In search of our common humanity

There are some things I would have done differently to celebrate the 30th anniversary on Tuesday of the release of former President Nelson Mandela from prison after 27 years.

For instance, I would not have asked President Cyril Ramaphosa to speak from the same City Hall balcony where Madiba gave his first speech as a free man 30 years ago and where Ramaphosa held the mike as a member of the Mandela Reception Committee.

I understand the symbolism, but Ramaphosa is under enough pressure and should not always be compared to Madiba or be expected to do things that Madiba did, like donning Springbok rugby jerseys. Ramaphosa needs to establish his own legacy and traditions.

It was not fair to expect Ramaphosa to speak facing an empty Grand Parade, bar a few hundred invited guests, who attended an earlier panel discussion inside the City Hall, and school children who were bused in especially for his speech but not for the panel discussion. They had to sit in the hot sun waiting to hear the President speak.

What I would not have done differently was to invite 2011 Nobel Peace Laureate, Leymah Gbowee, to give the keynote address inside the City Hall. Gbowee said that “Madiba’s walk out of prison was to ensure Africa’s release from the prison of our minds. We no longer have to be held hostage to greed, poverty and corruption”. If only it was that simple.

Gbowee received the Nobel Peace Prize mainly for her role in uniting women across religious divides in her country of birth, Liberia, resulting in an end to a long-lasting civil war in 2003.

Her work then, and the work she continues to do as the founder and president of the Gbowee Peace Foundation in Monrovia, Liberia, speaks to the legacy and values that made Mandela one of the most respected statesmen in the world – more than six years after his death.

It was clear from her speech that Gbowee is driven by a great love for humanity and not by political correctness or political posturing. She described herself as “a proud mother of eight”. She became involved – as a 17-year-old – in uniting Christian and Muslim women in her country.

The most interesting part of her speech was when she made unscripted comments, as is often the case. She was unapologetic about the way she dresses and the way she speaks, saying that it is her choice.

She did not hesitate to say that, when she got home, she was going to spank her seven-year-old for disrespecting someone older. The boy had apparently thrown down his school bag and insisted that someone else, an adult who works for the family, pick it up.

I only wrote down one thing Gbowee said, because it made the most impact on me. “I see your humanity. Do you see mine?”

It is a simple statement, but it speaks to so much of what is wrong with the world today and what is needed to fix it.

Divisions in our society are often based on some people not accepting the humanity of others. This is why it is easy for us to discriminate against poor people when we are not poor, or against homeless people when we are not homeless, against black people when we are not black, against women and children when we are grown men.

Gbowee reminded us of a time when she had nothing and had to spend weeks in a hospital corridor after just giving birth to one of her children. She also recounted incidents when she has been discriminated against, before and after winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

She often depended on the generosity of others, otherwise she would never have been able escape the poverty into which she was born. Yes, her life choices also influenced where she ended up, but things could easily have been different.

I have learnt a lot in this busy week but have learnt mostly that I should respect the humanity of others in the same way that I expect them to respect mine.

In SA cricket during the 19th century, if you were black, you couldn't wear whites

If you ask any cricket fan to name the greatest fast bowler in history, the name of William Henry “Krom” Hendricks probably would not feature. Except for Jonty Winch, Richard Parry and Andre Odendaal, for whom Hendricks could easily top any South African, if not international, list.

Winch and Parry are the authors of Too Black To Wear White: The Remarkable Story of Krom Hendricks, a Cricket Hero who was Rejected by Cecil John Rhodes’s Empire, which tells the story of the player from the Bo-Kaap who many felt was the best and fastest bowler of his generation and who, until recently, was subjected to being a footnote in South African cricket history. In one game, Hendricks had figures of 9 wickets for no runs.

In their book, the authors bring Hendricks to life and documents his hitherto unknown battle against the colonial cricket establishment called the Western Province Cricket Club and the Western Province Cricket Union – run by white civil servants who served in Rhodes’ government in the late 19th century.

Winch and Parry – in their book and in a discussion facilitated by Odendaal, a history professor and former first-class cricket player under the banner of the non-racial South African Council On Sport (SACOS) at the Book Lounge this week – destroyed many myths surrounding the history of cricket in South Africa.

These include the myth that cricket was always a white sport in South Africa. Parry, a retired tax expert who now dedicates his time to writing about cricket history, said cricket was the most popular sport among poor people in Cape Town in the 19th century.

“People played cricket everywhere, using whatever material they could find. But they also had many formal leagues, including in the Bo-Kaap where Hendricks came from and played.”

In recording the true history of South African cricket, Parry and Winch are driven by a commitment to correct an injustice against a player such as Hendricks, who has been airbrushed out of history.

Hendricks became the first player in the world to be rejected to play for his country because of his race, when Cecil John Rhodes vetoed a proposal that he be picked to play in a touring team against England in 1894. This came despite Hendricks almost single-handedly destroying an English touring team when he played for the South African Malay team two years earlier.

Hendricks’ main opposition came from the president of the WPCC, William Henry Milton, who worked as Rhodes’s private secretary and who was ably assisted in his attempt at promoting white hegemonic rule in Cape Town by the founding editor of the Cape Times, Frederick York St Leger, the authors wrote.

Many of the international players who played against Hendricks identified him as the fastest bowler they ever played against, with some feigning sickness or disappearing from the field when it came to their turn to bat against him.

Hendricks’s name was proposed by the Transvaal Cricket Union for inclusion in the South African team to play in England, but Rhodes whispered in the ear of his proxy, Milton, who vetoed the proposal. But they did not stop there. Over a period of 10 years, the white establishment blocked him from playing league cricket and even club cricket because they did not want white cricketers to be shown up by a “Cape coloured boy”, the way in which Hendricks was described in official South African cricket history manuals until recently.

Despite the ban, Hendricks continued playing until he was about 60 and drew larger crowds than those at Newlands, the official home of the WPCC. “He was a real hero,” said Parry.

Hendricks’s ban officially began the racialisation of South African cricket. If he and many other talented black players of his generation and later generations had been allowed to play for their country, things could have been completely different in what is still called “the gentlemen’s game”.

The people who discriminated against Hendricks were not gentlemen. They were evil racist and colonialists who believed in spreading white values throughout the world. Some of them still walk among us today. If you are interested in the real history of South African cricket, you must read this book.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 8 February 2020)

Branding whistle-blowers 'pariahs' undermines speaking truth to power

Lionel Adendorf is not everyone’s cup of tea. Some people find him arrogant. Others find him aloof. But, in all the years I have known him, I have always only seen the side of him that cares for the underdog and who is not afraid to speak truth to power.

In many ways, I see a younger version of myself in him and this could be why I have been following his career with great interest, from his days as a journalism student and leader at the Peninsula Technikon (now Cape Peninsula University of Technology) - when I was head of the journalism department - to his ascendancy in the ANC in the Western Cape, which saw him become spokesperson and a provincial executive committee member.

It is this obsession with telling the truth and standing up to power that has landed Adendorf in trouble. He lost his job in March 2017 after whistle-blowing on alleged irregularities in the Pretoria company where he worked and has not been able to find permanent employment since.

Last week, after keeping quiet for a long time Adendorf finally spoke up on social media, sharing the stories of his struggles since falling foul of the powers-that-be in Nuclear Technology Products Radioisotopes SOC Ltd (NTP).

Adendorf discovered the hard way that not many people like those who squeal on their colleagues and who stand up for the right thing - even though everybody professes to do so.

I could also have advised him that most people do not like you when you are down, but everybody loves you when you are on the up. Unless, of course, they can do something to help the person who is down and share what they have done with thousands of Twitter, Facebook and Instagram followers. This, of course, means that most people only help others if it means they can help themselves.

