Stuff Christmas, let's talk about Solidarity, race & bursaries

At the risk of upsetting the Christmas cheer (not that I care ... I hate Christmas: compulsory happiness is not my thing), I thought I'd e-scribble a few thoughts on an article I had just read about a reportedly race-specific bursary scheme administered by First National Bank.

FNB reportedly have a bursary scheme for employees' children attending primary school. The chief criteria are financial need (qualifying employees earn less than R100 000 per annum) AND race (qualifying employees are black African, Indian & coloured).

Solidarity - the country's anti-race bulldogs - object to the second criterion. They argue that race-specific bursary schemes of this kind are wrong on the premise that - and this bit is important, so note the wording - white children in primary schools did not benefit from Apartheid.

Does Solidarity's argument hold any water?

Not at all. It is an argument that is tired, tiring and sloppily thought through. The pervasiveness of this less-than-cogent logic in the anti-affirmative action camp beggars belief. It is equally tiring having to trot out (again) the right response - but that is necessary. So here goes.

First, it is clear that race identification *in itself * is not what Solidarity has an issue with - despite the initial language in which the objection is couched. The details of their objection reveals a more pointed object of criticism: the excluded group of learners (young whites) did not benefit from Apartheid. This distinction is important. It means that Solidarity - rightly, if so - are not against race based redress in its entirety, but against particular race based policies that lack justification within the broader scheme of redress policy packages. The problem, of course, is that in this particular instance, Solidarity have not identified a scheme (the bursary) that is unjustified.

Second - and related - is the question of whether the phrase 'did not benefit from Apartheid' does enough ethical justificatory work in the objection of Solidarity to the race based bursary scheme. It does not.

A] For one thing, it is an historical fact that Apartheid was executed in group terms - with great success. Even though notions of 'groups' are conceptually and metaphysically fragile, it does not follow that effective working definitions of groups are socially and politically inert. The socially constructed groups 'black', 'white', 'indian' and 'coloured' took on a reality we all lived through and with. It is UTTERLY DISHONEST for any South African - particularly whites - to pretend that groups do not exist. They do.

B] Given that groups exist, and were the basis of Apartheid policies, it follows straightforwardly that redress at *group level* is necessary to dismantle the *group based* structural inequalities that Apartheid - courtesy of its inherently group based logic!! - left us with.

SO, with all these conceptual and historical facts (truisms, in fact) rehearsed, we can return to the issue at hand - the FNB race based bursary scheme.

The scheme, insofar as it targets groups of employees who suffered structurally - qua group membership - during Apartheid, is justified. The innocent little white kids in primary school born after 1994 DID benefit from Apartheid. They benefit from the general social advantage of being born into white lineage. In purely statistical terms, a white kid - simply in virtue of its arbitrary whiteness - STILL has a better shot at reaching the top of life's ladder than her black counterpart. That is fact - notwithstanding the sprinkling of BEE cats.

Does this mean that all blacks are poor and needy, and all whites, rich and not in need of assistance? Obviously not. BUT ... these exceptions do not mean that individual assessments for benefit schemes are always necessary and that group based benefit schemes are inappropriate.

It is a red herring to point to the existence of a few Tokyo Sexwales and a few poor whites at your street corner. This is a bit like pointing to Oprah Winfrey when denying a bunch of black kids from Harlem bursary schemes that target them specifically as poor *black* kids. Benefits and burdens remain distributed largely along race-group lines .... let's not overindulge in 1) debating individual assessments vs. group assessments ... nor 2) perpetuate the false dichotomoy of choosing between class based strategies and race based strategies, for dismantling past inequalities.

Last, the only remainining objection might be that as a *private employer* FNB ought to be race-insensitive in terms of its internal benefit schemes. But this is an overstatement of an employer's obligations: for one thing, Solidarity does not have a problem with the financial need requirement which already disqualify many employees (black and white), including ones who earn, say, R110 000 per annum and so arguably still identify as needy families (moral: employee benefit schemes may discriminate between groups within a company provided this can be justified, as per the logic of this piece...) ; for another, it does not (absent further information) appear like employees were promised automatic eligibility to the bursary scheme as part of a salary package. It is thus not quite clear where the entitlement - in positive rights terms - comes from. The debate is best understood then as an issue of whether the *exclusion* is justified, which it clearly is, by virtue of the politico-historical considerations outlined here.

Unless, of course, you think that SA was founded in 1994. Too many (mostly white) folks are beginning to think so - Solidarity included.

An anthropology of low expectations

Readers will recall that last week I took to task the invocation of ‘context' by Johnny Steinberg in order to ‘understand' and ‘situate' the moral failures of political leaders like Thabo Mbeki. Legacy debates will not go out of fashion anytime soon and so it is worth pushing the dialectic a little bit further.

Steinberg responds by claiming that " ... if Mr McKaiser's argument is taken to its logical conclusion, we should never again invoke the humiliation of Versailles lest we excuse Adolf Hitler. Nor dare we mention land hunger as a source of grievance in Zimbabwe lest we give Robert Mugabe succour. We are to still our questions, bury our curiosity and butcher our intellects in order that we may condemn."

Nonsense. But interesting nonsense - a colourful example of a straw man that I could trot out for beginner logic students to play with. In this rejoinder, Steinberg gives examples with which I certainly would agree. Of course one can point out multiple sources of any political or socio-economic problem. That is indeed the point of intellectually curious social science research that aims to offer us a critical understanding of the world we live in. Nothing in my criticism of Steinberg's use of ‘context' to understand Thabo Mbeki's legacy is incompatible with this. It is not rocket science to accept that there can be multiple sources of explanation for any issue.

What Steinberg in fact did, but tries to fudge by pretending he was engaging in subtle intellectual pursuit that I missed because perhaps I was sneezing while reading him, was to poorly distinguish between the contextual facts within which Mbeki had acted as a political animal and the individual moral and political blame that can properly be attributed to Mbeki. Mbeki simply chose AIDS denialism - period. History will and should rightly hold him morally responsible.

The irony of this exchange between Steinberg and myself was brought to my attention by a couple of readers who pointed me to an excellent review by Steinberg of Didier Fassin's "When bodies remember: Experiences and Politics of AIDS in South Africa". Steinberg rather pointedly - and rightly - criticises the excessive attempt on the part of Fassin to understand Mbeki. He calls this "an anthropology of low expectations" and concludes by urging that "we should beware generous anthropologies of African mistakes." Yet, fast forward to late 2009, and Steinberg himself is engaging in a low-expectation anthropology of African mistakes. It is important for researchers and writers to journey into the headspace and social landscape of a subject with critical distance. This does not mean that we must lack empathy. Nor that we should never exonerate someone or diminish the degree of responsibility we attribute to them. Mbeki's ‘leadership' on HIV/AIDS, however, is not such a case in point.

The bigger debate is ultimately one about structuralism's fate. Our individual beliefs, attitudes, personalities and behavioural patterns are strongly influenced by social, economic, political, familial and other structures into which we are born and within which we become adults. We cannot pretend to live in solitary universes as individuals. These social facts mean that individuals can only be fully understood if the structures within which they were and are shaped are understood equally well. This is the point of much social science. And it is a worthwhile and compelling enterprise.

What too many social scientists get wrong - and also biographers whose works are derivative of empirical psychology and sociology - is to perpetuate two analytic mistakes. The first is a failure to recognise that structures are constituted by persons with flesh and blood and brains and bodies - human beings. Instead, structures are anthropomorphised. Human traits are casually attributed to inanimate things. Then, in a jump of logic, we can, for example, claim that it is not a human being who is racist, but an (inanimate) ‘system' or ‘institution' that is racist, as if systems and institutions are not constituted by persons who take decisions that we can attribute to them as persons.

The fetishishing of structures allow leaders to be given convenient space to escape full responsibility for actions and decisions. Structures influence who and what are. But they do not determine what we do. We are capable of acting differently to how we in fact act. That is why attributions of praise and blame in the game of morality makes sense- even in the face of facts about the context within which we act.

The second confusion is a failure to distinguish between empiricism and normativity. Of course empirical projects are hugely intellectually interesting. New data and facts are the lifeblood of knowledge production. But normative questions - questions about how we ought to behave as opposed to how we actually behave - are equally important. If not, we will never bother to strive towards norms of moral excellence but simply replicate past mistakes well-chronicled in empirical social science works.

Ultimately, our criticism of Thabo Mbeki is a normative one. We take his intelligence seriously enough to blame him for failing to transcend the structures into which he was born. He could have and should have acted other than how he in fact acted as president of South Africa. A softer, later-Steinberg analysis of Mbeki's legacy perpetuates a condescending anthropology of low expectations, one the earlier-Steinberg would have rightly disapproved of.

http://www.politicsweb.co.za/politicsweb/view/politicsweb/en/page71619?oid=154827&sn=Detail

Only a black-led party has a hope of taking on the ANC

THE much-punted possible merger between the Democratic Alliance (DA) and the Congress of the People (COPE) will succeed only if two fundamental issues are successfully negotiated. The one is leadership — who should be the face of the merged party? The other is ideological — should the merger continue in the DA’s libertarian vein or carve out a more progressive, social justice foundation?

