WOULD you be seen dead having lunch with David Bullard? Would you give him a platform to express and debate his views? In case you have forgotten, Bullard is the former Sunday Times columnist who was in famously sacked for a column judged to have expressed racist views about blacks and aspects of black culture.
Well, I would happily be seen having lunch with the man. And I would happily invite him to express and debate his views on a public platform. In fact, I did both those things last week. My lovely friend, Financial Mail columnist Justice Malala, rebuked me. He expressed two concerns.
One is the fear that I might have legitimised racism by playing with Bullard. The other, less sexy, fear is that I might be a catalyst for Bullard to derive financial benefit from racism.
Inviting someone to debate their views does not count as approving the content of their beliefs.
It simply signals a fearless commitment to free speech.
I enjoy debating people who hold different views to mine, including views that might be considered bigoted, rather than only wallowing in the company of those singing from the same hymn sheet as I do.
The error that Malala makes is to confuse the substantive value of debate as a dialectical process for thrashing out issues, with the independent question of what debaters on a public platform think of each others’ viewpoints.
For example, if someone convened a public debate about the morality of homosexuality and invited Jon Qwelane, the country’s most famous homophobe, I would give my gay bottom to be allowed the opportunity to debate him.
Would it be reasonable to interpret my excitement as legitimising homophobia?
All we could say, until we hear what I actually think of Qwelane, is that I, Eusebius McKaiser, am an equal opportunities interlocutor. We could not say that accepting the invite to debate Qwelane is irrefutable proof that I am a self-hating gay man.
If anything, my motivation to accept an invitation to share a platform with someone such as Qwelane would be to humiliate him by exposing the content of his beliefs as evidence-insensitive, badly formed and also immoral. Valuing everyone’s right to speak does not indicate that I regard everyone’s views as equally justified. Malala misses this critical distinction.
Furthermore, from a strategic point of view, it is important to allow uncomfortable views to be exposed to the sanitising light of public debate.
The truth is that hundreds of thousands of South Africans share Bullard’s analysis of the state of the nation, including his views about black culture.
Equally, millions of South Africans agree with the content of Qwelane’s beliefs about gay people.
These social facts, however offensive to our sectional, suburban sensibilities, are not going to go away through non-engagement.
It is a bit like hoping your drunken uncle will never come out of his room to embarrass you when your friends of more sober habits come over for a do.
Why not deal with the alcoholism once and for all, openly? Why not deal with the racism and homophobia once and for all, openly? By sweeping these views under the carpet you simply allow them to fester in dark, moist spaces conducive to fomenting further hatred.
You also become susceptible to a charge of intellectual sloppiness.
Legitimate sub-debates such as the question of what constitutes racism, for example, are likely to be ignored when we regard some views as beyond the moral pale.
For example, was the column by Bullard dark humour that failed horribly or was it straightforwardly racist?
Also, can we separate judgments about an article from judgments about a writer’s character? Or does one clear expression of racism fatally occasion a judgment of racism, regardless of a writer’s life narrative up to that point? These are terribly important questions which Malala is unlikely even to raise if his squeamishness gets in the way of his intellectual curiosity.
As for the less sexy worry about making money off racism, I indeed would be horrified if someone did that. But I am not sure it would stop me from engaging them.
In the case of Qwelane, as a taxpaying citizen I have moral political right to be angry that my government is paying him from our taxes to spread hate speech.
However, if some white, right-wing breakfast club invites Bullard to address them after his appearance on my radio show, then so be it. They can spend their money as they see fit.
After all, if I was being naughty, I could equally claim that some TV channels and some print media outfits pay some of us darkies to express the anger of rich whites (many secretly loving Bullard but publicly condemning him in a fit of insincerity and so preferring to endorse black Bullards).
These whities dare not speak for themselves lest, like Bullard, they too are ordered by their bosses to go out to lunch until Jesus comes back. Instead, they egg on the growing number of black Bullards.
Billy Joel must have foreseen democratic SA when he lyrically declared honesty to be such a lonely word.
http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=109642
Friday, May 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Beware the power of words
Language is such a bloody curse.
On the one hand it possesses the most amazing transformative power. The most palpable example from our recent history is the Convention for a Democratic South Africa (Codesa) talks in the early Nineties.In a very fundamental way it was the use of the most appropriate political language that served as a catalyst for the democratic process to get under way.