I do not want to go into the merits of Adendorf’s case, save to say that the public protector ruled in his favour, but now NTP is taking her report on review. I have tried to paste together what happened, based on the public protector’s report (which I have seen), Adendorf’s social media posts and discussions with people close to this story.

In November 2016, while he was employed as manager, group communication and stakeholder relations at NTP, Adendorf reported what he perceived to be tender irregularities to one of his seniors. Instead of protecting him as a whistle-blower, a requirement under the Public Disclosures Act, the company brought charges of “gross insubordination and blatant refusal to obey direct lawful and reasonable instructions”.

The company argued that the allegations raised by Adendorf “amount to not more than a false, spurious, unfounded, unsubstantiated and defamatory statement”, which did not qualify as a public disclosure.

After to-ing and fro-ing, a period which Adendorf described as unbearable, he quit his job in March 2017. NTP eventually took action against the manager Adendorf had accused of corruption (which tender irregularities are), but for unrelated reasons.

The public protector, in her report in December, found that Adendorf’s disclosures were done “in good faith” and that he was “unfairly prejudiced by the conduct” of the NTP officials. She ordered NTP to apologise to Adendorf within 10 days, reappoint him within 20 days, pay him his full salary and other expenses. NPT has refused to act, citing their court review.

Adendorf told me about how he and his family were stuck in Pretoria for many months, having to live off the generosity of friends and family.

The public protector report unveils a familiar world in which whistle-blowers often become pariahs. No wonder corruption continues unabated, when the messenger gets shot while the perpetrator walks free.

(First pubilshed as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 1 February 2020)

Hard times ahead for South Africans in 2020, president must act

If the start of 2020 is anything to go by, then the rest of this year - and possibly next year - is going to be extremely difficult for most South Africans.

The economy appears stuck in the doldrums, with the International Monetary Fund and the World Economic Forum sending us ominous warning signals, while the ratings agencies appear to have written us off.

The IMF has lowered its growth forecasts for South Africa for 2020 and 2021 to less than 1% (0.8%) from just over 1% last year. They blamed “structural constraints and deteriorating public finances”. In other words, Eskom and corruption.

Despite the best intentions of President Cyril Ramaphosa, there is a perception that he is not doing enough to sort out the most pressing problems in our country. Yes, he is dealing with legacy issues left by his predecessor, but South Africans want an assurance that things will be okay and we can only have that if we see decisive action from our president.

As things stand, they are bound to become even tighter for South Africans this year, with the possibility of more people losing their jobs beyond the 1440 already announced by Massmart, the 3000 expected at Telkom and the thousands more predicted in the ailing mining industry.

Don’t be surprised if Statistics SA adjusts the unemployment rate up from the 29% of 2019. The jobless rate has increased steadily over the past few years, instead of going downwards in search of the elusive 6% by 2030, as outlined in the National Development Plan - a document to which most in the government merely pay lip service.

Ramaphosa, as a former leader of the Mass Democratic Movement, still believes in governing by consensus and through consultation. This can be seen in his preference for things such as investment and jobs summits. But the goals outlined at these summits do not translate into tangible differences.

People want immediate relief and don’t believe the government can create jobs in the current environment.

In his January 8 statement, which he read in his capacity as ANC president, Ramaphosa used vague words to outline the ANC’s vision for the country. He spoke about “building a capable state that serves all the people”; “building a united and cohesive society”; “investment, jobs and inclusive growth”; “an effective land reform programme”; “eradicating poverty and improving people’s lives”; and “education and skills for a better world”.

As the president prepares to deliver his State of the Nation Address (Sona) at the opening of Parliament next month, we are hoping that he will be more specific about how he will build a capable state; how he will ensure more investment, jobs and inclusive growth; and how he intends eradicating poverty and improving people’s lives.

Some of these “priorities” appear to be too ambitious and could be seen as over-promising. South Africans want more jobs and for the lights to remain on. Every time we are hit with power outages, it cuts away at the confidence we have in the government and its ability to sort out our problems.

As long as Eskom remains unstable, our country and economy will also remain unstable.

We also want to see an end to corruption and the prosecution of those who benefited from corrupt activities.

Many South Africans were encouraged by the president’s overhaul of the National Prosecuting Authority, but it’s time for them to deliver.

It should not be junior officials who are made to take the fall for corruption, but senior officials in the government and private sector.

All in all, 2020 promises us a bumpy ride. Things are bound to get worse before they get better but better they will.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 25 January 2020)

ANC’s January 8th statement has gradually lost its allure over the years

When I was a young man involved in the struggle against apartheid, the January 8th statement by the ANC was one of the most significant events of the year.

The ANC was a banned organisation then and we were not allowed to listen to or read their views - let alone share it as widely as we did, among thousands of our youth members throughout the Western Cape. If we were caught, we could be convicted for promoting the aims of a banned organisation and sent to prison for five years, a risk we were prepared to take. 

But the January 8th Statement, which marked the ANC’s birthday, gave us a sense of the mood in the liberation movement and told us about what was needed to be done to advance the struggle in that year.

In the early 1980s it was not uncommon for us to take dozens of youth members from Mitchells Plain, where we lived, to the hilly parts near Strandfontein Pavilion, armed with a short-wave radio, on which we would try, with great difficulty, to tune into the speech by then ANC president Oliver Tambo.

We had scary, and now funny moments, when, for instance, the broken down kombi that I borrowed from my brother-in-law to transport more than 30 youth members, broke down and, after trying to push-start it, we gave in and I had to hitch-hike a lift from Strandfontein Pavilion to Mitchells Plain to fetch my VW Beetle and then transport everyone home, in small batches.

The ANC’s January 8th has lost some of its allure in recent years. Instead of being an event where ordinary members and supporters of the party can listen to their president talking about what needs to be done to take our country forward, it has become a big party with everyone jostling for positions.

It was no surprise when a senior ANC member expressed his concern on social media last week about the party providing VVIP status at the January 8th rally in Kimberley to “people who don’t even vote for the party, while ignoring their own stalwarts”.

Bishop Vusi Dube, a member of the KZN legislature, wrote on Facebook: “(I) hope VVIP accreditations won’t be given to girlfriends who are there for selfies. Who don’t even know what door to door is. Our ANC is our legacy of hope.”

It is sad that the once-proud movement has been reduced to a party where it appears that politicians, business people, celebrities and blessers matter more than the stalwarts who helped to build and guide the movement for much of its 108 years.

The January 8th event has also become one of the major fundraising event for the party, with business people wanting to show off their political connectedness, being prepared to pay hundreds of thousands of rand to attend a gala dinner and play golf with political luminaries who are supposed to be there for the president’s speech.

Where did we go wrong? When did politicians become more important than the people they are supposed to represent? Since when did your bank balance mean that you can consider yourself more important than the poor people who vote for the ANC and who continue to have hope that the organisation will one day deliver?

This situation is probably not much different to anywhere else in the world, but that does not make it right. The ANC needs to learn to focus more on their message and actions - rather than on promoting a warped celebrity culture - like we did when we listened to the January 8th speech on short-wave radios many moons ago.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 18 January 2020)

Eradicate economic inequality like we tackled oppressive apartheid

It took me more than 50 years to learn a lesson that would influence my life in many ways. A few years ago I attended a spiritual retreat, hosted by the Brahma Kumaris at their headquarters in India, when I had a rare opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with their leader, Dadi Janki, who is now 103 years old.

Dadi Janki, one of the wisest people I have ever met (and I have been privileged to interact with many wise people), told me that my problem was that I was stressing too much over things that were outside my control.

When I dissected that statement, I realised that most things in life are beyond my control and no matter how hard I huffed and puffed, there are times when I would have no impact.

For instance, if you sit in a traffic jam and are angry that the cars are moving too slowly, it will not make the cars move faster. The best way to deal with this is just to accept your reality and you could save yourself unnecessary stress.