The leadership question is easier to resolve — in theory. A lofty desire to make the world a better place is never the sole source of motivation for entering politics. Politics is ultimately about gaining power. Both the DA and COPE presumably desire at some point actually to govern SA. A crafty mixture of principle and pragmatism is needed to get there. This means accepting that the South African electorate would vote only a black-led party into power in the foreseeable future. Whether this is good or bad is neither here nor there. It is a fact. The implication is that a merger between the DA and COPE must have a black face.

This may be a bitter pill to swallow for some of the current DA leadership. After all, they are the official opposition with a much larger support base than COPE. However, they would be naive to negotiate a merger with COPE solely on the basis of this year’s election results. They must take account of likely patterns of voter behaviour in the future. But once you venture into that kind of crystal ball gazing — which itself, of course, requires some analysis of past voter behaviour — one inevitably faces the truth that racialism remains an important strand in voter decision-making. This means that if the senior leadership within the DA really cares about maximising the chances of a merger being bigger and better than both the DA and COPE, they must accept the strategic necessity of a black-led merger.

Fortunately — if reliable political sources close to the action are to be believed — most senior leaders within the DA understand this, including the parliamentary leader, Athol Trollip. It is not so clear that DA leader Helen Zille understands or accepts this. One cannot blame her. She has done well to keep the DA on an upward trajectory in its post-Leon phase and no doubt she would therefore want to cling to the personal power and career success that she has amassed.

But unless she, and other like-minded leaders close to her, can put the goal of maximising party success at the top of political priorities, a merger will be doomed. The white-led DA has reached a glass ceiling. A black-led merger presents the only chance of further growth.

Of course, even if it is accepted that a black leadership is important for strategic reasons, complications will remain. Who, exactly, among black leaders within both the DA and COPE could lead a merged party? Certainly not Mvume Dandala or Mosiuoa Lekota . Dandala has been a shoddy parliamentary leader for COPE. He should exit the political stage. Lekota, in his turn, has failed to build COPE structures on the ground and has lost all political fizz over the past months.

The only serious candidate within COPE for leading a merged party is Mbhazima Shilowa . Even then, Shilowa does not exactly have gigantic gravitas and needs to become a much better and more charismatic leader. If he were to lead a merger, a team of communications experts and political consultants would be a necessary part of the toolkit.

A black leader from within the DA ranks would be preferable, as that would mitigate against legitimate fears among the DA leadership that COPE stands to gain more than the DA from a merged opposition. The problem, of course, is that the DA has been shoddy at successfully nurturing or attracting senior black leadership.

How all this plays out will determine the success of a new outfit. For the sake of SA, it is necessary that the ruling party finally be given a serious run for its liberation money. Only a black-led merger can fulfil that role.

On the ideological front there may be even deeper disagreement. The DA has already made it clear it will merge only with parties that are willing to buy into its mantra of an open, equal-opportunity society for all.

Of course, that phrase sounds rather inviting but it is, in the first instance, vague and uninformative.

With deeper knowledge of the DA’s character, however, we can translate the notion of an “open, equal opportunities society for all” into simpler English. What it really means is that formal equality, such as equal treatment of all persons with no regards to cumbersome things such as social histories, are much more important than substantive equality. It means social justice interventions in the sociopolitical life of the country, which demand unequal treatment in order to ensure equitable outcomes and adequate redress of past, systemic inequalities, should be viewed with scepticism. This cannot be stated baldly and so Zille has to resort to euphemistic political phrases — but the libertarian undertones fool no one.

It is perfectly acceptable for any political party to be centre-right in its economic or social thinking. Political pluralism is not to be scoffed at. But such an ideological outlook will not see the light of day in SA in our lifetime. It is a recipe for remaining in the opposition benches. And, in fact, rightly so — it is callous to be ahistorical in crafting an ideological foundation for a country.

You must take account of the fact that Sipho Soap cannot pull himself up by his bootstraps because he does not have bootstraps. It is easy for his Caucasian competitor, Joe Soap, to do so — after all, Joe was born with bootstraps on his feet courtesy of the apartheid legacy of skewed, racially distributed economic and social goods.

The point is simple. A merged opposition would have to adopt a different tone and political identity from what some within the DA leadership would be comfortable with. That will prove the greatest stumbling block in creating a successful opposition to the African National Congress. It does not help that COPE still has no clear ideological foundation, let alone specific policies that flow from such a foundation. So it has little to bring to the negotiating table. When it does hastily put something together, it is to be hoped social justice principles will prevail and that all parties to the negotiation of a merged opposition can accept this alternative character for an opposition merger.

Perhaps most importantly, these two issues — who should be the face of the merger and what should be the character of the merger — should be discussed with detailed input from DA and COPE members and supporters to ensure legitimacy and grassroots buy-in. For the sake of defeating one-party domination, we should all hope an opposition merger is successfully negotiated before the next set of parliamentary elections.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=89650

Context is no excuse for a leader's moral failure

THABO Mbeki deserves every bit of criticism for the unnecessary and costly mistakes he made during his presidency. These mistakes cannot be wished away by overemphasising the context within which they were made. We should, of course, give each other moral discount under appropriate circumstances for making mistakes. Equally, however, we are all responsible agents, who can rightly be blamed for wrongdoing as much as we should be praised for achievement.

This is why I disagree profoundly with an argument by Jonny Steinberg on this page earlier this week, in which he takes many to task for conveniently casting Mbeki as an “ogre” after his political death. This is a rather evocative accusation but one that does not stand up to critical scrutiny.

Steinberg does not claim Mbeki should be exonerated for all his errors. Instead, he engages in the increasingly popular activity of psychobiography writing — “situating” the man or woman within the “context” in which their decisions were taken. In this vein, Steinberg opines that it was always going to be difficult for Mbeki to succeed because “ he inherited a nation whose character and condition few had foreseen”. With this contextual picture of deep developmental and identity challenges richly painted, he argues that “Mbeki’s AIDS denialism is inseparable from this situation”.

The conclusion is that those who criticise Mbeki without due regard for the furniture in the universe within which he acted, “ have made him into an ogre … because (they) wish that what has departed with him is a country ill at ease with itself”. By implication, this says more about our “ wishful thinking ” than about Mbeki deserving the tag “ogre”.

This analysis is not convincing. There is a wide logical gap between understanding the context within which Mbeki acted and understanding the decisions he took. The implicit assumption is that Mbeki may have behaved differently but for these contextual facts. It cannot be a matter of psychological necessity that the facts about the country Mbeki inherited entailed AIDS denialism. No doubt Steinberg does not intend to imply this, but excessive contextualising can lead to this kind of unintended exoneration of political and moral wrongdoing.

Mark Gevisser made a similar mistake in his work on Mbeki. Unlike Steinberg, who looks to the facts of the country to explain Mbeki, Gevisser took the more inviting path of pop-psychologising about Mbeki’s early life. The short man had grown up in exile, without a biological father at hand, negotiating his way into adulthood without regular familial structural support and, lo and behold, could therefore not help himself to later make policy choices that included scepticism about orthodox science. Gevisser, like Steinberg, needs to mind the logical gap. Should we really believe that, but for these biographical facts, Mbeki would have acted differently? Is Govan Mbeki really the ultimate explanation for Thabo’s leadership sins?

Many world leaders had difficult childhoods but we do not routinely absolve them from moral responsibility for their mistakes. This points to a second weakness in Steinberg’s analysis. We are urged to understand Mbeki but understanding, in its turn, is not related to moral and political accountability. We can take a closer look at Mbeki’s AIDS denialism as a case in point.

Pop psychoanalysis may well succeed in offering us an explanation of Mbeki’s attitudes and actions. Assume, for sake of argument, some speculative facts. Imagine he was the victim of racial insults from white British students at Sussex. Imagine he was the victim of a racist hate crime or two, which further embedded a set of acrimonious attitudes towards his uncaring host country. A well- written story that digs up the full set of related facts, such as was attempted by Gevisser, is of great voyeuristic interest. Such a project certainly helps us as citizens to understand our leaders. In Mbeki’s case, we know many of his fellow cadres returned from exile with less racial baggage than him. This means we must look to the unique personal facts of Mbeki’s life to understand him. To that extent, I endorse a project such as Gevisser’s.

But — and this is the crux of the matter — does knowing the life history of Mbeki justify his poor political leadership on AIDS? Does it exonerate him, or even demand we give him some moral discount for bad behaviour? Does it justify Steinberg urging us to footnote the contextual facts about this ogre, including the forgotten silence of others around him? Surely not.

Mbeki is a deeply intelligent person, able to engage in reasoned decision making. He freely chose AIDS denialism. He is therefore morally and politically culpable. We may somewhat understand how he came to make these mistakes but understanding does not displace blame. Too many people died because of his needless self-indulgence, absent father or not. Mbeki earned the ogre tag. It certainly was not thrust upon him.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=89369

Wicked irony in politicians painting themselves saviours

THERE is something abhorrent and disturbingly ironic about the Gauteng legislature’s portfolio committee on health and social development trying to take the moral high ground in answering the tough humanitarian question of what to do with Zimbabwean refugees at the Central Methodist Church (CMC) in downtown Johannesburg.

