Is culture a human right? Folklore Festival and the meaning of freedom

Human Rights Day discussions usually focus on socio-economic rights such as housing, healthcare, education, food and water. The Folklore Festival Fringe, opening on 20 March under the theme #KINFOLK, shifts the conversation towards memory, identity and the right to cultural expression.

Its timing is no accident. Held on the eve of Human Rights Day, the festival suggests that culture is not peripheral to everyday life, but central to how communities understand themselves and survive.

For curator Pilani Bubu, culture is inseparable from broader questions of justice and dignity.

“Culture is the way people live, and heritage is that which is passed down from one generation to another,” she says. “Through folklore – stories and oral traditions – the wisdom of how our people survived gets passed down. Art was a means of communicating and archiving, it was not purely for entertainment.”

That argument carries practical weight. Bubu points to the renewed interest in traditional remedies such as lengana (Artemisia afra) during the Covid-19 pandemic, as well as growing interest in organic food and local building materials, as examples of how inherited knowledge still shapes modern life. In her view, pre-colonial African practices should not be treated as relics, but as resources that can inform present-day solutions.

“How people used to live can be adapted to form solutions to improve how we live today,” she says.

The festival also treats folklore as something far more dynamic than nostalgia. In South Africa, where official histories have often been shaped by colonial power and political dominance, folklore offers another record: one carried in song, praise poetry and oral tradition.

“Through song, poetry and spoken words, clans tell their own stories of where they come from and events that took place in their expeditions,” Bubu says. “These songs become a way for us to find our people, identify our lineage and learn about where we come from, thus making folklore a powerful tool in exploring identity and establishing belonging.”

This makes folklore more than cultural decoration. It becomes a living archive, one that can restore dignity and deepen belonging in a country still grappling with fractured identities and historical erasure.

“Despite all difficulties – famine, displacement, disease outbreaks, civil unrest – we have not been wiped out,” says Bubu. “These stories can serve as tools for nation building and social cohesion that remind us to unite and work together.”

That is where the theme #KINFOLK comes into sharper focus. In a country with 12 official languages and a history of division engineered by law, folklore can reveal common ground where politics often finds difference.

“There are common threads in our stories that are so strong that even language barriers cannot break,” Bubu says. “Our music, whether Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho or Tswana, often follows call-and-response patterns. Simply singing together is a powerful tool to remind us that unity is worth rebuilding.”

Still, the transmission of tradition is far from guaranteed. In a digital age shaped by globalised tastes and shrinking attention spans, passing folklore on to younger generations has become more complicated.

“Language barriers,” Bubu says, identifying them as the main obstacle. “When young people do not know their indigenous languages, even if they consume the music, they may not understand the message and thus miss out on the lesson.”

The problem is not simply one of access, but of depth. Culture can be consumed without being understood. The festival, then, is also trying to create space for encounter: between younger audiences and artists whose work draws consciously from tradition.

“That is why the Folklore Festival has created a platform for artists who embrace culture in their craft, to give young people variety and offer an opportunity for them to find resonance in an artist that speaks to their style or interests,” Bubu says.

When that engagement happens, she argues, the benefits go beyond personal enrichment.

“Deeper engagement with our folklore shines a spotlight on our shared struggles and shared victories,” she says. “It builds empathy, respect and fosters curiosity across cultures.”

Alongside these questions of identity and transmission, the festival also confronts a harder reality: culture may be celebrated symbolically, but the people who sustain it are often denied economic security.

That is where Tebogo Moalusi, founder of Creative 2.0, places his focus. Through the festival’s Industry Day, discussions will centre on publishing, royalties, intellectual property and the wider music ecosystem. For Moalusi, these are not side issues. They are essential to the survival of creative practice.

“It’s important to pair celebration of folklore with business conversations because for a long time our cultural expressions have been seen as intangible assets that cannot be quantified and therefore cannot improve living conditions for creative practitioners,” he says.