Okay, it is easier said than done and it requires some practice, but I try to live with this lesson in mind most of the time nowadays and I hope to implement it more as I celebrate my 60th year in 2020.

Yes, 60. I never thought I would see 60. It was always so far in the future, but also because both my brothers died soon after they turned 40 and my mother died a few years after she turned 50. I also always thought that I would be old by the time I turned 60 and I still feel so young.

One of the things that I can control is how I interact with society at an intellectual level and how I can contribute to changing people’s perceptions and understanding of our history and our political and economic realities. I can also assist with pointing out inaccuracies that easily get perpetuated by the media in general and social media in particular.

One of these inaccuracies is that the end of 2019 meant the end of a decade and the beginning of 2020 indicated the start of a new decade. This is, of course, not true. A decade is 10 years which means that it ends after the 10th year. In this case, the decade only ends at the end of 2020. It does not sound as sexy, but it is true.

This year is significant for South Africans for many reasons, but I would like to point out one: it is only 10 years away from 2030, the year which was used a guideline by the National Development Plan (NDP) by which time we would have dealt with many of the problems in our society.

The NDP, which was developed by the National Planning Commission chaired by Trevor Manuel with Cyril Ramaphosa as his deputy, was probably unrealistic but it had good intentions and, if we had implemented only half of its recommendations, we would have been a much better society. We still have 10 years in which to try to catch up, but I am afraid it may be too late.

The NDP identified – and we have not dealt with this – the threat to our society posed by the triple challenges of poverty, inequality and joblessness. I think poverty and joblessness are offshoots of inequality and, if we do nothing else until 2030, then we should challenge economic inequality with the same kind of vigour that we challenge apartheid inequalities.

South Africans often proudly proclaim that we overcame apartheid, but we cannot isolate the struggle against racism from the struggle to make our society more equitable. It is a much bigger challenge and one that could easily undo whatever victories we might have won as a country over the past 25 years and a bit. It is something I stress about. It is not something that we can change on our own, but we can do it if we all work together.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 11 January 2020)

Gangsterism a way of life on the Cape Flats

I WOULD like to say that the death of former Hard Livings gang leader Rashied Staggie has left me cold. But I can’t, because his story and the rampant gangsterism that he represented has been interwoven with my life for as long as I can remember.

Staggie’s gang is still one of the biggest and their influence has always been felt way beyond the area of Manenberg, where they had their headquarters and with which they are often associated.

It is difficult when you have grown up on the Cape Flats not to have been affected by gangsterism in some way or other. Most families have somebody, or know somebody, who belongs to gangs. They could be a cousin, a nephew, a brother or even a father.

In many cases, people try to deny the existence of gangsterism close to them. Mothers are known to say that their sons (because gangs are mainly boys and men) did not belong to gangs, but might have had some bad friends, from whose influence they were trying to escape. Gangsters were not only found on street corners; they were also inside many of our homes.

When my teenage nephew was killed in a gang shooting in the early 1990s, his mother, my sister, swore that he had not been involved in gangs. When her other son was stabbed by gangsters at Mitchells Plain town centre a few years ago, she swore the same.

In a township like Hanover Park, where I spent most of my formative years, it was not unusual to have a different gang in every block of flats. There are 60 houses in each block of flats, which means that there are enough young people to form a gang. In Solent Court, where I stayed, there were the Bowa Kids; in Soetwaterhof, there were the Pipekillers; in Derwent Court there were the Sexy Boys.

Even before one becomes of a suitable age to join gangs, the influence is there. I remember being chosen as the leader of a junior gang in our block of flats and we would fight with young boys from other blocks of flats. The eldest among us was probably not even 10 years old.

My “career” as a gang leader was short-lived. After much fighting between our gang and one from a neighbouring block of flats, someone suggested that we bring an end to our fighting, but that we needed to determine who won by allowing the two leaders to fight. Whoever won would win on behalf of their gang.

I fought the other gang leader on a field in between our two blocks when an aunty pulled us apart and smacked both our behinds. Both leaders walked away disgraced, but I was so happy to have been saved from any other embarrassment by that aunty. I never really wanted to fight.

Sometimes I get asked the question: how did you avoid becoming a gangster? The answer is: I don’t know. But I suspect that my short stint as a “gang leader” did enough to make me decide that this was not the future I wanted.

As young boys, we decided to emulate the older boys, which included our brothers. Both my older brothers belonged to gangs and their relatively short lives were impacted by their involvement in gangs.

Both used drugs and did short stints in prison. The two incidents were not necessarily related.

When I was detained as a young man under the state of emergency declared by President PW Botha in 1985, my parents thought that I was going to go the same way as them. But my detention was political, while their imprisonment was criminal.

Political prisoners were held separately to criminals in prison, but we still ended up having some interactions. I was held at Mitchells Plain police station before being transferred to Victor Verster prison in Paarl (now called Drakenstein Correctional Centre). In the cell next to me in Mitchells Plain was a well-known gangster known as Ronnie Cripple, who had turned state witness against one of the most notorious gangsters in the Western Cape, Nazir Kapdi. We spoke despite not been able to see each other and even exchanged books: I gave him Salman Rushdie’s Midnight Children; he gave me Eric van Lustbader’s The Ninja.

In some ways, an upfront seat at the theatre of Cape Flats gangsterism was probably one of the reasons why I decided not to pursue a career in law, which was one of the few options available to people defined as “coloured” under apartheid.

One day, I was walking to my office in town, dressed in a suit and carrying an attaché case (I have always believed that journalists should be well-dressed, but that’s another story), I bumped into someone known as “Gakkie Jas”, who lived in Solent Court. He was glad to see me and, without wasting any time, asked me if I was a lawyer. I asked why. He said he needed a lawyer. I asked when. He said: “Now. I have to appear in court in a few minutes.”

I realised than that that was probably one of the other reasons I did not become a lawyer, because I would have been approached to act pro bono by some many people from the neighbourhoods in which I used to live.

With an unemployment rate way in excess of the official 27 or percent in many Cape Flats townships, it is not unusual that gangsterism is also often the only source of income in many households.

When I was editor of the Cape Times in the late 1990s, I was once visited by a delegation of senior gang leaders, including people such as Colin Stansfield, Ernie “Lastig” Solomons, Ernie Lapepa and Rashid Staggie. The other names I have forgotten.

They came to see me to complain that the paper’s reporting on their activities created a negative impression of them. I could not believe the irony of gangsters complaining about negative reporting. But it was at a time when People Against Gangsterism and Drugs (Pagad) was at their busiest and our reporting, they argued, could shine an unnecessary light on them.

Staggie was probably the most articulate in the group. He told me about how gangsters would like to help government deal with issues such as unemployment and that, in many ways, they were providing social development services in their communities, a job that should have been done by government.

“I employ someone who has a Standard 3 education, a prison record and a wife and four kids. No one will give him a job. Now you want me to stop dealing. What am I going to tell his wife and kids?” Staggie said as part of his argument about the good work gangsters do.

I had to continuously remind myself that I was speaking to gangsters who are alleged to be drug dealers, murderers and rapists. No matter how convincing their arguments sounded, they could not be believed.

When I heard that Staggie had been shot dead outside his home in London Road, Salt River, on Friday 13 December, it forced me to reflect on the way gangsterism had always intersected with one’s life on the Cape Flats. I thought about the few who managed to escape a life of gangsterism, but also the many who remained trapped within its crazy, entangled web, like Gakkie Jas.

Gangsterism is an evil that has been around forever and will probably be with us forever, unless government decides to make it a priority to find solutions. The solutions are not only in better policing, though that will help. The solutions should include finding ways of making the Cape Flats communities less dependent on gangsters.