Removing children from the site seems to be their hasty short-term solution. A longer- term solution is not clear but a recommended closure is not ruled out. What is ironic and abhorrent about all this is the shameless attempt by the politicians to rock up with moral platitudes at hand and, with the help of a bevy of broadcast journalists, send out a message of deep and genuine care about the refugees’ wellbeing. How convenient — as if the crisis happened overnight and they did not or could not have reasonably been aware of it. The truth is that the nature and causes of the unfolding humanitarian crisis in downtown Johannesburg are more complex.

Unsurprisingly, the most appropriate interventions are not so obvious either.

First, Bishop Paul Verryn, who runs the place, is doing what the state is not doing but should be doing — attempting to give practical meaning to the human rights of refugees. Instead of acknowledging that this worsening crisis is symptomatic of a tissue of policy failures on the government’s part, the portfolio committee is trying to get brownie points for wanting to remove the most vulnerable among the refugees, the children.

But what is needed is not the arrangement of a photo opportunity. This, to be sure, will gain the state some political mileage. After all, who in their right mind would want to see children living in such desperately unsafe conditions? Objectively speaking, the unpleasant conditions at the church are not even appropriate for confident, healthy adults capable of looking after themselves, let alone vulnerable children who are exposed to potential sexual abuse and other forms of human rights violations.

However, recognising the nature of a problem is only the first step towards solving it. The second step is to understand the causes of the problem. These are , at least, twofold.

On the one hand, refugees are by definition foreign nationals who have escaped their country of origin because they are threatened in some or other way. The political violence that has been perpetrated in Zimbabwe by President Robert Mugabe for many years now has, as is well known, morphed into an equally, if not worse, protracted economic and social crisis.

The situation in Zimbabwe, despite the Global Political Agreement between the main parties, has not changed materially. In the absence of a safe political environment and one that is socioeconomically attractive by minimal standards of decency in terms of international humanitarian law, there is little reason for refugees to return. It would be imprudent and we would be immoral to compel them to.

On the other hand, government responses fuelled by a mixture of systemic xenophobia and sheer incompetence have worsened the conditions under which refugees survive in spaces such as the rough streets of Johannesburg. The simple fact is that harassment by police (well documented) of refugees living on the streets have forced many of them to seek shelter inside places such as the CMC.

Rightly or wrongly, the CMC responded to the moral dilemma by housing the large numbers of needy people rather than pushing them back into the den of an uncaring, xenophobic police force and local city. And herein lies the deep hypocrisy, abhorrence and irony of the Johnny-come-lately attitude of the politicians: they failed to show responsible political leadership in dealing with the refugee crisis in the first place and now attempt to look like moral saints while people with no political or legal responsibility to care about refugees, such as Verryn, come across inadvertently as unthinking citizens worsening the plight of foreign nationals.

In reality, but for the actions of people such as Verryn and spaces such as the CMC — imperfect though they are — the refugee crisis would be even worse.

So, with two major causes identified — continuing political instability within Zimbabwe and continued ill-considered state responses to refugees within SA’s borders — what are the best possible interventions?

First, the government should acknowledge that it would worsen the plight of the refugees to have them pushed out on to the streets. Doing so is not a feasible short-term intervention.
A feasible short-term intervention would be to make the space more safe, sanitary and secure by assisting the CMC with more effective security and material aid to meet the needs of the refugees while a more long-term solution is sought.

This commitment to not immediately shut the facility or to push people out must include a commitment to remove only children from the site in accordance with a properly drawn- up plan that includes a mechanism for independent oversight.

Second, a more permanent solution should then be sought. This cannot not be done in haste if the solution sought is to be sustainable. It might therefore entail the same politicians hitting the pause button and setting up an investigative committee with relevant stakeholders, who could come up with fact-based recommendations.

Crucially, the habit in social justice work of superimposing solutions on vulnerable groups can be sidestepped by involving the refugees in such a consultative process. This will ensure that their needs are reflected in the solutions that are developed.

Verryn and the CMC have made mistakes. No doubt it is overly ambitious to offer so many people shelter, but this situation did not come about intentionally. It resulted in part from the fact that after the July 3 arrests of refugees on the streets, these vulnerable people naturally felt it safer to seek accommodation within the CMC.

Further, it is possible that the CMC could have been more vigilant and open about potential abuses that such an undesirable space might enable. But to conclude from these facts that a quick visit, some tough words and removal of children to an unknown place will solve the underlying drivers of the crisis is unforgivably short-sighted.

Instead, the church should be helped to improve conditions in the short term and the very same politicians can prove their sincerity beyond that by putting their energies into seeking longer-term solutions through trustworthy consultative processes involving all the stakeholders.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=88963

Deciding which experts to follow can be a puzzle

HOW should we respond to our own ignorance? If you are ignorant about a technical subject — such as the efficacy of antiretroviral drugs — and experts disagree about the issue, then how should you, as a lay person, decide whose views to follow?

The question is brought into even sharper focus when you imagine being a president at the end of the ’90s — say, for example, one who is short, smokes a pipe, and has a penchant for Shakespeare — who is forced by the nature of your job to decide who among disagreeing experts to follow.

The mainstream AIDS lobby thinks it is obvious for a leader to take a decision on technical issues. Yet, this is not so and it is worth understanding why.

But first one should note that the puzzle of which experts to follow does not arise when the experts are fake. I am therefore not referring to traditional healers on the streets of Cape Town selling nonsense as remedies for HIV, or the likes of Matthias Rath who, despite being a medical doctor, is not a medical expert on HIV/AIDS.

No leader should take seriously someone like Rath, who says vitamin tablets will cure HIV. We can set aside those who promote quack remedies as unethical egomaniacs. One can’t imagine why a government would want to take them seriously. To the extent that our government humoured these folks, it displayed inexcusably poor leadership.

However, among the AIDS dissidents, there are many award-winning international scientists, as much as many of us do not like them. These include Prof Peter Duesberg and Dr David Rasnick. Now, before anyone gets upset after the satisfying display of rationality on President Jacob Zuma ’s part on World AIDS Day, it is worth stating that the point, in the first instance, is not that these dissidents are right in their convictions about the relationship between HIV and AIDS or the efficacy of antiretroviral drugs.

The point is that many of us, myself most definitely included, know very little or nothing about science and so have no honest basis for adjudicating these disputes. I hardly understand more than one or two lines in the articles that flow between orthodox scientists and these dissidents. That is the heart of my own nonexpertise and ignorance. And, truth be told, this extends to the ultimate policy chiefs very often, including the minister of health and the president.

All of this implies that it was acceptable for former president Thabo Mbeki to take seriously the existence of expert dissidents on an issue of such magnitude as an unfolding pandemic. Of course, only Mbeki’s shrink would know whether this kind of leadership angst, based on an appreciation of the existence of expert disagreement , was the actual reason for his denialism.

More than likely — though here I am speculating — the real drivers of Mbeki’s dalliance with denialism had to do with the now well-rehearsed pop theories about his irrational concern that negative stereotypes about African sexuality motivate the case for the virus’s presence.

Still, the general point remains: it is proper for a responsible leader who knows nothing about a technical issue to reflect on how to respond to disagreement among experts. The situation is not unique to AIDS policy. No leader anywhere in the world will be an expert on more than one or two out of a thousand issues on which he or she will have to adopt a view and policy.

A sensible principle to follow in such circumstances is surely the following: adopt the view endorsed by the majority of experts. This principle is obviously somewhat dissatisfying. It suggests that numbers are indicative of academic or intellectual strength. There is no reason in principle that the majority of scientists cannot be wrong on an issue. So the application of the principle can, indeed, lead to the odd disastrous result. This is particularly serious in the context of a pandemic where the wrong intervention can cause society massive harm.

However, the point about one’s own ignorance necessitates this principle. Given that I have no basis for assessing the challenges of Rasnick or Duesberg as an outsider, I cannot but accept that for purposes of decision-making, the best procedure is to trust that there is a higher likelihood (even if no guarantee) that the majority of experts are right. Even if this turns out false, as a leader my decision to follow the majority remains rational, even with hindsight.

So, given this principle, Mbeki ought to have followed orthodox views on HIV/AIDS rather than to give dissidents a platform. After all, such a platform would not have improved Mbeki’s own chances of deciding who to follow. Presidents are not experts on these issues and so they had better get on with trusting the majority of experts.

History will forgive them if the majority of experts turn out wrong. As it happens, history will not forgive Mbeki for the alternative attitude he settled for.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=88803

Now is not the time for inaction on AIDS

Democracy is both irritating and rewarding. This is brought into sharp focus when one talks about democracy in the context of a pandemic like HIV/AIDS. On the one hand, the norms of deliberative democracy require that all stakeholders be consulted in the policy formation processes. On the other, such consultation processes, if not managed properly, deliver us democracy at the expense of necessary action.

