It’s been a year since the landmark High Court victory for the 130 City of Johannesburg employees who were unlawfully dismissed in April 2022. I was one of them.

My return journey to the City, this time as one of two new specialists in the Group Finance Communications Unit, has been bittersweet.

Bitter, because the trauma still lingers. The dismissal stripped us of dignity, stability, and peace.

It left me with PTSD and a creeping inferiority complex, the kind that makes you fearful of celebrating too much, for fear that the rug could be pulled from beneath you again.

Even now, I sometimes find myself walking on eggshells. I’ve come to work sick, anxious that taking leave might be seen as weakness. Many of us are still healing from the psychological impact of being discarded so cruelly.

That pain was compounded by loss. During that period of uncertainty and chaos, we lost three executive mayors with whom we had worked closely. These were leaders who had supported the conversion of our contracts to permanent.

Their untimely passing left a leadership vacuum, allowing opportunistic forces to carry out a devastating purge. Without the protection of those who knew our worth, we were exposed.

When I lost my job, I had no idea what lay ahead. I had been at the City for nearly six years and loved what I did. It felt like the floor had collapsed beneath me.

Even then, I chose to remain grateful. I held onto the belief that what is meant for me would always find me. And it did.

Two months after our dismissal, I was appointed as a Communications Advisor at the German development agency, GIZ.

I worked on the Green Infrastructure Corridors for Intra-African Trade Programme, in partnership with AUDA-NEPAD and the CCTTFA.

That job was my redemption from unemployment. More importantly, it was my validation. It proved I wasn’t the politically aligned, unfairly favoured individual I had been made out to be.

My credentials and experience secured a role that allowed me to travel Africa and contribute to impactful international work.

Despite the blessing of that opportunity, my heart remained rooted in the city I had always wanted to serve in my professional career. So, returning to Joburg felt like a full-circle moment.

I’m back doing what I love, surrounded by a team of passionate civil servants who have welcomed me with open arms.

Being in a different department has broadened my perspective and deepened my appreciation for the inner workings of the city.

Most touching has been the genuine joy expressed by colleagues, councillors, and stakeholders who said they were glad to work with me again.

If that’s not a sign that I’m good at what I do, I don’t know what is.

I’m deeply grateful – not just for being employed again, but for surviving the storm with my integrity intact.

I’m grateful for second chances. For resilience. For truth finally prevailing.

I’m especially thankful for SAMWU, whose unwavering support carried us through the darkest days and continues to uphold the dignity and wellbeing of municipal workers.

But my gratitude is complicated. I remain in awe – not in admiration, but in disbelief – at how some of the politicians who orchestrated our dismissal repeatedly complain about the need to professionalise the public service.

Ironically, many of them knew that not all of us were political deployees. They knew we were qualified professionals, simply hired to do our work. But they didn’t care.

And like elephants in battle, their political fights crushed the grass beneath them – the workers, families, and children left to suffer the consequences of ego and power.

The undeniable lesson from this case is that the cost of political theatre is always human.

As we move forward, I hope our story becomes a cautionary tale – one that urges compassion, reason and accountability from those in power.

Our victory wasn’t just for us; it was for every worker whose dedication deserves to be recognised and protected.

The scars remain, but so does our strength.