Government cannot solve the problem of gangsterism on its own. It will need the support of civil society, including churches and mosques, and other organisations such as ratepayers and residents’ associations, sports organisations and trade unions. Gangsterism permeates all aspects of community life and it will need a concerted effort by everyone involved if we hope to significantly reduce its impact, let alone get rid of it completely.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 21 December 2019)

Blight of Eskom won't stifle our festivities

IT HAS been frustrating week and a bit for South Africans. We were on a high after the Blitzbokke won the World Sevens series in Dubai and Zozibini Tunzi won the Miss Universe title. Even those who normally show no interest in rugby or who oppose beauty pageants joined in the excitement of our country winning at international level.

Everybody, it seems, except Eskom, who appeared determined to make sure that South Africans would have a black Christmas in the way that only they can: by switching off our lights.

But December is meant to be a month when we celebrate and, despite Eskom’s best (or worst) attempts, we remain determined to celebrate.

In celebrating, it is important to always remember how far we have come as a country and how far we still have to go. No one said democracy was going to be easy. We only hoped it would be.

This week we said farewell to two people who made a huge contribution to our democracy and, before that, the Struggle for freedom. Professor Ben Turok and Susan de Villiers were both very involved in the ANC but became disillusioned with the direction the movement was taking in recent years. Their contribution, however, can never be questioned. Turok, in particular, helped to mould my mind as a youth activist when we read his book, Revolutionary Thoughts in the 20th Century, which contained a collection of writings by some of the greatest freedom fighters in history.

Amid all of this, I decided that I wanted to focus in this column on two celebrations – both happening today – because of the significant impact they had on my life.

The first is the 25th birthday of the District Six Museum, which is happening at the City Hall at noon. The museum has played an important role in keeping alive the memory of what was once one of Cape Town’s most integrated and vibrant spaces.

It would have been so easy for the apartheid government, and our democratic government, mind you, to wipe out the memory of District Six – which was declared a white group area in 1966, followed by forced removals to the Cape Flats for most of the residents – but the work done by the museum helps to keep this memory alive.

Even when the people eventually move back to the area, we will never be able to replicate what existed, but, thanks to the work of the museum, we will always be able to remember what used to be.

This evening, Molo Songololo will be hosting a Summer Food Fair in Observatory as part of celebrating 40 years of working to protect children.

In the Struggle years, Molo Songololo played an important role in teaching young children about the injustices of apartheid. In recent years, they have helped to alert children to the many dangers in our society. They continue to help children in various ways, including by collecting useful things like sanitary pads which are necessary for young girls.

Unlike many people and organisations who pay lip service to fancy terms like “youth empowerment” Molo Songololo has through the years focused on working with young people, hoping to give them the best chance of success in life.

Both the District Six Museum and Molo Songololo get very little support from government.

South Africa is a country with amazing potential, and I believe that opportunity is the key to success in most cases. Apartheid was built on depriving the majority of opportunities, so the successes we see nowadays would not have happened if we did not transition to a democracy.

Sometimes, when I celebrate the achievements of South Africans, I get angry when I think about what could have been if we did not have 50 years of apartheid and 300 years of colonialism.

Despite Eskom, corruption and a dithering government, we will celebrate more successes this festive season, as we remember those who led the way. We owe it to those who went before, and those who are still to come, to make the most of our democracy.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 14 December 2019)

Real public servants serve the people

A few things, which may or may not be related, made me think this week of what it means to serve the public. These include the death of former ANC MP Rhoda Joemat; the senseless murder of Rashid Halday, the manager of a dental practice in Khayelitsha; the hospitalisation of Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu for a “persistent infection”; and, the shenanigans at our troubled national airline and in the Johannesburg and Tshwane metros.

All of these things involve people who, in some way or other, are meant to serve the public, but the definition of what this means is wide and vague.

Public service is often associated with formal employment in government, as in the case of people who we sometimes call “public servants”. These could include elected officials and government bureaucrats.

Often the real public servants are those who are not in the employ of government, but in non-governmental or non-profit organisations. Sometimes, they end up using their own resources to help make a difference to their society. Many times, the difference they make is not inspired by political parties or political philosophy. Often, their contribution is inspired only by a desire to improve the lives of people who are less fortunate than them.

Joemat, who is being buried today, served her community in several capacities over the years, especially during the years of the Struggle when she was active in many organisations, including the Cape Areas Housing Action Committee, the United Democratic Front and the United Women’s Congress, and, later, the ANC, which she served as provincial treasurer and a Member of Parliament. Joemat decided to make her contribution through the formal structures of the liberation movement, including the ANC. She was 72 at the time of her death last Sunday.

Others, like Halday, decided to make their contribution in different ways. He ran a dental practice in under-privileged Khayelitsha and contributed to many social upliftment projects in the area. He was killed on Monday night, presumably by people who he had set out to help, in an armed robbery attempt at the dental practice of his wife, Dr Camillah Bayat. He was 56 years old.

Tutu has served humanity, in a much broader sense than many others, based on his religious and spiritual beliefs. But underpinning his public service is a true commitment to uplifting people irrespective of their religious belief, assigned racial definition, sexual preference or other identity markers.

One of the most decent human beings that I have had the honour to interact with, we pray that he will overcome his current health set-back and will be around for much longer than his 88 years.

This, of course, brings us to people who are supposed to serve the public but merely serve their own interests. These include the people who have run South African Airways and some of our other state-owned entities into the ground - literally and figuratively - and the councillors in Gauteng’s two major metros who appear to be using their positions mainly to benefit themselves at the expense of the people they are supposed to be serving.

Like so many things in South Africa, public service needs to be redefined so that it prioritises the needs and well-being of those who are most vulnerable. It should not matter how you do it, but what you do.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 7 December 2019)

It's not good enough to do outreach only, we must do in-reach also

IN THE apartheid days, people used to say that a true test of nonracialism was if you would let your daughter marry someone from another race. Of course, this notion seems silly nowadays because most parents have probably realised that it is not up to them who their daughters marry, but it was the sentiment in that question that was important.

I have been thinking about this in the past few days or weeks in light of the happenings in the Democratic Alliance but also in light of what I have observed about the way some big corporates do for what they call corporate social investment (CSI).

Let me try to illustrate with another anecdote. Many years ago, I was fortunate enough to be chosen as a Research Fellow at Emory University in Atlanta, where I met one of my best friends. He was an Anglican priest (or Episcopal as they say in the United States of America) and probably one of the most progressive people I have ever met, despite growing up in the racist deep South.

He ran a reasonably successful church in Atlanta with mainly black parishioners, because this the nature of a city with a black majority. While I was spending time with him and his family, he was approached by a church in Mobile, Alabama, to become their parish priest.

We talked about it for weeks and he finally decided to take up the offer because of their strong outreach programme (and the fact that the pay was better, but he tried to downplay that).

I had already returned to South Africa when he and his family moved to Mobile. The more he preached his message of togetherness and tolerance, more blacks, gays and poor people started attending the church.

Less than 18 months into his tenure, he was fired. When I visited him in Mobile a few months after he became unemployed, he explained to me that, while the church was quite prepared to do outreach, they did not really want to do in-reach (if there is such a word).

They were prepared to take food parcels and do humanitarian work among poor people, but they did not want poor people to come to their church. They were prepared to work in black communities and reach out to the LGBTQI+ community, but they did not want them to reach back.

He eventually had to move to another city, where he worked with prisoners, and where he was happy.

This story came to my mind as I thought about the DA and their feeble attempts to reach out to blacks and their rapid promotion of some black leaders. As soon as the black leaders come to close to the centre of power, they get cut off.

In short, the DA wants to reach out to black South Africans, but it appears they want to keep the party’s leadership in white hands.

The same could be said of corporates who do amazing work in poor communities but, in the end, they enter these communities and later return to their comfortable homes while the poor people are left behind to wallow in their misery. None of these corporates question why they need to do CSI in the first place and what needs to be done to break down the inequalities in society that leads to some people having so much more than others.