That, in a nutshell, is the state of the South African National Aids Council (SANAC), the most important body that is meant to help President Zuma in his visible and justified quest to depart from years of Mbeki denialism. But in order to succeed he must think through how to avoid a democratic deficit that will haunt him at the polls (should he not consult widely) while, nonetheless, showcasing decisive leadership by making sure policy decisions get taken and implemented (by learning when to stop consulting).

The problem is this. Many policies get debated at a forum like SANAC. The body, comprising various stakeholders including both government and civil society, is supposed to make recommendations that could eventually become policy. Unfortunately, SANAC's efficacy is increasingly being hampered. The bottleneck is a tough one to complain about - deliberative democracy. Or so it would seem.

First, it is important that all voices be heard in processes that can lead to policy outcomes. Civil society organisations have fought in our courts to reverse policy processes undertaken by government that failed to do so. It would be bizarre to suddenly moan that citizens are getting too much attention from government.

Second, input from various organisations have substantive merit in designing policies. As a citizen of a country you have a legal and political entitlement to influencing policy to reflect your wishes. If that means lobbying government to prevent the legalisation of sex work then so be it.

Furthermore, policy processes are not perfect. It is only through having tough, open debate and disagreement that we can maximise the chances of decisions being taken that are based both in fact and which reflects the ideological convictions of the population. A process that does not have these elements does not have full legitimacy.

These qualifications about the need for deliberation are important to avert any misinterpretation of this article's contention that too much of a good thing can be bad. The fact of the matter is that public deliberation is not an end in itself. It is a means to the various ends outlined. If, for example, deliberation results in policy inertia, then deliberation has become a pointless exercise. So it is important that we gauge deliberation's success relative to practical standards such as whether or not, in the case of an outfit like SANAC, practical goals and legal mandates are achieved. This, unfortunately, does not seem to be the case.

Two examples are illustrative. Male circumcision can reduce a man's chances of contracting HIV by about 60%. It also slightly reduces the chances of infecting another person. These are established medical facts. They are the basis for why other countries in the region such as Botswana, Zimbabwe and Swaziland are promoting circumcision.

In SA, no policy on circumcisions exists. One objection is located within initiatives to fight the pandemic. It is the fear that more irresponsible behaviour, such as abandoning condom use, will follow.

Another objection is delivered through a wider socio-cultural prism: traditional circumcision is important on the cultural landscape of SA and publically promoted medical circumcision will simply subvert rights to cultural practise. If, for example, a Xhosa boy were circumcised when very young, in the name of fighting the AIDS pandemic, that would make it impossible for him to also undergo traditional circumcision later in life.

The objections to publically promoting medical circumcisions are not sound. However, it is less interesting to rehearse the weaknesses of these objections than it is to ask the question at the heart of this analysis. How much deliberation should a leader preside over? The answer, as challenging as it might be for someone who enjoys coming across as ‘giving a hearing' to all who want to listen to him or her, is that in the context of a pandemic, your context practically demands of you to take urgent action - any action.

This means that an organisation like SANAC, and its ultimate political head, president Zuma, must get on with deciding whether or not it will go with a fact-based intervention to help reduce the HIV transmissions rate or whether it will consider the surrounding socio-cultural sensitivities as overriding. Whatever the decision, inaction is symptomatic of crippling leadership.

The second example is that of sex work. The SA law reform commission has long ago made available a very comprehensive report into different possible responses to sex work ranging from retaining the status quo to having controlled areas within which sex work can legally take place.

In terms of the AIDS pandemic, there is unquestionable evidence that the criminalisation of sex work exacerbates the AIDS pandemic. This logically implies that one of the many tools needed to reduce the transmission of HIV is to bring sex workers into the legal fold so that the state can empower them and their industry to be better equipped to practise their work while taking the best possible precautions to minimise the contraction and spreading of the virus.

Obviously it is not politically easy to endorse this policy. If the success criterion is only the reduction of HIV transmission then it would be a no-brainer. Politicians are right, however, to take into account moral and social sensitivities. The debate on sex work is as much about HIV/AIDS as it is about whether or not sex work is morally acceptable and whether or not the SA government should take account of the views of the majority.

Again, however, the critical issue is not what position is ultimately taken on these substantive areas of disagreement. Some of us would lobby for a liberal attitude based in part on medical fact and in part on liberal ideologies. Others are entitled to lobby for more conservative decisions. As with circumcision, however, leadership inertia with respect to taking a position - any position - is unacceptable.

A body such as SANAC needs a political head that can pull together the strands of different viewpoints that have been debated, lay them on the table, and propose a solid policy position that can then be developed. Failure to do will reduce SANAC to a high school debate chamber: fun, but with no impact.

Deliberative processes are crucial for developing our democracy. We should continue to hear all views on major policy issues. But when facing a pandemic, sensible political leadership requires someone - call him Jacob Zuma or Kgalema Mothlanthe? - to demonstrate an understanding of the need to balance deliberation with urgent action. Time is not on our side.

http://www.politicsweb.co.za/politicsweb/view/politicsweb/en/page71619?oid=152986&sn=Detail

Remembering apartheid with fondness

What does it mean for black South Africans to remember life under apartheid with fondness? This is the question Jacob Dlamini explores in his debut book aptly entitled Native Nostalgia. Dlamini is the most lyrical South African writer since Johnny Steinberg drifted off to New York. Like Steinberg, he delivers reflective insights with rhythmic beauty. It is worth reflecting on his main claim - which will surely stimulate debate in the months ahead - that many black South Africans harbour nostalgic memories of life under Verwoerd's government.

His key premise is that life within South African townships during apartheid was rich and complex, contrary to widespread descriptions of them as mere sites of socioeconomic depravity. Life happened in the township both despite apartheid and in complex relation to apartheid. Fond recollections by blacks are not an inadvertent legitimation of an immoral political system. Of course, fear of being seen to retrospectively endorse apartheid explains why a book like Dlamini's might not have been written before - it invites a lazy accusation that the writer wishes apartheid had never ended.

By arguing that not all aspects of life in townships were hell, Native Nostalgia humanises township residents. It recognises that township residents have always exhibited complex agencies with which they built and negotiated daily life during apartheid. These lived realities - lying at the heart of nostalgic recollections by blacks - include music, art, games, partying and other markers of normalcy that showcase the human spirit's defiance of the psychological insult that was apartheid. Dlamini adds to this rich characterisation with a number of thought provoking related claims.

He claims that Afrikaans is the language of nostalgia for many black South Africans. Phrases such as a ‘Waar was jy?' - which also became the title of a hit song for the outfit Skeem - and ‘Toeka!' and many others instantly evoke a litany of fond memories. A jazz track may invite a lover or friend, for example, to implore another to ‘Hoor net daar!' The appearance of Afrikaans across the cultural landscape of township life means that there is an Afrikaans cultural grammar that white Afrikaans speakers might never recognise. This is not to deny the fact that Afrikaans still has an oppressive resonance for many black South Africans. The salient point is that the relationship between black South Africans and the ‘oppressors' language' is more ambiguous than simplistic accounts of that relationship that start and stop with the 1976 Soweto uprisings.

There are interesting academic insights too that flow from this analysis. There is often a temptation in the social sciences to trot out an overarching narrative that can explain human behaviour particularly at a group level. This is why many liberal researchers mistakenly think they are doing township inhabitants a favour by viewing the township as an object of pity. It is, as Dlamini points out, telling that townships are often referred to as ‘sites' to be examined rather than as ‘places' to be experienced. Sites can be placed under an outsider's microscope for a couple of weeks and then written about as a social science thesis project.

Places, on the other hand, are a challenge to be avoided. They imply the existence of irreducible complexities in the details of a community's life and the lives of its individual members. Few theses and books engage South African townships as places of ordinariness. Even contemporary black writers like Eric Miyeni unreflectively assume that the ultimate marker of upward mobility is whether one can run from a Johannesburg township to Melville or Sandton more quickly than one's township friends can kill one of those township rats that look like a cat.
A moment of critical reflection should reveal an implicit assumption that township life is one dimensional. As Dlamini puts it, many wrongly assume that township life is poor just because many of those who live in the township are poor. He urges researchers to put the senses at the heart of their research methodology. In order to understand the inner lives of communities, it is important to live with them- through the senses.

One cannot help but feel, smell, listen, touch and see with Dlamini as he locates us successfully within his world. It reminded me of Fhazel Johennesse's poem Living in a flat in Eldorado Park which also succeeds in using mere words on a page to evoke in the reader the full range of experiences that constitute the messy, busy life in the block of flats in Eldorado Park that the poem focuses on.

Dlamini recounts his stories with the same kind of linguistic magic. He also describes it with honesty reminiscent of Dambudzo Marechera's account of Zimbabwean township life in the classic novella House of Hunger. Unlike Marachera, we are painted a picture of South African township life in nonviolent language that helps to keep an ignorant reader's prejudices at bay. Academics chipping away in the social sciences would do well to take Dlamini's methodological challenge seriously.

The overall analysis suffers two shortcomings. First, Dlamini promised too much. The book initially gives the impression that hard answers will be provided to the question of why many black South Africans remember life under apartheid with fondness. We never quite arrive at an actual answer. The book is better described as a bouquet of insightful anecdotes that render township lives more complex and more human than countless outsiders assume.

