the exhibition Martyrs, Saints and Sellouts: The Photographs of Benny Gool, Adil Bradlow and Zubeida Vallie in 2013.
Rashid's death on 4 June at the age of 74 marks the end of a life that synced visual documentation of struggle with devotion to the music that sustained – and critically examined – what came after.
The journey of a photographer
Like so many in South Africa, Lombard's childhood was shattered by the impact of the Group Areas Act of 1950, which segregated South Africans by race. It eviscerated his multicultural boyhood. In 1962, when he was 11, his family relocated to Cape Town.
After completing his schooling, he first trained as an architectural draughtsman before moving into industrial photography, beginning his career at a large construction company. He would later become a respected photojournalist.
His camera became a witness, capturing not just the dramatic moments of political upheaval, but the humanity of ordinary people living under extraordinary oppression. He photographed for leading global media agencies and also for local anti-apartheid publications like Grassroots and South.
If pressed, I would say that my favourite image of his is the one of fellow South African photographer Ernest Cole. The composition demonstrates masterful visual doubling (in a mirror) that illuminates both Cole's life and photography's fundamental nature.
This intimate behind-the-scenes image reveals masculine vulnerability – not just Cole's, but potentially Lombard's own exposure. Lombard's achievement lies in capturing this profoundly personal moment between friends. He documents their kinship and connection, a shield against apartheid's brutality.
Many other famous South Africans would be captured in his lens – Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, Winnie Madikizela Mandela, Chris Hani, Dumile Feni. But he more often dwelled on everyday people.
Lombard worked alongside photographers like Benny Gool, Jimi Matthews, Willie de Klerk and Zubeida Vallie, whose contributions were often overshadowed by white contemporaries.
Gool documented the liberation struggle with intimate knowledge of the communities he photographed. Vallie, possibly the only black woman photographing the struggle years in Cape Town, brought unique sensitivity to documenting resistance.
Jazz champion
What distinguished Lombard from even these contemporaries was his understanding that the struggle for freedom extended beyond the political realm into the cultural, where jazz music thrived.
During the 1980s, as black townships burned and international sanctions tightened, jazz clubs and homes became sanctuaries. Here South Africans could express their humanity through music.
Lombard captured the musicians and their struggles, decades later publishing his photo book Jazz Rocks. He founded an events company in 1997 and established the important Cape Town International Jazz Festival in 2000.
A rich legacy
What emerges from Lombard's body of work is a profound understanding of interconnectedness. Between art and politics, between individual expression and collective liberation, between the click of a shutter and the rhythm of a bass line.
His photographs capture not just what happened, but what it felt like to live through the transformation of a nation. They show us jazz musicians and protest marchers as performers in democracy's great improvisation, and ordinary moments as extraordinary acts of defiance.
For the archive of the anti-apartheid struggle, Lombard's contributions represent something beyond mere documentation. They constitute a visual testimony to both the dream of freedom and its complex, often painful unrealisation.
His later images reveal the euphoria of liberation alongside the sobering recognition that political freedom would not automatically translate into economic justice or social equality.
In documenting both the struggle and its aftermath, Lombard's rich archive – including more than 500,000 film negatives – becomes a meditation.
His photographs ask uncomfortable questions. What does liberation mean when poverty persists? How do we measure progress when cultural expression remains undervalued? They remind us that revolution can be both the raised fist and the extended saxophone, both the protest chant and the syncopated rhythm that makes our hips sway in hope.
Lombard's legacy lies in his recognition that freedom has many expressions, and that its struggle extends far beyond political emancipation.
He is survived by his partner, Colleen, and children Chevan, Shadley, Yana, Zach and Daniel. They shared not only his life, but the sacrifices that apartheid demanded. Hamba kahle, Rashid, go well. We mourn you through your photographs, which remind us of your life, one lived in the pursuit of justice, art and truth. DM
First published by The Conversation.
Siona O'Connell is a professor of interdisciplinary studies and African studies at the University of Pretoria.
This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.