It is not enough to give poor people money, food or blankets and then expect them to continue with their miserable lives. One needs to look at what can be done to change their conditions so that there would no longer be a need for CSI.

I suppose it is only when one allows people who might be perceived to be different from you to sleep in your home, or for you to sleep in theirs, that one can begin to understand the complexities of our society. It is not good enough only to do outreach. We must be prepared to do in-reach also.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 1 December 2019)

We shouldn't use the race card when competence is at stake

TWO things that happened this week made me wonder about whether we will ever really be able to resolve the serious issues in our society. The one is the strike by South African Airways workers, which is the personification of flogging a dead horse, and the other is the rejection, in some quarters, of the new Eskom CEO because he is white.

South Africans are very quick to use the race card, and given our history, that is not unexpected. Our reality is one in which the majority of poor people are black and their lives have not improved much in our 25-odd years of democracy.

But just because the majority are black, does not mean that only blacks have to be part of the solution to our problems. It also does not mean that only white people can be blamed for the current situation that we find ourselves in. It is not unreasonable to expect that we would have done better in 25 years.

South Africa’s history is filled with examples of people classified as white who made huge sacrifices in order to overthrow apartheid and move our country to one in which the rights of all are respected.

One can think here of people such as the Reverend Beyers Naude, who forsook his Nederduits Gereformeerde Kerk roots to join the struggle; Bram Fischer, who made an invaluable contribution to our understanding of the dynamics in our society; Denis Goldberg, who was sentenced to life imprisonment alongside Nelson Mandela and others in the Rivonia Trial; Albie Sachs and Father Michael Lapsley, who were both victims of letter-bomb attacks and carry the scars to this day; and Ruth First and Joe Slovo, whose contribution to the struggle for freedom can never be quantified.

These people had more in common with the majority of South Africans – who merely wanted a better life for most if not all South Africans – than they had in common with the white minority who were oppressing and exploiting us.

But there are many more who might be classified white who are also looking for ways in which they can contribute to making our country the great place we all know it can be.

Eskom and SAA are two of the sores that continue to reflect badly on our country. Our economy will not survive unless Eskom is pulled right urgently and the race of the person who is tasked with sorting out the mess should not matter.

The people who are always making a noise about wanting only black people or only women to be appointed to senior positions in our society do not understand the non-racial nature of our struggle, our history and our society.

Being black or a woman does not necessarily mean that you will advance the rights of blacks or women. I have known many white men who have done more to advance the rights of blacks and women, but who have not wanted to be acknowledged for their actions.

At the Monday Blues tribute to poet Sandile Dikeni on Monday night, his former colleague Ryan Fortune recalled that Dikeni taught him that there were only two kinds of people in the world: progressives and reactionaries and that you could not choose, for instance, to be non-racist while being sexist or claim to be non-sexist while being racist or homophobic.

I agree with this argument. There are many progressive whites and reactionary blacks.

The only colour that should matter is grey, which is often associated with intelligence. The people who complain loudest about racial or gender discrimination often have only their own interests are heart. They do not really care about the majority. If they did, they would realise the need for all hands to be on deck in order to realise the true potential of our country. If a white person can sort out Eskom, he deserves our support. As for SAA, the sooner the unions realise that the airline (and by extension the strikers) cannot continue to live off our taxes, the better.Two things that happened this week made me wonder about whether we will ever really be able to resolve the serious issues in our society. The one is the strike by South African Airways workers, which is the personification of flogging a dead horse, and the other is the rejection, in some quarters, of the new Eskom CEO because he is white.

South Africans are very quick to use the race card, and given our history, that is not unexpected. Our reality is one in which the majority of poor people are black and their lives have not improved much in our 25-odd years of democracy.

But just because the majority are black, does not mean that only blacks have to be part of the solution to our problems. It also does not mean that only white people can be blamed for the current situation that we find ourselves in. It is not unreasonable to expect that we would have done better in 25 years.

South Africa’s history is filled with examples of people classified as white who made huge sacrifices in order to overthrow apartheid and move our country to one in which the rights of all are respected.

One can think here of people such as the Reverend Beyers Naude, who forsook his Nederduits Gereformeerde Kerk roots to join the struggle; Bram Fischer, who made an invaluable contribution to our understanding of the dynamics in our society; Denis Goldberg, who was sentenced to life imprisonment alongside Nelson Mandela and others in the Rivonia Trial; Albie Sachs and Father Michael Lapsley, who were both victims of letter-bomb attacks and carry the scars to this day; and Ruth First and Joe Slovo, whose contribution to the struggle for freedom can never be quantified.

These people had more in common with the majority of South Africans – who merely wanted a better life for most if not all South Africans – than they had in common with the white minority who were oppressing and exploiting us.

But there are many more who might be classified white who are also looking for ways in which they can contribute to making our country the great place we all know it can be.

Eskom and SAA are two of the sores that continue to reflect badly on our country. Our economy will not survive unless Eskom is pulled right urgently and the race of the person who is tasked with sorting out the mess should not matter.

The people who are always making a noise about wanting only black people or only women to be appointed to senior positions in our society do not understand the non-racial nature of our struggle, our history and our society.

Being black or a woman does not necessarily mean that you will advance the rights of blacks or women. I have known many white men who have done more to advance the rights of blacks and women, but who have not wanted to be acknowledged for their actions.

At the Monday Blues tribute to poet Sandile Dikeni on Monday night, his former colleague Ryan Fortune recalled that Dikeni taught him that there were only two kinds of people in the world: progressives and reactionaries and that you could not choose, for instance, to be non-racist while being sexist or claim to be non-sexist while being racist or homophobic.

I agree with this argument. There are many progressive whites and reactionary blacks.

The only colour that should matter is grey, which is often associated with intelligence. The people who complain loudest about racial or gender discrimination often have only their own interests are heart. They do not really care about the majority. If they did, they would realise the need for all hands to be on deck in order to realise the true potential of our country. If a white person can sort out Eskom, he deserves our support. As for SAA, the sooner the unions realise that the airline (and by extension the strikers) cannot continue to live off our taxes, the better.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 23 November 2019)

Sandile Dikeni captured the hopefulness and hopelessness of our new democracy

WHEN people heard that Sandile Dikeni passed away last Saturday after suffering from TB, many thought immediately about Guava Juice, his almost anthemic poem which defined the angry youth of the mid-1980s.

Guava Juice was powerful - it was a metaphor for throwing petrol bombs at the police, who were hated by anti-apartheid activists because they protected and upheld unjust laws.

Dikeni riled up huge crowds at political rallies throughout the Western Cape, with many mimicking the throwing of petrol bombs.

But if Guava Juice’s raw energy captured the anger of the 1980s, when we all suspected that freedom was around the corner - all it needed was one last push, I preferred to remember Dikeni through the words of two of his later poems, when he replaced the anger with a sensitivity that captured the hopefulness and hopelessness of our democracy in a loving, almost pleading manner.

Love Poem for my Country describes the beauty of South Africa in vivid detail. Dikeni writes about the valleys and rivers, the birds, the reptiles, the baboons, the mountains, the sea, the mines and the miners.

But he also captures the unity, which many would have seen again over the past few weeks since the Springboks won the Rugby World Cup.

My country/is for unity/feel the millions/see their passion/their hands are joined together/there is hope in their eyes/we shall celebrate.

The Dikeni poem that really spoke to me was Telegraph to the Sky, the title of his second anthology. He asks us to “stay with me” as he journeys through the confusion that many people have about living in post-apartheid South Africa, where the remnants of the past impact on the present and the future.