Of course, it was always going to be difficult to step back from such an account of township life and ask, "Have I succeeded in accounting for native nostalgia or did I create something else?" The answer is, "Something else of equal value." That "something else" just is a rich narration of life in the township. But that is very different from delving into philosophical and psychological territory about memory which a more genuine account of nostalgia anywhere would have to provide.

This connects with the second weakness. Dlamini does not explore the real possibility that there is ultimately nothing special or puzzling about black South Africans remembering the past with fondness. It may simply be a universal human tendency. The English saying "the summers were hotter when we were kids!" captures that universal tendency to think nostalgically about the past. Of course, in the context of life under an oppressive regime, this tendency seems somewhat bizarre. But ultimately it might still say more about the general psychology of remembering than about anything peculiar about black South Africans.

No doubt many Germans have fond memories of life before the fall of the Berlin wall. And it would not take long to elicit some charming stories from Ugandans about elements of normal life during Idi Amin's reign. The thrust of Dlamini's book provide material for ‘remembering' to be explored. But the full exploration of the act of remembering, with all its conceptual, psychological and philosophical complexity, awaits another day.

These weaknesses are not jarring. It is a magnificent achievement to detail the tapestry of township life so completely. Dlamini forces us to ponder uncomfortable truths. In the end many of these truths do not (as some readers will wrongly claim) invite us to review our moral assessment of apartheid.

Instead, these uncomfortable truths disturb the racist spirit of Verwoerd by adding to his defeat with memories that scream, "Despite your violent apartheid evil, we've got news for you! Our humanity and agencies were never entirely within your racist control!" We have no reason to fear native nostalgia.

http://www.politicsweb.co.za/politicsweb/view/politicsweb/en/page71619?oid=152786&sn=Detail

Even a multiculturalist must sometimes say no

WHY would anyone in their right mind try to kill a bull with their bare hands? I am not Zulu enough to know the answer. I am certainly not brave enough to have a go either. But this ritual appears to be a part of the fresh fruits festival called Ukweshwana, which takes place in early December in Nongoma, northern KwaZulu-Natal.

Animal rights groups, such as People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and Animal Rights Africa, are predictably up in arms. They are desperately trying to convince the courts and the government that animals are people too. Or rather that animals have feelings too. The government is responding with loud silence. The silence is not surprising. How does one decide between upholding cultural rights and criticising the deliberate infliction of violent pain against animals?

The answer, in fact, is simple. Cultural practices that are unethical should not be allowed. They should be banned rather than being protected just because we are too cowardly to admit that ethical relativism is a poor moral theory from which to take our cue for what is right and what is wrong.

Ethical relativism does not flow logically from multiculturalism. People wrongly think that if they are committed to diversity then they have no basis for criticising the cultural norms of others. We need to look at each cultural practice independently and determine objectively whether or not the moral arguments for that cultural practice are sound.

The relationship between relativism and multiculturalism needs to be unpacked. Ethical relativism is the view that there are no objective moral truths. When you and I express ethical views, we are simply reflecting our individual moral preferences or those of the society within which we were raised.

Multiculturalism is a description of a society in which there are diverse cultural groups. It can be also be a moral principle that says we should respect these different cultural outfits.

So here is the critical question. Does a commitment to multiculturalism mean that we must be ethical relativists? No. I can respect the right of cultural groups to exist while also criticising the content of particular norms and practices that are objectively wrong. Respect for difference does not translate into “anything goes”. Torture, for example, is immoral because all people have an equal entitlement to respect. This implies that we have equal rights to freedom from the deliberate infliction of pain.

One can be a multiculturalist and still engage in crosscultural moral criticism. Such criticism just needs to be based in sound moral reasoning, such as the example of why torture is bad, in order for it to be valid. A grand theory of moral objectivity is not necessary for particular instances of moral criticism to get off the ground.

Furthermore, if we took ethical relativism too seriously, moral criticism would never be possible. So we had better make sense of how to make progress in moral debate while still respecting differences between groups.

With the right to criticise firmly established, what can we say about the business of killing bulls? Is this a cultural practice that can be defended on grounds of the general right to cultural practice?

It is important to note that the general right to participate in cultural practices is not actually at stake here. Such rights are very important. This must be the case because cultural practices constitute a critically important part of the identities of millions of South Africans. However, just as the right to free speech can reasonably be infringed, so too can the right to cultural practice.

In this case, animal rights activists are right to demand a moral entitlement to dignified treatment on behalf of bulls against Zulus. The basis for why you and I demand that we treat each other decently is because we can experience pain and pleasure. We have sentience. Nothing more, nothing less. If it was about much more than sentience, then some human beings would be in trouble. Yet if sentience is the basis of our moral status, then why do animals not have equal right to be treated decently? A failure to extend such moral entitlement to nonhuman animals is an arbitrary exclusion of those animals from the group entitled to moral consideration.

This exclusion is logically identical to racism. Just as it is arbitrary and therefore wrong to spend less on a black kid’s public education than a white kid’s, so too it is arbitrary to regard some sentient creatures as less worthy of moral concern than others — “just because”.

It is patently clear then that the deliberate infliction of pain against a bull amounts to not respecting its moral entitlement as a sentient creature to be treated with dignity. This makes the Zulu practice of bull killing during Ukweshwana unethical. Since it is unethical, it is a reasonable infringement on the general right to cultural practice to stop this unethical infliction of violence.

Animal rights activists may be the last remaining hippies but this is no reason to dismiss their arguments as equally dated or uncool. Those who think that these kinds of cultural practices are acceptable are hereby challenged to offer me an ethical rejoinder instead.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=88254

Challenger or bargainer? - the thin black line

SOME white folks feel that it is tough being white in the new SA. Well, try being a black writer. We have it tough too. This self-indulgent thought struck me last week as I was following the discussion unfolding online and in my inbox around two articles that appeared on these pages. In the first, fellow columnist Jacob Dlamini articulated the insightful thesis that too many black people think that blackness is a profession. In the other, I took a dig at the abuse of the race card by the Julius Malemas of this world. The sterling endorsement by white readers made me uncomfortable. My discomfort, almost certainly not justified, again underscores the complexities of race and identity.

One dilemma is whether or not to qualify hard-hitting criticism of fellow blacks. While writing furiously about the abuse of the race card, I found myself continuously wanting to qualify my critique by foregrounding the fact that white racism remains pervasive. (The logic student in me convinced the anxious black in me that my argument does not presuppose the nonexistence of white racism.)

Relying on formal logic alone can miss the point that we are psychological creatures, who live in a morass of sociological complexity where rationality is not always present. My urge to scold the (imagined) sneering white reader, who might enjoy my black-on-black critique just a little bit too much, shows that not even a writer aspiring to be untainted by the merest whiff of racism can fully escape racism’s reach.

My reaction to these imagined readers is partly irrational. In the absence of robust evidence, it is certainly premature to attribute racist motives to all white readers. Furthermore, I recognise that opportunistic behaviour by black people needs to be exposed, even if the odd reader conveniently finds a new “favourite writer” in the black person who dares to speak truth to power.

But part of my reaction is justified. I do not doubt that there are many white people who conveniently and suddenly start loving a black writer just because the black writer articulates viewpoints that a white person supposedly dare not speak.

In a piece in one of the Afrikaans dailies, Tim du Plessis takes his cue from Antjie Krog (courtesy of her reflections on her latest book, Begging To Be Black), who asserts that the words of whites (when they criticise the government) die in their mouths. And so he quotes black critics of the government right back at Krog — people such as Barney Mthombothi, who is Financial Mail’s editor, Lucas Ntyintyane (a “regular letter writer in Business Day”, a description intended to confer credibility) and Dlamini, a “thinker and writer of the highest order”. What these writers have in common is their fearless criticism of professional blacks. Is this what makes them all “brilliant black thinkers”?

I am not suggesting Du Plessis is a closet conservative pretending to enjoy these writers’ work — I have not even met him. The point is about me, not him. It is this: as a black person writing about the black community, I am bedevilled by considering, perhaps too closely, the unintended effect of argument, word and tone choice. This is ordinarily not a bad thing. Shooting too eagerly from one’s writing hip can kill innocent bystanders and not only criminal bastards. But when racialism’s reach affects these choices, how free am I in my writing act?

All this transported me back to a theory of race by one of my favourite self-hating black writers in America, Shelby Steele. Steele argues that black Americans who gain some measure of professional success in mainstream US society adopt one of two strategies. They become challengers or bargainers. Challengers say to white America, “Look, you buggers messed up our black lives with your racism. We are still angry. If you want to redeem yourselves, make some concessions like supporting affirmative action.”

This tactic is employed by angry black people such as Al Sharpton. People who could never, for example, become president of America. Ask Jesse Jackson.

Bargainers are craftier. They say to whites, “Let’s make a deal. I’ll pretend racism never happened. In return, I want you to promise that you will never hold my blackness against me. Deal?” The most successful bargainer in entertainment is Oprah Winfrey. In politics, it’s Barack Obama. That is why some challenger-blacks doubted his black credentials along the way. Unlike them, Obama knew the strategy that could open most doors to the White House.