His point is blunt: cultural labour has too often been romanticised rather than properly paid. Folklore is praised as heritage, but those shaping music, fashion, storytelling and spoken word are frequently excluded from the value their work creates.

“It’s almost been an excuse to make sure that those who operate in folklore and culture don’t get remunerated for shaping creative assets like music, fashion, storytelling and spoken word,” says Moalusi.

For him, the answer lies in treating culture not only as inheritance, but as an economy.

“Business is about exchange, economy and value-creation. We need to package intangible assets for market return so people can have better lives for themselves and their families.”

That leads directly to the issue of ownership. If culture forms the basis of identity, then control over how it is used, adapted and monetised matters profoundly.

“Folklore and culture are a very important part of identity, and identity is the very essence of a people,” Moalusi says. “Therefore it is very important to protect intellectual property because it identifies the genesis of how things are created and how they get to market.”

He argues that protection must extend across the entire value chain, preserving not only commercial rights but also the cultural integrity of the work itself.

“Making sure we maintain and contain the cultural value and authenticity of the asset, and keep the spirit of why it was created and how it is planned to be consumed.”

Without that protection, exploitation becomes almost inevitable. Moalusi points to artificial intelligence as a new site of concern, where creative work can be repurposed with little consent or compensation.

“When traditional work is not protected, it leaves people vulnerable to exploitation,” he says. “We see this with AI, where people have tools that can take the original work of others and use it for their own benefit.”

Yet legal rights on paper do not solve everything. Access to legal support remains expensive, and many artists simply cannot afford to defend their work. Moalusi argues for shared legal services and better systems for tracking the use of cultural work so that artists and communities are properly paid.

He sees Creative 2.0 as part of that broader effort.

“Creative 2.0 is an aggregate body that advocates for work happening in the creative economy,” he says. “The work with Folklore Festival elevates issues of IP, ownership and support that creative practitioners need to sustain themselves and be competitive.”

The larger question, though, is one of dignity. What does it mean to preserve culture if the people carrying it are left unsupported? Moalusi points to a pattern familiar in South Africa’s arts sector: creators who shape national identity but struggle to make a living, and whose funerals are often funded through donations after decades of contribution.

“As an industry we are tired of burying icons using crowdfunding when people have given 30-40 years of their lives to contribute to culture and creativity,” he says. “That’s part of the indignity of dying a pauper when we have created so much.”

His frustration is not only with underpayment, but with the lack of infrastructure. He argues that South Africa needs stronger marketplaces that connect cultural practitioners with investors, audiences and international buyers.

“It’s crucial that we develop different types of marketplaces where we bring cultural practitioners together with investors, consumers and the international community. We don’t have big enough marketplaces. It’s not mature enough. It’s not protected.”

For Moalusi, those marketplaces must extend across urban and rural spaces, the daytime and nighttime economy, education, technology and youth culture. Without them, creative work remains admired but economically fragile.

“When we bring people together we enable transaction and exchange. That is when we create value. That is when consumers walk away with great experiences and artists walk away with a way to make a living, look after their families and enjoy our freedom.”

Taken together, Bubu and Moalusi sketch two sides of the same argument. One speaks to culture as memory, belonging and survival. The other speaks to culture as labour, ownership and livelihood. One deals with identity; the other with infrastructure. Both are really talking about freedom.

That is what makes the Folklore Festival Fringe feel especially resonant on Human Rights Day. It is not simply asking whether people have the right to practise culture. It is asking whether they have the right to preserve it, understand it, inherit it and live from it.

In that sense, culture does not sit outside the human rights conversation. It belongs at its centre. Housing, healthcare and education protect life. Culture protects meaning. And without meaning, freedom becomes much thinner than the law suggests.

The Folklore Festival Fringe takes place in Johannesburg at the NSA Theatre, 17 Hoofd Street, Braampark, on 20 March. Its Industry Day will focus on publishing, royalties and intellectual property for creatives.