I would feel gooseflesh all over my body when he read this poem at regular Monday night poetry sessions in Cape Town, especially his plaintive plea at the end:

Stay, so that we sing/songs from experience/we sing ideas from consciousness/and let’s cultivate destiny/from the barrenness of this,/this history./Stay with me./Shall you?/Please?

Chimurenga, with whom he worked for many years, is having a poetry session in his honour on Monday night at their “factory” in Woodstock. No doubt, someone will recite Telegraph to the Sky, but it will not be the same.

Born in Victoria West in 1966, Dikeni was more than a poet to me. He became a close friend after I appointed him as arts and lifestyle editor at the Cape Times in the mid-1990s, shortly after our country became a democracy.

It was a strange time when the so-called mainstream newspapers had mainly white staff, even though the readership did not reflect the demographics. While there was strong opposition to me appointing a black person to such a senior position, Dikeni won everyone over with his humanity, humility, infectious laughter and smile. 

Dikeni never identified himself on the basis of skin colour, but he had empathy for those more vulnerable than him in our society. His empathy and hatred of race-based politics is probably what drove his anger during the 1980s and his determination to contribute to building our democracy in the 1990s and early 2000s.

He was involved in a serious car accident in 2005. He appeared to make a recovery, but he was never the same after that, often suffering from memory loss. Over the past while, he had been suffering from TB and living with his sister, Nomonde, in Khayelitsha.

Dikeni deserves to be remembered not only for Guava Juice and The Spear, another of his Struggle poems, but also for using his words to express his love for our country and asking us to “stay” with our democracy.

Rest in peace, my friend.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 16 November 2019)

World Cup euphoria won't solve our issues but it can be call to action

As Luyanda Botha, the former post office worker who is accused of the murder and rape of the young UCT student, Uyinene Mrwetanya, in August this year, appeared in court on Tuesday this week, I drove past the post office where he worked and where the crimes are alleged to have taken place, and saw that the ribbons in her memory have all been removed.

For weeks, the ribbons on the metal fence outside the Clareinch post office hung as a grim reminder of a life that was cut short in our violent society. She was only 19 years old. It reminded us of the urgent need to address the scourge of gender-based violence in South Africa. It showed us that no place is safe; that a young woman can be raped and murdered even in a supposedly innocuous place such as a post office.

Now it looks like somebody has decided that it is time to move on from this issue, it seems, because we have dedicated enough time to it. I hope I am wrong and there is a simpler explanation.

Does the removal of the ribbons mean that we will no longer focus on gender-based violence as a society? What will it take to rekindle the kind of activism that spread throughout the country in September when thousands of people took to the streets to express the disgust at the killing of young women, including Uyinene, UWC student Jesse Hess (also 19) and East London’s young boxing champion Leighandre Jegels, 25, who were all killed within days of each other?

Later I saw on the television the reports about the thousands of people who had gathered at OR Tambo International Airport to welcome the Springboks, who had won the Rugby World Cup after beating England in the final last Saturday.

Seeing the euphoria on the faces of the supporters, I could not help but ask myself: how long will this last?

It was good to see the mixed crowd – including young and old, black and white, men and women – welcoming their heroes, and they had every reason to feel proud. Winning a Rugby World Cup does not happen every day and it was a special achievement given the state of our rugby (and some will say our country) over the past few years.

But it is worrying that some people are placing so much pressure on the Springboks after their victory. After all, no matter how special the Rugby World Cup victory was, it was still only a victory in a rugby tournament. It will not, and was not meant to, sort out all the many problems we have in our country.

But the politicians will try to milk this as much as they possibly can. Looking at the way they have been going on during the processions throughout the various cities, if you did not know better, you would be forgiven for thinking that the politicians were the ones who played against England last Saturday. Some of them have been taking centre stage at all the welcoming events, not content to let the Springbok players have their moment of glory. What is the saying about basking in reflected glory?

There is bound to be some excitement around the Rugby World Cup victory for the next few weeks at least. And as it begins to fade from our memory, we will slowly go back to our old habits and forget about this fleeting moment when we united as a nation in support of our national rugby team.

I hope that we can bottle the excitement that we have seen over the past week (as well as the activism against gender-based violence) and use it all over our society as a way to rejuvenate civic activism, corporate social responsibility and government action so that we can jointly solve the many problems in our society, instead of momentarily singing Shosholoza and holding hands. As the saying goes, together we can do so much more.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 9 November 2019)

Public servants desperately need sensitivity training

This week has been one in which we have felt proud to be South African at times, but also ashamed at other times.

The pride for many has been related to the Springboks reaching the final of the Rugby World Cup. For many others, this is also the source of the shame. More on this later.

The shame has also been because of the vicious response by police to migrants in Cape Town. It does not reflect well on your country if members of your police force forcibly pull babies out of the hands of their mothers and generally mishandle foreigners from other African countries, or anyone for that matter.

It shows there is a lack of sensitivity in police training. I am not arguing for what some people might consider a “soft” approach by police - police need to be tough, especially in a crime-ridden country such as ours, but they also need an ability to apply discretion.

The people from neighbouring countries, who are seeking a better life in South Africa, on the whole are not our enemies, even though some of them might engage in crime.

But the tough action, batons and stun grenades should be reserved for criminals, including those terrorising the Cape Flats and those who have stolen millions from poor people.

There appears to be a problem in the public service where those who work in the government do not appear to understand that our democracy needs a sensitivity to our violent past and humane treatment of everyone in our country. We cannot afford to have a situation where anyone is mistreated based on class, gender, race, country of origin or economic circumstances.

We need to start off with respect before we decide to get tough.

From watching the videos of Wednesday’s police action against the migrants in Cape Town, it is clear the police went in to terrorise and intimidate. They appear not to know how to treat anyone with dignity.

This is probably true for many parts of the public service. For instance, patients have been complaining about being treated with disrespect by nurses for years, and the less said about the service at government departments such as Home Affairs, the better.

There is a need for sensitivity training for public servants so that they can begin to understand how people in South Africa deserve to be treated in line with our Constitution.

There is no place for homophobia, sexism, racism, xenophobia, gender or class discrimination, or religious intolerance. There should be no place for any of this among public servants who are, more than anyone else, expected to uphold the Constitution.

This brings me to my unease with the Springboks’ performance. The Constitution outlaws hate speech and discrimination. In their haste to have the best chance of a Rugby World Cup victory - because we think it will momentarily solve our country’s complex social cohesion issues - those with authority have seen fit to allow Eben Etzebeth to represent our country despite allegations of hate speech and assault against him.

Whether he is guilty or not is not the point. The allegations are serious enough to have warranted him being withdrawn from the team before the world event started. Otherwise you are saying to the people who claim to have been the victims of his alleged transgressions that they do not matter.

I am patriotic and I want the Springboks to win, but I feel uncomfortable we should do it while there are such huge question marks over the behaviour of one of our senior players. In some ways, national rugby players are also public servants and they, too, could benefit from sensitivity training.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 2 November 2019)

Don't get tired, do something about racism

I wake up some mornings and I feel tired (and sometimes angry). I realise that the things that make me tired are not physical, but mainly psychological and, in some way, related to the history of this country.

I feel tired because I am sick of white people asking every time when black people are going to stop blaming racism and apartheid for many of the ills in our country. They will never understand our pain and our anger, I think, and I feel even more tired and angry.

I feel tired when I think of how, even as a reasonably accomplished individual, I always have to convince mainly white South Africans that I am competent.

I feel tired when I think back to the time I was appointed as editor of the Cape Times and the media reported that I was young, conjuring up all the bad attributes that they associate with being young: inexperienced, impulsive, etc. White editors who were younger than me were not described as young, but as whiz kids and other words celebrating excellence.

I feel tired when I think about how I sometimes go into a shop and get ignored but as soon as a white person enters, s/he is helped.