Sometimes, despite being part of a numerical majority, being black in culturally white structures in post-democratic SA presents one with similar strategic dilemmas. Do you challenge your way through newsrooms, media debates and public discourse? Or do you increase your chances of accolades and popularity by bargaining with readers, colleagues and fellow writers? And that really is the nub of the issue.

Being a black writer in a majority black country with deep racial fissures but many white-dominated organisational structures and cultures requires fancy identity footwork behind the writing scenes that many readers may not see.

If Krog had understood these lived realities, she would start begging to remain white, rather than hoping to wake up in a black birthday suit.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=87615

Solidarity will fail if it puts affirmative action on trial

SOLIDARITY has compiled a raft of cases which, if successful, will expose the irrationality of employment decisions by the state. Yet it also seems Solidarity is casting its strategic net way too wide. It is wrong if it thinks it can put affirmative action on trial. That will fail, legally and politically.

The smarter, narrower strategy should be to challenge state decisions that do not meet legally required standards of rationality. That matters particularly with public-service employment decisions that speak to the security of our society. But calling the state’s bluff on irrationality in these instances does not amount to a moral or legal challenge of affirmative action in general. Here is why.

First, let us take as an illustrative example the case of the police captain Renata Barnard, who was, by her account, overlooked twice for promotion to superintendent, despite being qualified for the job she applied for. Her contention is that she was overlooked because she is white.

The post for which she applied is essentially frozen until a suitable black candidate arrives, however long that might take.

It is worth stating that material facts are disputed by the state, so for purposes of analysis we are here assuming the captain’s version to be true. If this is true, it seems the state has taken a decision that is not rational.

If the rationale is there is no suitable black candidate, but after a few years no such candidate is found or head-hunted, then in reality it seems to be a case of exclusion by racial fiat rather than one grounded in a legitimate end that is served by the exclusion.

If the state could prove the management position for which Barnard applied is not important (and hence there is no public risk in waiting to fill it), and that it had, say, some sort of programme through which suitable candidates from other underrepresented designated groups are shortly to pass, then perhaps the freezing of the post could be legally defended. But in the absence of such facts, it is an irrational decision and one whose legality surely cannot be sustained in light of section 9(1) of the constitution, which imposes such a requirement.

Still, the legal case will be difficult to prove. There is constitutional precedent (in the case of former Grahamstown police station commissioner Vuyile Gcaba) establishing the principle that employment and labour relationship matters do not generally amount to administrative action, and so are not governed by the Promotion of Administrative Justice Act. This means the case cannot be fought on grounds of administrative injustice.

Of course, the legal folks engaged by Solidarity understand all this, which is why Barnard’s case found itself in the Labour Court on Monday. However, while sitting in the right jurisdictional space, the legal arguments mounted must now be chosen carefully. This is where distinguishing between affirmative action in general and the facts of particular cases is crucial.

Affirmative action, quite apart from the moral justification in its favour, is constitutionally provided for in terms of section 9(2) of the bill of rights. For better or worse, such policies are legally unassailable.

So while it is politically tempting for Solidarity to use these cases (despite claiming otherwise) as a way of stimulating public debate on affirmative action in general, it is barking up the wrong tree.

Ten cases — even if all succeed, which is unlikely — do not amount to either a moral or legal defeat of affirmative action.

Solidarity’s argument should be more nuanced. It should be based on the fact that in cases where affirmative action decisions are not at issue, and where the alternative is to leave important public posts empty, excluding whites is irrational and so illegal.

In such cases, affirmative action is not at issue because the employer is not faced with candidates from designated groups who might otherwise be up for employment or promotion.

But it is worth noting that even if the real genesis of such injustices might be some state official’s wrongful understanding of affirmative action, or even such an official’s racist interpretation of affirmative action, the gist of the legal challenge is a demand for state rationality in cases in which affirmative action is not at stake. This kind of legal challenge is likely to succeed.

First, it does not dispute the legal and moral legitimacy of affirmative action in general.

Second, it does not fundamentally tie the case to demands that the state should take an employment decision based on the Promotion of Administrative Justice Act.

Third, the requirement of fair labour practice provides a sufficient basis to demand a rational justification from the state.

Fourth, the Gcaba case does offer a small window of constitutional opportunity. A key element of the court’s rationale for its decision was that an employment decision not directly affecting other citizens is a labour matter between the complaining party and the state. If a case can be mounted that some of these decisions do indeed affect other citizens directly — not an unreasonable contention — we may well be interestingly back on constitutional ground.

It is still not likely that the Constitutional Court (should it have to consider this strand of argumentation) would declare affirmative action unconstitutional, but it might well have to provide further guidance on the general application of affirmative-action principles in cases where direct effects on other citizens (unlike the Gcaba case) do come into possible play. Barnard’s case may not fall within such a line of argument, but the assessment of candidates for a post such as national police commissioner, for example, surely does.

So what should we make of this legal ping- pong match?

Solidarity deserves credit for highlighting these cases and stimulating public debate on the application of affirmative action. Of course the organisation has its own ideological agenda, but it is a legitimate voice in a political landscape dominated all too often by centre-left politics.

However, these cases will not succeed in morally, legally or politically defeating affirmative action in general. What they should hopefully do is to force the state to be more rational when it takes decisions that affect you and me individually and all of us collectively.

Furthermore, the blanket exclusion of a group on the basis of race, in cases in which affirmative action decisions are not even at stake, should be legally condemned.

But for these positive outcomes to be realised, Solidarity and its lawyers should be careful which legal arguments they choose. They should also not overreach politically.

Nuanced, narrower arguments about the irrationality of particular decisions are more likely to stand the test of time than rehearsals of general, tired and defeated arguments on affirmative action’s overall desirability.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=87370

System could collapse like a house of race cards

HAS anyone seen my race card? I have been looking for it everywhere, but just can’t find it. My biggest fear is that Julius Malema or Jimmy Manyi may have stolen it. They seem to have way too many race cards.

If yours has gone missing too, fellow race card-less darkie, perhaps we could organise a violent protest and toyi-toyi until these cats return our cards? If I do not get mine back soon, I will have to rely solely on competence to achieve my career goals. Heaven forbid! I was hoping to play my card to ensure promotion or to scare a white boss into resigning before I can get my friends in very high places to kick him out. Now I have to rethink my strategy. I am really annoyed that the race card system’s effectiveness is being undermined by Malema et al.

As my mom would have said, the abuse of the system puts jam in the mouths of critics of race-based policies. Just as a heartless conservative might selectively cite anecdotal examples of welfare abuse as proof that welfare breeds dependency, so too can opponents of race-based policies now use Malema et al’s abuse of the race card as a false basis to assert that we should move beyond race.

We should not move “beyond race”. We should rather move beyond fetishising nonracialism. Even though race is a social construct that has been moulded on a political template over the course of an accidental history of racism, it continues to be a determinant of one’s chances of successful living long after apartheid’s official death. It is therefore critical that we look out for non- violent forms of racism in both the corporate and public sectors. We will not deal these lingering racisms a death blow by remaining enthralled by nonracialism.

I wonder if proponents of nonracialism ever asked themselves: “Why is nonracialism important?” If they did, they would puzzle away for a while. Just because race is a dodgy biological notion does not mean we do not use the socially constructed version of the category in our daily interactions. Racialism is alive and well. Racism is also alive and well. The race card can be an effective tool for spotting and rooting out racism.

But when exactly can the race card be used legitimately? Well, when you have been a genuine victim of racism or when you have witnessed a racist act and want to expose the perpetrator.

Racism is the possession or display of ill-will towards another on the basis of their phenotypical features. There is no evidence that Eishkom’s Jacob Maroga received ill-treatment by Eishkom’s board on the basis of his gorgeous complexion. He received no ill- treatment, let alone racism. The same goes for Transnet’s Siyabonga Gama. These are case studies in the abuse of the race card for personal and political gain.

There are also rules and responsibilities that flow from the right to use the race card. One rule is that the race-card game — sorry Malema et al — is open to all South Africans. Just like sporting codes have now been deracialised, so too the game of race-card playing is open to folks from all communities, black or white, poor or rich.

There is a moral obligation to play the race card in circumstances where doing so is the only available form of expressing and fighting for one’s dignity. Bobby Godsell could have shown his own race card in the direction of the Black Management Forum and the ANC Youth League.

Unfortunately, like soccer, the race card game is not one that South African whites are good at. In fact, most do not realise they have race card rights also. The explanation has to do with guilt. Many white South Africans feel bound by the history of an immoral past to which their skin colour is connected. Assert your right to also play the race-card game, I say. If racists can come in all colours, why should race-card players come in one shade only?

A second rule is that you should not abuse the system. Take this analogy. A rule book with the title “ministerial handbook” allows you to buy luxury vehicles. Does this mean you are compelled to buy these cars? Nope.

The careful exercise of discretion by a public official is a mark of political virtue. Similarly, just because you have the race card in your back pocket (and ones you stole from unsuspecting others, who were grinding away more honestly than you ever do) does not mean you have to play it every other day.

