For millennia, the people of South Africa's Karoo region have read the sky as a living text — marking seasons, measuring labor, and weaving meaning from the stars above them. Now, as two of the world's most powerful radio telescopes rise from that same land, a decade of careful dialogue between researchers and San-descended communities is revealing that Indigenous astronomical knowledge was never lost, only transformed — and that the arrival of the SKA is not an introduction to astronomy, but a continuation of it.
SKA telescopes bridge Indigenous astronomy and modern science in South Africa
The first astronomers were not those who built MeerKAT or the SKA.
So the basic finding is that Indigenous knowledge hasn't disappeared—it's just changed. How do you actually measure that in a rigorous way?
They didn't try to measure it like a scientific variable. They showed elders images and archive stories and asked them directly what they remembered, what they recognized, what had shifted. Some knowledge was vivid; some was fragmentary. The point was to listen to how communities themselves described the continuity and the change.
But how reliable is that method? If you show someone an old story and ask if they remember it, aren't you potentially suggesting the answer? And the archive itself—Binneman says it was shaped by the beliefs of 19th-century white researchers. How much of what survived is actually Indigenous knowledge versus what those researchers decided was worth recording?
That's exactly why Binneman says they couldn't just use the archive as a historical record. It was a starting point for dialogue, not a source of truth. The communities themselves were the authority on what was real to them.
And the practical outcome—the astronomy guides, the astrotourism—that came from this dialogue?
Yes. Once communities saw their own history of sky-watching recognized, they could position themselves as guides and interpreters. The SKA became part of their story, not something imposed on them.
But we should be clear: the article doesn't say how many people actually became guides, or what the economic impact of astrotourism has been. Those are real measures of whether this dialogue actually changed material conditions.
Fair point. Still, the symbolic shift seems significant—reframing the telescope as a continuation rather than an arrival.
It is. And it happened because someone spent ten years actually listening to what communities knew and how they understood their own knowledge changing over time.
Der Puls
- A common assumption — that Indigenous knowledge is static, preserved unchanged like an artifact — is being directly challenged by what researchers found in the Karoo.
- Some celestial stories have fragmented or faded across generations, absorbed into the pressures of colonialism, new languages, and changing ways of life — a loss that is real, but more complex than simple forgetting.
- Workshops with 52 elders across seven sites, guided by 19th-century archival records and live sky observations, opened a space where memory, history, and modern science could speak to one another.
- The Dialogical Knowledge Renewal Model now offers a path forward — not to restore a frozen past, but to let communities recognize their own astronomical heritage as the living foundation beneath the world's most advanced telescopes.
- Local astronomy guides are being trained and astrotourism is taking root, but the deeper shift is one of dignity: the SKA is being woven into a story that was already thousands of years old.
For millennia, the people of South Africa's Karoo region have read the sky as a living text — marking seasons, measuring labor, and weaving meaning from the stars above them. Now, as two of the world's most powerful radio telescopes rise from that same land, a decade of careful dialogue between researchers and San-descended communities is revealing that Indigenous astronomical knowledge was never lost, only transformed — and that the arrival of the SKA is not an introduction to astronomy, but a continuation of it.
The sky has always been a text, read not as abstraction but as practical necessity — stars marking hours, Venus announcing the seasons, agriculture depending on what people saw overhead. In South Africa's Karoo region, that ancient literacy is being actively recovered.
When construction of the MeerKAT and SKA-Mid radio telescopes required social impact assessments, researcher Anton Binneman spent nearly a decade meeting with elders and knowledge keepers from San-descended communities nearby. Using the Bleek and Lloyd archive — a collection of astronomical narratives recorded in the late 19th century — his team organized workshops at seven sites, gathering roughly 52 recognized knowledge holders to view celestial images, share stories, and observe the evening sky together.
What they found was neither preservation nor erasure, but transformation. Venus still rose as boer se horlosie, the farmer's clock, because it still marked the rhythm of work. But the Milky Way's old name — Hemelstraat, the road in the sky — had lost much of its narrative weight, and the story of a girl who threw ashes into the heavens to create light survived mainly among the oldest generations. Knowledge had not simply vanished; it had adapted, absorbing colonialism, new religions, and new languages along the way.