I feel tired when I hear stories about how black people call to enquire about rental properties and are told it is not available only for a white friend to call a few minutes later and being asked to come and view the property.

I get tired when I read stories like the one about the black family who was asked to leave a Camps Bay house they rented for a holiday, only because they are black.

I get tired when I visit the townships in Cape Town – I suppose it’s the same throughout South Africa – and I see how apartheid still shows its sniggering face amid all the poverty. It is like apartheid is telling us: you thought things would change with democracy; you thought you would get rid of me, but it is not so easy. I am note so easily defeated.

I get tired when I see the shacks in informal settlements, literally on top of each other, and I hear people calling them home. They don’t fit into my definition of home even though I spent much of my formative years living in one.

I felt tired when my daughter, when she was still at a former whites-only high school, told me that all her (white) friends were going abroad for the holidays, and when were we going abroad?

I get tired when I hear people talking about not being able to get jobs because of their race.

I get tired when I see politicians campaigning for our support using race as their campaign platform. All of them do it, some just more blatantly than others.

I get tired when people will do nothing to help others more vulnerable than them without getting plaudits on social media.

I get tired when I attend discussions on poverty, inequality, unemployment, gender-based violence, racism and other pertinent issues in our society and no one offers any feasible solutions. And if solutions are offered, they get lost in the cacophony of anger and helplessness.

But whenever I feel tired, I turn to the youth for solutions and hope. As I listened to the Linge Primary School choir at a Partners for Possibility function last week – in one song, they recited words from the Constitution of South Africa – I felt less tired. In fact, I felt rejuvenated.

Douglas Gibson, I think it is time for white people in South Africa to stop questioning why we continue to talk about apartheid and to accept that the hurt caused by apartheid will be with us for a long time.

Instead, they should try to help us get to a point where the after-effects of apartheid will not be so pervasive. The only way to do this is to work together to achieve a more equitable society. Together, we can wipe that smirk off apartheid’s ugly face.

(This is the unedited version of my Thinking Allowed column that appeared in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 26 October 2019)

Theatre production brings home the reality of hell on the Cape Flats

ONE OF my strengths and weaknesses is that I have an (over)active mind. I think all the time. When I read a novel, I think about ways in which I would possibly have written it, including other conclusions.

When I watch a movie, I question everything and have to remind myself to sit back and enjoy. Moviemakers have licence and not everything has to make sense. Thinking so much is a problem in a country such as South Africa, where people are often encouraged not to think.

I found myself thinking in overdrive while attending the opening night of David Kramer’s latest production, Danger in the Dark, at the Baxter on Tuesday night.

I was not thinking about the casting or performances (which were superb, from a layman’s perspective) or the songs (which were not too bad, but, again, I am no expert). I was not thinking about the set (which looked impressive). I did not think about the dancers, who looked excellent (but I wouldn't know; dancing has never been one of my strong points).

Instead, I found myself thinking about the storyline and its relevance to society today.

Kramer said the original story, called Poison, was first performed about 26 years ago. He co-wrote it with Taliep Petersen and, while Danger in the Dark has a new storyline, it contains many of the original songs written by Petersen.

The story is about a young social worker who gets caught in the middle of the gangsterism and drug abuse prevalent on the Cape Flats. There are several other storylines, including an abusive relationship between a singer and a drug dealer.

I found myself wondering how someone like Kramer, who grew up in Worcester (and I am not holding that against him) could understand the pain and the agony of Cape Flats life in such a profound manner and reproduce it so remarkably for theatre.

I wondered why the thousands of government people, with all their huge resources, have never been able to understand the complexity of what is happening on the Cape Flats and, as a result, they have not done much to improve the situation.

It would have been good for some government officials to attend a performance or two and maybe to talk to cultural workers in communities about the issues raised in the play, including drug abuse, gangsterism and violence against women. My experience is that cultural workers often have a better grasp of social issues than bureaucrats.

It was good to see some young people on the opening night, but this kind of play should be compulsory viewing for pupils on the Cape Flats, who should watch it before having a discussion about how gangsterism and drug abuse could be eradicated.

Gangsterism and drug abuse have been a scourge on the Cape Flats since time immemorial. The sad reality is that things appear to be getting worse. While Poison was relevant in the early 1990s, Danger in the Dark is probably more relevant today.

Part of the problem is that the government has given up on searching for solutions because the problem looks too big to solve. But if the government is not prepared to search for solutions, then business, civil society and so-called ordinary members of the public should put their heads together.

The problems on the Cape Flats need a multilayered approach that will include education, social development and prosecution. It also needs a concerted attempt to eradicate inequality, poverty and unemployment.

Cultural workers and theatre productions can help only to shine a spotlight on the issues, and Kramer has done well with the production.

However, the hard work of dealing with the issues involved is up to all of us: the government, private sector, civil society and the people who suffer daily because of gangsterism and drug dealing. But that is me thinking aloud.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weeken Argus on Saturday 19 October 2019)

We need to open our minds to possible value foreigners can add

People who have been watching the Rugby World Cup might have been perplexed at the number of players who defy the stereotypes that one has in one’s mind about people from specific countries.

Among those is flanker Pieter Hermias Cornelius Labuschagné, popularly known as “Lappies”, who has captained Japan a few times at this tournament. But he is not the only one. 

On the face of it, it looks like there are at least two other South Africans in the Japanese squad. There are South Africans playing for a few other teams and a host of other players who are playing for countries where they were not born.

Some people are saying this is because rugby’s restrictions on foreign-born players are not as strict as it is with soccer. But that is only part of the story. Soccer too makes use of foreign-born players, even though this is mainly at club-level, which some might argue is more important than international football.

The point is that they are applying an international principle in our capitalist world: that of supply and demand.

People will go wherever there is a demand for their skills, and, with sports people, it is not unusual to find players representing clubs or national teams far from the shores where they were born.

The world is becoming smaller, so mobility between countries, not only in sport, has also become easier. Think of all the South African-trained nurses and doctors who are practising all over the world or the many South Africans who are teaching English in Asian countries.

Throughout the centuries people have always gone where they can find better opportunities. The same should apply to people from other African countries who think that their lives will improve in South Africa.

Those who oppose their presence in South Africa should try to place themselves in their shoes. What if things were different on our continent and another country represented opportunities that South Africa does not have? We would probably have seen a migration of South Africans to that country, like we did during apartheid when thousands of South Africans sought exile in other African countries.

We need to open our minds more to the possible value that foreigners can add and not just condemn them outright for not being born here.

Foreigners can add a lot of value, not only in terms of skills and culture, but also in terms of broadening mindsets.

America, probably still the strongest economy in the world even though China is catching up fast, was built on the back of foreign labour but it also involved displacing the indigenous people - much like what happened in South Africa centuries ago.

I am loyal to South Africa, but I have always seen myself as a citizen of the world, and I have been able to share my skills and knowledge in different parts of the world. It does not make me less of a South African, because wherever I go I always carry my South African citizenship with pride.

It is difficult to let go of your country bonds, as people who have left the country in search of greener pastures have found. There is something that binds you. But that should be no reason to limit your search for opportunities.

I always encourage young people to try to find opportunities overseas, knowing that they will inevitably come back to South Africa more skilled and talented, because of the experiences that they would have picked up.

We want the world to embrace us. We should also learn to embrace the world, including people from our continent.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 12 October 2019)

The Duchess of Sussex brings a breath of fresh air to British royal family

I have never been a royalist. I was taught as a young person entering the Struggle many years ago to question institutions such as royalty: unelected people who are deemed to be superior to others in their society, including the people whose taxes keep them in their homes and keep them fed.

This is one of the reasons why I have struggled to get excited about the visit to South Africa by the couple known as the Duke and the Duchess of Sussex, Prince Harry and his wife, the former actress Meghan Markle.