Those who play the race-card game excessively look more tragic than someone wearing a Bafana Bafana shirt. Furthermore, the race-card system will collapse if these abuses continue unabated. This will make it difficult for genuine victims of racism (both black and white) to expose real racial discrimination for fear of being seen to “play the race card”.

So, Malema et al, please leave at least some of your race cards at home when you leave for press conferences in the morning. Please? This will help, not hinder, the fight against racism. Seriously, boss.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=87002

Citizen groups need to grow deeper roots among the poor

Eusebius McKaiser & Steven Friedman

CITIZENS’ organisations in SA may have more influence than they believe — but only if they think more strategically and try harder to represent people at the grassroots. This is the key finding of a study of civil society organisations undertaken by the Centre for the Study of Democracy at Rhodes University and the University of Johannesburg and funded by the Heinrich Böll Foundation.

The centre felt the study was needed as democracy is a system in which government is meant to serve citizens and respond to their needs. This is not possible unless citizens organise to tell government (and fellow citizens) what they want and need and campaign for their concerns to be acted on.

The ability of civil society organisations (CSOs) to influence law and policy is a crucial test of democracy’s health. Dramatic changes in the African National Congress’ (ANC’s) leadership at Polokwane altered the political climate and ensured CSOs were operating in a new environment. Opinion on what this means for organised citizens’ ability to influence the government, differs sharply.

For some, Polokwane was a setback for civil society, because it brought to power leaders more interested in strengthening the ANC’s hold on power than in listening to citizens. For others, it created new opportunities for citizen influence, either because the new leaders were more willing to listen than those they replaced or because the defeat of the previous leadership created a more open and fluid environment, which would be more open to citizen influence.

Civil society’s effectiveness relies largely on whether CSOs read the climate accurately. So we convened discussions among civil society activists to analyse the climate and suggest responses.

Our report analysed the discussions and suggested a way forward to ensure CSOs wield as much influence as possible on public debate and government decisions. We found CSOs, particularly those committed to human rights and social equity, largely pessimistic about life after Polokwane. Most felt the change in ANC leadership promoted a social conservatism that threatened key rights protected by the constitution. They complained of what they saw as increased pressure for loyalty to the government and ruling party, and argued government talk of a new willingness to listen was an illusion.

Interestingly, given minorities’ fears after Polokwane, probably the most optimistic participants were white Afrikaners, who felt new opportunities had opened for them. But among CSOs sharing the values that inspired the fight against apartheid, the mood was largely pessimistic.

This sense that the government is now more hostile to CSO campaigns for rights and equity is based on experience. There are legitimate fears for the future of some human rights gains enshrined in the constitution. Despite that, we believe current thinking among much of civil society ignores important opportunities for citizen influence.

Civil society seems to see as new the negative trends that have been with us for some time. CSOs have felt for years that the government only pretends to listen. They also seem to rely far too much on whether the government is well disposed to them. This prompts two strategic misreadings.

One is to ignore difference and fluidity within government. All participants agreed that there were significant differences within the new government leadership, yet this was not always seen as an opportunity. But this it surely is, as leaders who have not agreed where they want to go are likely to be more open to independent ideas. It also ignores the new government’s need to distinguish itself from the previous one, which shows itself in, for example, new attitudes to HIV/AIDS. This creates opportunities for citizen influence.

Another is a tendency to assume citizens’ organisations can influence events only if the government wants to listen to them. One reason may be that too many “progressive” CSOs wrongly have assumed former civil society colleagues now in government would be natural allies; this may have created an unwarranted dependence on the sympathy of the government.

But, as the experience of CSOs such as the Treatment Action Campaign (TAC) shows, government sympathy is often a result, not a cause, of CSO influence; governments are more likely to listen to organisations because they have built strong support in society. This suggests CSOs should be paying far more attention to ways in which they can enhance their influence in society.

If they did, they may well find that a society in which grassroots citizens have been protesting for four years against unaccountable government, and in which their frustrations are shared by many more affluent citizens, is a climate in which opportunities for winning support — and getting the government to listen — may be far more favourable than they believe.

But this requires that CSOs pay far more attention to the key constraint on their influence, as identified by the report: their shallow roots among the poor.

While it is fashionable to complain about the declining influence of citizens’ organisations in SA, we find civil society remains diverse, vigorous and vocal — it engages regularly in public debate and wields real influence. While CSOs closest to the ANC, such as Cosatu, are most influential, the TAC has shown it is possible to remain independent of the ANC and still influence events.
But civil society is also shallow. It is the preserve of the better off and better connected as most citizens lack the resources and access to organisation to participate in CSOs. This ensures that CSOs purporting to speak for the poor often lack roots among those whose concerns they champion. This stunts their influence, and makes it harder for them to mobilise the citizen support needed to influence decisions.

The problem is not that CSOs ignore the poor: there are real obstacles to building democratic organisation at the grassroots of society. But, unless CSOs begin to find ways to help grassroots citizens enter the national debate by joining organisations that speak for citizens, civil society influence will be much weaker than it need be.

One other facet of current civil society thinking may need to change for CSOs to enable citizens to influence decisions that shape their lives. Citizen influence is impossible without democracy, and so the future of civil society influence depends on preserving democratic freedoms and institutions. All too often, CSOs are deeply concerned about the issue that motivates them, but not about the democracy that makes it possible for them to pursue these concerns.

Thus, attacks on grassroots social movements critical of the government — such as recent violence against Durban shack-dweller activists — are ignored by CSOs, despite the fact that they are a clear danger to citizen participation in decisions. Few CSOs are concerned enough about appointments to the judiciary and statutory human rights institutions or the vigour of Parliament, although all these issues determine whether CSOs can operate in the democratic environment they need if they are to be effective.

Just as citizen organisation is crucial to democracy, so too is democracy essential to citizen organisation. If CSOs ignore the need to defend and deepen democracy, the bleaker period some fear may become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

n McKaiser is an associate of the Centre for the Study of Democracy. Prof Friedman, who led the research, is the centre’s director. The report mentioned in this article can be found at http://www.boell.org.za/.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=86545

An open letter to local political parties

Dear local political parties, I turned 30 this year. When I grow up I want to be a politician. Don’t laugh. I am fully aware that growing up may well bar me from membership. I would like to join one of your ranks.

Call me naive or optimistic or both, but I believe that there may yet come a time when our — your — political culture is one that is not averse to a crop of young, interested politicos who want to openly declare a desire to lead, to be allowed to express that desire and to debate the merits and demerits of party views openly and frankly without fear of being sent into the political wilderness through the various crafty tactics you use to crush dissent.

Unfortunately, there is a massive disincentive for many of us youngish South Africans to seriously consider the honourable, or what should be honourable, business of law making and public service as career paths. Perhaps it would be useful to be party specific about my lament, since each of you contribute to that unglamorous reality in differing ways.

The African National Congress (ANC) is the worst sinner of the lot. Here is a party whose vision I endorse more than any other. I regard it as something of an ideological home. It is the most liberal party on social policy and lifestyle. While the Democratic Alliance (DA) folk running Cape Town harass sex workers, the ANC leads discussions on improving the lot of sex workers and rendering their rights to dignity, bodily integrity and economic freedom, meaningful. The ANC similarly had the most liberal attitude towards same-sex marriage, unlike the DA, which copped out by giving its MPs a cowardly free vote.

On the economic and socioeconomic fronts, I am attracted to the ANC too. Here a combination of market friendliness (thanks, Finance Minister Pravin Gordhan, for reducing cost of business through relaxed exchange controls) and serious investment in social projects and welfare signal a classic commitment to social democracy.

Yet the ANC’s internal political culture leaves me cold. I cannot, Comrade Jacob Zuma , imagine joining your ranks. I am bilingual, and the two languages do not include struggle-speak. That alone would cost me. I am also all too eager to debate openly and to declare support for this or that idea. I would want my right to sometimes step outside “the structures of the party” to be respected. Yet, as was the case with old Kader Asmal, violent language would follow suit, or I would be dedeployed or redeployed away from the action. I therefore cannot in good conscience join your party at this time.

DA, you do not perform much better, so it will not do to chuckle quietly at my criticism of the ANC’s organisational culture. In your case, to be fair, there is the appearance of less internal acrimony. I often wonder if this is genuine, since Madam Zille’s dominance does make one question whether the rest of the leadership has real influence — even the farmer in charge of your parliamentary team has already faded into oblivion. (Curious readers who do not recall his name will easily find it through a Google search for old articles published around election time, when said farmer gained momentary fame for being Xhosa-speaking, among other new-SA accolades.) But, even if I assumed that you have a perfect, internal democratic culture, I could still not join your ranks.

My interest in party politics is motivated by ideological conviction. Seriously. Of course, I would get a kick out of debate, public speaking and the like — any politician claiming otherwise is lying. But I could not join just any party. It must be one, like the ANC, whose vision I endorse. Alas, DA, you remain morally conservative (do not think your name or historical lineage fools me) and economically right wing. No South African with a sense of historicity and social justice intuitions could seriously be attracted to this vision for our country. So, Zille et al, while I commend your seemingly decent internal political culture, I’m afraid your ideological convictions, in their turn, leave me cold.

