Our job as artists, we believe, is not to make changes in

Hearken well, children of wisdom, to the words of John Kani, spoken with the gravity of one who has seen both suffering and triumph: “Our job as artists, we believe, is not to make changes in society. We don’t have the ability to do that. We reflect life. We are the mirror of the society to look into. Our job is to raise questions, but we have no answers.” These words, though humble in tone, bear the weight of eternal truth. For the artist is not a king, nor a general, nor a lawmaker. The artist’s power is subtler, yet deeper: to show humanity its own face, unmasked, and to awaken the questions that smolder in the heart.

In the days of old, the artist as mirror was revered. The playwrights of Athens did not command armies, yet their tragedies shook the conscience of the polis. Euripides did not issue decrees, yet his plays pierced the soul of citizens, forcing them to reckon with war, pride, and mercy. Their power was not in changing the world with direct action, but in stirring the hearts of those who lived within it. The mirror of art does not dictate, it illuminates. It does not give answers, but it reveals the questions that were hidden in the shadows.

John Kani himself, born under the shadow of apartheid in South Africa, understood this truth with piercing clarity. His plays did not topple governments, nor did his performances pass new laws. But through the stage, he reflected life under oppression, showing the world both the cruelty of racial injustice and the resilience of the human spirit. His art was a mirror in which the oppressed saw their suffering named, and in which the oppressors could no longer deny the truth. In this way, though he claimed no power to change society directly, his questions ignited the spirit that demanded change.

Let us also recall the tale of Picasso’s Guernica. That vast and terrible painting did not end the Spanish Civil War. It did not strike down the bombs that fell upon the innocent. Yet by reflecting the horror of that massacre, it became a universal cry against the brutality of war. It did not hand the world solutions, but it forced humanity to face its own reflection—bloody, anguished, inescapable. The power of art lies not in the answers it gives, but in the questions it forces us to confront.

And so, we learn this: the artist’s role is sacred precisely because it is limited. By not giving answers, art preserves its honesty. The artist does not claim the arrogance of the prophet or the authority of the king. Instead, the artist opens a window, holds a mirror, lights a torch in the dark cave of society, saying, “Look—this is who you are. Now, what will you do with it?” In this humility lies its strength, for answers belong to the people, to the rulers, to the generations that must act. The artist’s gift is the awakening of vision.

Yet we must not misunderstand: though artists say they cannot change society, the mirror they hold can transform hearts—and when hearts are transformed, society itself begins to shift. The ripples of reflection become waves of movement. Dickens could not pass child labor laws, but his novels made England see its children differently. Harriet Beecher Stowe could not end slavery, but her story of Uncle Tom’s cabin stoked the conscience of a nation. The artist reflects, the people act. Together, the world is remade.

What lesson shall we take, then, from Kani’s wisdom? That each of us must cherish those who raise questions, even when they do not hand us answers. Do not dismiss the poet, the painter, the playwright, or the singer because they do not give you solutions. Instead, let their work disturb you, challenge you, awaken in you the courage to seek truth and act upon it. And in your own life, learn to be a mirror as well: reflect honesty, reveal injustice, raise questions that matter. For the work of changing society is too great for one voice alone—it belongs to all of us together.

Thus remember: the artist is a mirror. He does not wield the sword, but he sharpens the conscience of those who do. He does not deliver answers, but he awakens the questions that will not die until answered by action. This is a calling both humble and heroic. May you listen to the mirrors around you, may you hold one up yourself, and may you never turn away from the questions that art dares to ask. For in those questions lies the beginning of change.