But as someone who is involved in the media industry, it is important for me to understand society. So, when South Africans go gaga over a young couple representing an archaic form of rule from a country that used to colonise us, then I have to sit up and take notice.

I must admit that, while I am no fan of royalty, I could become a fan of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, especially of the duchess.

From what I have seen over the past two weeks, Prince Harry is okay, but his wife is probably the best thing to have happened to the British royal family - ever. She appears to have brought a freshness to a dour institution that has always had a stiff and unresponsive reputation.

The duchess has hardly put a foot wrong during her visit to South Africa and demonstrated a willingness to listen and learn. She seems to have said and done the right things at the right time. No doubt, the couple have good advisers and researchers, but even advisers and researchers need to be guided. So, when the duchess arrived at the oldest mosque in South Africa wearing a scarf, appropriately paying respect to the religious sensitivities of the people who pray there, she won many hearts.

When the couple stopped off in Nyanga, probably the most violent township in the world, immediately after they landed in South Africa, it indicated that they were prepared to not only immerse themselves in the abundant natural beauty of Cape Town. And when they went to visit the District Six Museum - their second stop on their tour - it helped to focus on an issue that has been a blight on South African, and especially Cape Town society, for many decades: the reparations due to people who were forcibly removed under apartheid and how to retain the memory of what many people say was a better society.

Of course, most people who follow the royal couple almost slavishly were only interested in seeing their small baby and the couple did not disappoint, revealing baby Archie in a meeting with the former Archbishop of Cape Town, Desmond Tutu. The headlines wrote themselves: “Archie meets the Arch.”

But there were two things that made me sit up and take notice. One was the “private” visit by the duchess to the Clareinch post office, where the young UCT student Uyinene Mrwetyana was brutally murdered not too long ago, even tying a ribbon in her memory. The other was when she went to pick up a pair of jeans from a small manufacturing shop in Johannesburg. I have also been impressed by the many engagements she has had with South African women and the initiatives she put in place to try and empower them.

What I have learned over the past two weeks is that it does not matter where you find yourself, but how you use your position in life to do good in society. Most of us, irrespective of whether we are royals or plebs like me, or whether we belong to this or that political party, can use our positions to effect positive change in society.

I long ago stopped working with people because of their political affiliation. I now look at what they have to offer in terms of ideas and actions. Clearly, despite their royal baggage, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex have a lot to offer, to South Africa and the world.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 5 October 2019)

There's more to nation-building than sharing a few feel-good moments

On Monday morning, I was interviewed on a national TV channel about how successful we’ve been in nation-building. The interview was a day before Heritage Day so, I suppose, it was logical to talk about whether South Africa has a common heritage.

It’s no secret that we do not have a common heritage and that’s what makes this country so beautiful. But it’s also what makes it difficult for us to build a common South African nation.

Preparing for the interview made me think about why we have not had much success in nation-building and whether we will have any success any time soon.

South Africa is a divided country and the divisions escalate when times are tough, and people look for salvation or solutions within group identities. But most of us carry more than one group identity and often we find within family and friendship circles several pieces of group identity.

The most significant group identity which I believe is standing in the way of developing a true South African nation is class. It’s extremely difficult, probably impossible, to reconcile the interests of the people in Bishopscourt and Bishop Lavis.

If one considers that South Africa is one of the most unequal countries in the world and that inequality has grown significantly in the past few decades, then it stands to reason that the gulf between the people of these areas would also have increased.

My argument is that we can only talk about true nation-building once we have significantly reduced the gap between the rich and the poor in our society.

But we remain hopeful and are always looking for quick fixes. We get excited about a visit from members of another country’s royal family, a country that used to colonise us. We enthuse about the fact that the crowds who gathered to catch a glimpse of them in the streets included blacks and whites, rich and poor, and try to use this as a sign of a united nation.

Despite South Africa losing to the All Blacks in their opening game of the Rugby World Cup, we want the Boks to win the tournament so that we can all bask in their victory and pretend to be unified for a few days or weeks.

We want to experience once again the Madiba magic we saw in 1995, when South Africa won the Rugby World Cup for the first time after it was allowed to return to the international competition after many years because of apartheid.

Yet, there are some people who feel that South African rugby still perpetuates apartheid by refusing to take action against one of their star players who faces serious charges of racial abuse and assault.

Uniting a divided nation such as ours requires more than feel-good events, a sporting victory or a musical performance. It requires more than getting excited about a royal visit when we should be questioning the legitimacy of royalty, especially in a country where the taxpayer spends millions on supporting the continuation of tribalism, each with its own sets of royalty, despite our country embracing democracy.

I was hoping to see at least one seminar or talk this week, hosted by a liberal university or progressive organisation, on whether the world still needs royalty.

I am not trying to point fingers at those who got excited about the royals or are still excited about the rugby.

I am merely saying we should approach everything, including the things that appear to make us feel good, with a degree of scepticism. Uniting a diverse country such as South Africa is not easy and requires hard work from all.

We need to be able to seek common ground without losing our ability to ask important questions.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 28 September 2019)

Let’s get to know each other - we have more in common than we realise

Twenty years ago, we hosted the first One City Festival at the Grand Parade on Heritage Day in 1999. It was the culmination of an editorial-led campaign in the Cape Times, called One City, Many Cultures, which aimed to show that while we think we are different, we probably have a lot more in common than we realise.

For most of the past 20 years, and even after the initial sponsors withdrew, we continued trying to promote the vision and values of the campaign, which is to create a more integrated and tolerant Cape Town.

We did this mainly through an annual festival where we tried to showcase diverse cultures and religions, until we ran out of money a few years ago. More recently, we have been hosting discussions in partnership with other organisations and, on Tuesday, we are supporting a programme called Bridge the Gap to bring together the Bonteheuwel and Langa communities.

The programme includes a unity procession from Gugu S’Thebe cultural centre in Langa to Bonteheuwel civic centre, starting at 12.30pm. This will be followed by a cultural concert at the Bonteheuwel civic centre from 1.30pm to 5pm. Entry is free.

But I have also been speaking about the campaign on different platforms, most recently on Wednesday night at the twilight supper of the Jewish seniors club in Wynberg with Beryl Eichenberger, who was promotions manager at Independent Newspapers in Cape Town when I asked her to run the campaign.

These presentations have made me reflect on why we started the campaign, how far we have come in the past 20 years and how far we still have to go to create better understanding among people who think they are different from others.

One City, Many Cultures was launched at a time of great hatred and distrust in Cape Town between Muslims and Jews, black and white, rich and poor. It was a time of bombings and attempted assassinations of people who disagreed with your views.

As editor of the Cape Times at the time, I felt that while a newspaper’s primary purpose is to reflect society, there are times when we have to play a leadership role in society. We have to show people what is possible and what can be different. That is why I launched the campaign, which quickly gained a life of its own, culminating in the festival which later moved to Human Rights Day.

We have not moved on much from the dark days that inspired us. We still have a lot of hatred in our society towards people we think are different from us. We might not have had bombings and assassination attempts recently, but we are perilously close to it in many ways.

I have always tried to look for things that people have in common because I believe that, once we realise what we have in common, it becomes easier for us to talk to each other instead of focusing on our differences.

Unfortunately, what often happens is people that seek solutions to society’s problems by delving into group identities. For instance, ‘I can’t find work because I am coloured or white’ or ‘people are discriminating against me because I am Muslim or Jewish’.

I am not disputing that there might be merit in both of the examples I have cited, but I believe in looking beyond the obvious when dealing with complex societal issues. It is possible that you are not able to find a job because there are no jobs or that everyone is being discriminated against. If we work together, we might be able to create jobs or stop discrimination.

As I reflect on 20 years of One City, Many Cultures, I would like to believe that we still have hope of uniting our diverse nation, based on what we have in common and not our perceived differences.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 21 September 2019)