A few days ago the winner of the Big Brother Mzansi reality TV show, Liema Pantsi, returned home to scenes of euphoric celebration at King Phalo Airport in KuGompo City.
She was welcomed as a hero after weeks inside a highly controlled house under constant surveillance. The moment was described as the triumphant end of a remarkable journey.
The show is built on relentless camera observation, manufactured intimacy between strangers who are encouraged to form emotional or romantic bonds for entertainment value, and alcohol‑fuelled conflicts designed to heighten drama and viewer engagement.
We are told triumph from this setting represents a journey worthy of celebration, emulation and even national pride.
I beg to differ. What exactly is the “journey” that must be elevated to heroic status?
Let me be clear from the outset, this is not a critique of the individuals who win the Big Brother Mzansi competition.
Winners such as Pantsi played the game by its own rules and walked away with life‑changing prize money. There is no quarrel with that, or with the joy of those who celebrate it.
My issue is that a dominant strain of contemporary reality television, particularly surveillance-based shows such as Big Brother Mzansi, do not merely entertain but have perfected the rebranding of idleness as aspiration.
They take inactivity and present it as success, encouraging young people to admire it as something meaningful and worth striving for. This, in turn, has negative consequences that may not have been intended.
Imagine if Big Brother Mzansi served as a platform for young people to demonstrate creativity, develop skills, exercise leadership and put forward innovative ideas to address pressing social challenges.
Instead, contestants are rewarded for far more frivolous qualities, such as endurance in confinement and the ability to attract votes through personality clashes, conflict or romantic drama. These may drive viewership in the age of social media, but they are hardly the foundations of genuine social progress.
When reality TV winners are welcomed home like freedom fighters or victorious sportspeople from international competitions, that sends a clear message that success, social recognition and reward do not have to be linked to any contribution.
It teaches young people that success does not necessarily require mastering a skill, committing to a craft, or serving a community, but rather being seen, talked about and voted for. For millions of South Africans, the real journey to success is not glamorous at all.
It is about surviving unemployment, surviving gender-based violence, struggling through broken schools, living with failing infrastructure and enduring deep inequalities. To place that reality alongside “success” from weeks spent bored in a luxury house is not only tone-deaf, it is insulting.
Influential media platforms such as Big Brother could play a far more meaningful role by curating content that builds character and inspires young people to achieve meaningful goals.
In a country facing mass youth unemployment and a growing education crisis, the success stories we amplify in the media should widen young people’s sense of possibility and not shrink it. Our heroes should be exemplary people whose achievements are rooted in service and contribution, those who share knowledge, support communities, create jobs, stand for truth or work to build a better future.
Their journeys are not glamorous and often unfold far from the spotlight. They may take longer and attract less attention, but they are real and transformative.
If we are to offer young people something to aspire to, this must be it, not merely the ability to endure the gaze of a camera.
- Dickson is a Sowetan reader.
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