This insight shaped what Binneman calls the Dialogical Knowledge Renewal Model — an approach that brings historical archives, community memory, and contemporary science into conversation, then returns the results to the communities themselves. In the Karoo, it has already supported the training of local astronomy guides and the growth of astrotourism. But the deeper effect is one of restored dignity. When a community recognizes that people in their region have been interpreting the sky for millennia, the SKA's arrival is no longer an imposition from outside. It becomes a new chapter in a story that was always theirs.
The sky has always been a text. For thousands of years, people have read it—not as an abstraction, but as a practical necessity. The stars marked the hours. The seasons announced themselves in the movement of Venus. Agriculture depended on knowing when to plant. What we now call cosmology and astrophysics are simply the latest chapter in a much longer story of humans looking up and making sense of what they see.
In South Africa's Karoo region, that history is being actively recovered and rewritten. When the construction of two major radio telescopes—MeerKAT and the planned SKA-Mid—began, the projects required environmental and social impact assessments. As part of that process, Anton Binneman, a researcher specializing in engagement and stakeholder communication, spent roughly a decade meeting with elders and knowledge keepers from San-descended communities in the area. What emerged from those conversations challenges a common assumption: that Indigenous knowledge is a fixed thing, preserved in amber, unchanging across generations.
The work began with a practical tool—the Bleek and Lloyd archive, a collection of astronomical narratives recorded by white researchers in the late 19th century. Binneman and his team organized workshops in seven locations around the telescope site, bringing together about 52 recognized elders and knowledge holders. They showed participants images of celestial objects alongside stories from the archive, then asked a simple question: What do you see? What stories do you know? Evening sky observations followed. When elders could not attend the workshops, researchers conducted home visits and interviews.
What they found was neither complete preservation nor total loss, but something more complex. Knowledge tied to daily life had endured. Venus remained boer se horlosie—the farmer's clock—because its rising and setting still marked the beginning and end of work. But the Milky Way, once called Hemelstraat, the road in the sky, had lost much of its narrative weight. The story of a girl who threw ashes into the heavens to create light survived mainly in the memory of older generations. Younger people no longer carried it as lived knowledge. Some stories had fragmented into pieces; others had vanished entirely.
Yet Binneman emphasizes that this is not simple forgetting. The narratives have transformed. They have absorbed the weight of colonialism, industrialization, and Westernization. They have adapted to new languages, new religions, new social structures. Indigenous knowledge, he argues, is not frozen in time—it evolves, incorporating contemporary elements, including science itself. The archive could not be used as a historical record to be recovered unchanged. Instead, it became a starting point for dialogue, a bridge between what was written down, what communities still remembered, and what they understand now.
This realization led to the development of what Binneman calls the Dialogical Knowledge Renewal Model. Rather than attempting to restore an imagined authentic tradition, the approach brings three things into conversation: historical archives, community memory, and contemporary science. The results are then returned to the communities themselves. In the Karoo, this has already supported the training of local astronomy guides and the development of astrotourism. But the deeper impact is symbolic. When a community recognizes that people in their region have been observing and interpreting the sky for millennia, the arrival of the SKA becomes something different. It is not the introduction of astronomy to a place where it never existed. It is a continuation—a new chapter in their own history.
"It restores dignity to people," Binneman says. "The first astronomers were not those who built MeerKAT or the SKA." That recognition matters. It means the telescope is not simply imposed on the landscape from outside. It is woven into a narrative that belongs to the people who live there, one that stretches back thousands of years and forward into a future they will help shape.
Bemerkenswerte Zitate
Stories are not frozen in time. Language evolves, the way people relate to the sky changes, and our knowledge of the universe changes too. Indigenous narratives also evolve together with the communities that tell them.— Anton Binneman, engagement and communication specialist
It restores dignity to people. The first astronomers were not those who built MeerKAT or the SKA.— Anton Binneman