On 16 August 2012, thirty-four Lonmin mineworkers were gunned down by the South African Police Service. Broadcast around the world, the Marikana massacre marked the deadliest use of force by South African security forces against civilians since the Soweto Uprising of 1976.

The striking mineworkers' primary demands were a living wage and improved living and working conditions in Marikana.

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More than four years after the massacre, the Presidency issued a directive calling on the relevant government departments to implement the recommendations of the Farlam Commission of Inquiry. Had these recommendations been acted upon, several police officers could have faced charges of murder or attempted murder.

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Yet, to this day, there have been no prosecutions, nor has meaningful compensation been paid to many of the families of those who were killed. Many of the injured mineworkers who survived remain unemployed, permanently disabled and dependent on their families for support, while many of the widows have been forced to seek work on the mines themselves.

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Among those I photographed was Tholakele Dlunga, a committed and outspoken union leader who played a central role as a negotiator before the strike and as a witness during the massacre. Years later, he was tragically shot dead outside his home. Reflecting on the climate of fear that followed Marikana, he told me: "Management don't come with a better solution, so we are afraid to strike or march because they answer with bullets." Gesturing towards an AMCU poster, he added: "We have our president, 'the son of God', Joseph Mathunjwa, so we hope that he is going to help us."

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Since that tragic day in 2012, I have returned regularly to the Marikana Koppie, the rocky outcrop that has become both a place of remembrance and a symbol of the struggle. Each year, on the anniversary of the massacre, I join others in paying homage to the slain mineworkers. Standing there, one is reminded of the nature of the work that takes these men and women deep underground. Anonymous in their labour, the miners become almost indistinguishable from the earth they work. The rock, the rubble and the dust settle into every part of them—a constant presence on body, mind and soul—until the boundaries between the men and the landscape begin to dissolve.

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