Since smaller parties, such as the Independent Democrats, have squabbled themselves out of political relevance, only the Congress of the People (COPE) remains as a party I might join. COPE has no vision, unfortunately, and so joining it is a bit problematic for a committed social democrat and moral liberal. Until they have an identity, and an agreeable one at that, I cannot claim to be attracted to them. It would also help, of course, if they demonstrated a preference for open contestation of ideas and leadership. Alas, they remain a grumpy Mini-Me duplicate of the ANC, taking the Mini-Me role so seriously that they resist growing up.

I look forward to the day any of you parties gives me a decisive reason to ditch the easy business of analysis for the tougher, more honourable one of law making and public service — before I turn 40.

Surprise me.

Sincerely,
Optimistically grumpy,
Eusebius “would- be-politician” McKaiser.

Why I just lost all respect for our deputy president...

I actually cannot believe the most pathetic defence I just heard from our deputy president, Kgalema Motlanthe, as to why government ministers were right to purchase a fleet of expensive cars between them even in the face of a recession. In an excellent interview conducted by Nikiwe Bikitsha on e-tv (she really has become a great anchor...), Motlanthe has just put the following argument (I kid you not):

The justification for the cars that were bought is that doing so is government's contribution to helping to halt the recession. The government was motivated, he says, by the fact that it wanted to make absolutely sure that manufacturers don't move their production plants from Uitenhage and East London to neighbouring countries. That can only happen if dealers order cars from car manufacturers. This in turn requires government to buy the cars .... so, ultimately, government is buying the cars in order to make sure that jobs are not shed in the automotive industry.

Holy cow! What warped - and no doubt insincere - reasoning.
1. A handful of luxury vehicles will not make or break the sector.
2. It is laughable to imagine that these manufacturers, like BMW, would think of hastily relocating their plants to Zim or Botswana or Namibia. This would be foolish because the cost of relocation relative to the risk of facing more volative economic conditions there, conditions that entail even more depressive demand for vehicles in these regions, make the net present value of any such investment almost certainly negative.
3. Government's failure to weigh the non-financial benefit (not to downplay the fiscal saving which is a decisive consideration at any rate) of showing citizens how to live frugally in times of a recession speaks to unimaginative and unempathetic leadership.

[Presumably that is also the reason why minister Nathi Mthwethwa decided to live in luxurious hotels - no doubt stimulating economic growth by injecting much needed cash into the tourism sector, ne?]

I find this defence by the deputy president not just unconvincing but callous. It is particularly callous when one thinks of the wording of the question on the part of the anchor, to the effect of, "Do you not think it is in bad taste to be buying such cars when the government is asking the poor to be frugal and accept austerity measures the government is introducing?"

At no stage did Motlanthe even bother to engage the salient point about the *perception* of government ministers' spending on non-essential goods even when such spending is permitted by the infamous 'ministerial handbook'. It is hard to believe that he is sincere in thinking that a million rand car is bought in the selfless name of saving the job of some poor oke living in the townships of Uitenhage and East London.

In fact, he added insult to the poor's injury by adding that they - the poor that is - would at any rate regard even a car of R200 000 as being in bad taste. [ ERGO: UHM....buy one FIVE times R200 000?!]

A good coup for Nikiwe and e-tv. A deep embarrassment for Motlanthe and a shocking reflection of political immorality even in those leaders we sometimes think are the exception to the rotten rule.

Shame on you, mr deputy president!

Ubuntu depends on what you had for breakfast

I STILL often cheekily quote, without acknowledgement, the definition of “public morality”, given by one of my undergraduate law lecturers, as stuff that “depends on what a judge had for breakfast”. I wonder whether my lecturer also had ubuntu in mind?

Our Constitutional Court, in particular, references ubuntu with gay abandon.

This invocation of a supposedly distinctive African moral principle reveals the court’s desire to add a touch of the African to an otherwise western jurisprudential brew.

The truth is that ubuntu is a terribly opaque notion not fit as a normative moral principle that can guide our actions, let alone be a transparent and substantive basis for legal adjudication. In fact, it reminds one of the “African renaissance” motif. African renaissance is a concept similarly devoid of conceptual precision.

It is interesting to try to make sense of ubuntu and to reflect on why many of us feel compelled to render it meaningful.

Rather shamefully, it has taken an American philosopher, Thaddeus Metz who is now based at the University of Johannesburg (UJ), to force the wider South African philosophical community to invest some brain power into making sense of African ethics.

His first attempt to cut through various possible definitions, led Metz with the help of writing by folks like one Desmond Tutu of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission fame, defines ubuntu roughly as follows: ubuntu means that an action performed by someone is morally right if that action constitutes a way of living harmoniously or places value on communal relationships.

These are actions, in other words, in which people identify with each other and exhibit solidarity with one another. Behaviour that lack these features are not consistent with the spirit of ubuntu.
This definition is certainly a good start. Even though it refers to actions, the emphasis is clearly on relationships. Relationships, with some exaggeration, are deemed more important than one’s selfish interests. This is also why ubuntu is often cashed out in the form of a maxim to the effect that “a person is a person through other people”.

Your identity is partly dependent on, and constituted by, relationships with others.
And, if you desire to be a moral person, your actions had better demonstrate an appreciation of the requirement that morality’s fundamental point is to value relationships.

The critical question is whether this philosophising succeeds in getting us closer to a doctrine that can be practically useful in both our personal lives and in the public space, including the tricky enterprise of legal adjudication? The most optimistic answer must be, “Not yet.”

For one thing, this definition of ubuntu does not give us a doctrine that is unique to sub-Saharan Africa. To his credit, Metz comes close to acknowledging this fact but does some fancy philosophical footwork in shifting his claim to saying that the general emphasis on relationships is more widespread in sub-Saharan Africa than it is in western societies.

But it is surely anthropologically false to imagine that notions of “love” or “friendship” are not at the core of actual relationships between folks living in London or Berlin just because a couple of western academic philosophers had written texts that prioritise detached moral principles over more complex, relationship-focused ethics.

Western doctrines such as communitarianism can reasonably be interpreted, surely, as emphasising community not only for the sake of benefiting the individual but because community bonds — that is, relationships — are intrinsically valuable.

Ubuntu still appears like some kind of synonym for at least some versions of communitarianism, despite claims to the contrary by ubuntu’s loyal friends. This means that ubuntu does not capture anything in ethics or law that does not exist elsewhere in the world.

Besides not being unique, it is also not clear that we had succeeded in stating the content of ubuntu clearly and comprehensively enough to be useful for practical purposes. As Metz argues in his most recent work, the Constitutional Court relied on at least eight different definitions of ubuntu in the case of The State vs Makwanya, in which it declared the death penalty to be unconstitutional. Each of these definitions seemed rather ad hoc. Each one, if used consistently in other areas of law, would lead to counterintuitive results.

Two examples from the list of eight will suffice to illustrate the point. One judge argued that the death penalty violates ubuntu because ubuntu requires that we respect someone else’s life at least as much as we respect our own. But this cannot be so. Presumably when we kill in self-defence, doing so is okay? It is probably also morally acceptable to intentionally kill someone to save the lives of others, in circumstances such as when the offending person is committing genocide and refusing to stop? This particular definition of ubuntu would render killing in these cases immoral.

Another judge argued that ubuntu requires that one always try to rehabilitate someone in order to restore their humanity. Again, this colourful invocation of ubuntu as an African foundation for restorative justice intuitions is laudable, but surely incorrect since it desperately marries ubuntu to rehabilitation simply to give rehabilitation a more powerful aura than it naturally might carry. This is not great legal analysis, just deceptive usage of ubuntu for ulterior (though certainly agreeable) hermeneutical purposes.

What these random and rather wide definitions of ubuntu from a landmark Constitutional Court judgment demonstrate is that the very notion of ubuntu is elusive. This does not, of course, imply that ubuntu cannot be stated clearly and more narrowly. Indeed, there seems to be admirable normative philosophical projects at both the University of SA and UJ that do just that.


So far, however, these project are still very much works in progress. Until they yield substantive results, our reference to the notion of ubuntu will continue to say more about our desire to be clearly African than about our commitment to only use words and concepts whose meaning we actually understand.

This last thought explains why some of us are desperate to render ubuntu meaningful. There is a yearning — not restricted to the Constitutional Court — to find values and principles that we can think of as “African”. This, in turn, stems from a deeper need to have an identity that is not wholly handed down from our colonial forbears.

While these motivations are understandable, it is equally important that our identity crises do not get in the way of designing laws and policies that are sensible, but which might get set aside on the spurious basis that they are w estern rather than African.

If a philosophical value is most common in Europe, and has been explained and justified as a great and useful moral principle by someone of European descent, so what? We are free to import concepts that can help improve our lot as Africans, surely? We should dismiss western concepts only if the logic for them is poor or if they will not benefit us.

It is important that we balance our yearning and search for an African identity and ethics with a prudential acceptance that many western concepts are benign and some are even useful.


http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=85698