Resistance
Ernest Cole (1940-1990) was one of South Africa’s first black photojournalists. Cole practiced black and white photography during a tragic and tumultuous time in South African history. Under apartheid’s Bantu Education Act of 1953, black South African children were deliberately provided with inferior education designed to limit their opportunities and reinforce racial hierarchy. The government explicitly intended to prepare black children only for lives of manual labor and subservience. Cole’s mission was to capture the essence of black lives during the apartheid, and he did so, not as an outsider looking in (as often is the case in photojournalism), but as a black man struggling against and protesting the conditions that he himself was forced to endure. In 1966, as a result of risks taken to achieve his work, Cole was forced to flee South Africa. One year later, in 1967, Cole published a book of his images depicting the unjust and harsh realities of the apartheid system. “House of Bondage” was immediately banned in South Africa but received considerable attention in other countries, including the United States, where Cole had taken refuge. Ernest Cole’s 1960s photograph “Boy In School” stands as more than documentary evidence—it serves as an act of resistance, a moment of defiance frozen in black and white film. Against this backdrop, the simple act of a child concentrating on his writing becomes revolutionary. In this single frame, Cole captured not just a child learning to write, but the complex intersection of hope, determination, and systemic oppression that defined black education under South Africa’s apartheid regime.
Cole captures something profound in this expression—the moment when a child intuitively grasps that knowledge itself is revolutionary. The boy’s intensity suggests he understands that every word he learns to write, every concept he masters, represents a small victory against a system designed to keep him ignorant. His concentrated effort becomes an act of rebellion against Hendrik Verwoerd’s infamous declaration that black children should not be educated above “certain forms of labour.” The boy’s intense focus on his work represents not just individual effort, but collective resistance. Every word he writes challenges the system designed to deny him opportunity. Every moment of concentration defies the apartheid government’s belief that black children were incapable of academic achievement. Cole understood that the most profound acts of defiance often occurred not in the streets during protests, but in quiet moments like this—a child refusing to let oppressive conditions diminish his hunger for learning. The physical details Cole captures tell their own story of institutionalized cruelty. The visible perspiration on the child’s face speaks to classrooms without adequate ventilation, overcrowded spaces where dozens of children were packed together in facilities designed for far fewer. The makeshift nature of the writing surface—a small chalkboard rather than proper paper—reflects the systematic under-resourcing of black education. Yet the child’s careful grip on his writing implement and his focused posture communicate something apartheid architects never anticipated: an unbreakable determination to learn despite every obstacle. His poised writing implement becomes a weapon in this context—not of violence, but of intellectual insurgency. Every letter he forms challenges the racial pseudoscience that claimed black inferiority. Every word he masters contradicts the official narrative that black children were suited only for manual labor. His very concentration becomes an argument for human equality, demonstrated through individual excellence despite systematic disadvantage.
Cole achieves what the greatest documentary photographs accomplish: it transforms a specific moment into universal truth. The image reminds us that resistance often takes quiet forms—a child bent over his writing, a photographer documenting daily life, a book of photographs smuggled across borders. These acts may seem small compared to armed struggle or mass protests, but they create the foundation upon which larger movements build. The child’s expression of concentrated defiance resonates with ongoing struggles for educational justice. From protests over school funding inequities to fights for immigrant children’s right to education, the same spirit captured in Cole’s photograph animates contemporary education activism. The boy’s determination to learn despite systemic obstacles becomes a template for resistance that transcends its historical moment, inspiring new generations of students, parents, and educators who refuse to accept that zip code or skin color should determine educational opportunity. This child’s focused effort becomes every child’s right to learn. His makeshift classroom becomes every inadequate school. His determination becomes every person’s refusal to accept imposed limitations. In capturing this boy’s concentration, Cole preserved not just an image but an argument—that human potential cannot be legislated away, that the desire to learn transcends any system designed to limit it.
What do you think of this photograph?
Artwork: Ernest Cole
This is a powerful photograph that evoked a lot of emotions in me. I felt the same as the child did in the American South, fighting to succeed in the broken, outdated school system that didn’t really care if I went to college or not. I was determined to break free and I did. With that look of determination and resilience, I hope the child in that photo was able to succeed as well.
One thing from the article that prompted me to think were the last lines about feeling determined or obligated to help him and make his life better. As soon as I read this, a poem by Rudyard Kipling called “White Man’s Burden” came to mind. The poem is a call for the U.S to take colonial control of the Philippines during the Philippine-American War. Although the contexts are different, I think the messages are the same, of feeling like we NEED to do something because what we see from our individual cultures and experience doesn’t fit what we see in others and that makes us want to try and fix things and overstep boundaries, however noble or good we may think they are. It also made me question whether or not the author of the article meant “we” as a society or “we” as in an individual culture. I may have worded it wrong but did anyone else feel this way?
Naja I think you pose a really interesting question. I feel as if the author meant “we” as in society composed of individuals. It is easy, as individuals, to feel the entire burden of such a photograph. In his photograph, Cole is asking the global community to help right apartheid and yet individuals feel that Cole is speaking directly to them, due in part to the power of his photography. Individualizing the burden of this photograph as well as other global issues is an interesting concept. We need individuals to be passionate and act in order for change to occur. However, there is a fine balance between acting where you’re needed and acting where you’re not. My dad is a physician in the Army National Guard and has been deployed three times, twice to Afghanistan and once to Liberia. He’s told me before that he went into his first deployment with the mindset that he was there to teach the local Afghans. By the third deployment, however, he had come to realize that he could learn as much, if not more, from the local doctors as they could learn from him. Liberia suffered from years of civil war, the root cause of which was slavery. My dad said it felt almost thoughtless to be going back to the country now knowing how much Liberians had already suffered because of the Western world. Americans often believe that their aid and their manual labor is the highest blessing an impoverished area can receive. And yet, when are we intruding? How do we come to an understanding of this balance between aid and intrusion? How do we channel our passion to help and give aid into work that is productive?
I enjoyed reading your comment Abby. Bringing in a concrete, personal example shows how the fine line can be easily crossed when one can’t broaden their perspective and welcome a different train of thought in the beginning. I think in all, this photograph and articles generates insightful thoughts and interpretations.