When negotiators chatted well into the early hours of the morning, they were not merely looking to achieve a practical outcome, however important that was. The very act of speaking constituted political activity.In a positive way the political negotiations were the earliest steps towards a recognition that the proverbial other is one's moral and political equal. The outcomes, a democratic election and a normative vision enshrined in the Constitution, were important concrete goals.
But the political grammar of that time constituted positive, transformative speech acts.
Sadly, the power inherent in language is also susceptible to abuse. Just as an inspirational declaration from Martin Luther King that he has “a dream!” can galvanise a people to continue its struggle for political and social freedom, so the words “kill the boer!” can instil fear in thousands of human beings accidentally born into a white skin through no fault or choosing of their own.Language can, therefore, be pernicious, violent and anti-transformative in the hands — or mouths — of irresponsible and unethical public officials and politicians.
All of which brings us, some 20 years after the Codesa talks, to teenage democratic South Africa. Political language, unbeknown to many of our politicians, betrays the state of our politics in stark, naked terms. Sadly, it is becoming self-evident that political grammar in democratic South Africa is as violent as ever, but for a brief euphoric lull in the mid-1990s and another about to hit us in the form of the World Cup.
It is important that we recognise the symptoms that betray and occasion this violent political grammar.It is not clear whether it is surprising or unsurprising that often the most violent political grammar comes from the ruling ANC.The formation of the Congress of the People (Cope) saw the break-away crowd being referred to by some of their former political bedfellows as cockroaches, baboons and, that more enduring of dated insults, enemies of the national democratic revolution. Calling a political opponent a cockroach is violent speech act.
This example is powerfully illustrative of three general facts about political grammar: It exposes your psychology; it has an impact on an audience; and it constitutes a living record of the state of a society, in particular, its political space.Calling a political opponent a cockroach, for example, is evidence of vicious ill-will on the part of the person who throws that label in the direction of another human being.
Quite apart from the public impact of the statement or what it says about the political space of the time, it reveals something deeply disturbing about the psychology of the speaker in the first instance.A useful analogy here is to think of more general instances of hate speech. If you call your black colleague a k*****, the performance of such a speech act tells us something about your own state of mind. Even in the absence of someone hearing you utter the words (say, for example, you think the word or utter it under your breath), the speech act is a powerful piece of evidence of the presence of a less than flattering moral psychology.
Sadly, the violent political grammar that is becoming commonplace in SA today means that the work done during the early 1990s in getting our politicians to see each other as fully human is being eroded by the development of a political psychology that is more vicious than virtuous.Besides telling us something about the psychology of a political actor, violent grammar also has violent consequences. Singing lyrics such as “Bring me my machine gun!” and “Kill the boer!” instil fear in others.
It does not matter whether the intention of the speaker is not to instil fear. If there is widespread perception that these words constitute a real threat to others, an attempt to direct and curtail the speech and behaviour of others, then such words take on a violent colour that cannot be wished away on the grounds that they emanate from an innocuous mindset.Our political actors need to realise that just as pointing a gun at someone is a violent act, even if you do not mean to kill them, so the uttering of violent grammar constitutes a wrong even if the intention is not to hurt.
This is not, heaven forbid, to suggest that all rhetorical flair must be taken out of political discourse. And it is important that political players across the political spectrum develop thick skins so that robust debate can be possible rather than thwarted. Why else did we fight for such civil and political freedoms as the right to free speech?
The point, however, is that moral constraints on free political speech are apt even in liberal democracies. Too many of our politicians are becoming drunk on democratic freedom and misunderstanding the moral limits of speech. Violent political grammar is, in a very real sense, non-speech.
This brings us, lastly, to the tragic historic fact that such linguistic weapons of mass destruction do not merely tell us something about the headspace of politicians nor do they “merely” have bad consequences.They also constitute a record of our times. Just as a majestic speech by Mandela that “never again” will we live in a racist society records the conciliatory mood of the early 1990s, so the violent language of our times will embarrass us in the eyes of future generations doing a stock-take of the trajectory we were on some 16 years after our first set of democratic elections.
Yes, not all political parties or all leaders within the ANC engage in these actions. But the mere silence in relation to an overzealous youngster like Julius Malema smacks of blameworthy indifference on the part of the elders. It is not only physically violent protests that could break our democracy. Violent political grammar is sometimes equally powerful.
http://www.mg.co.za/article/2010-05-14-beware-the-power-of-words
On the one hand it possesses the most amazing transformative power. The most palpable example from our recent history is the Convention for a Democratic South Africa (Codesa) talks in the early Nineties.In a very fundamental way it was the use of the most appropriate political language that served as a catalyst for the democratic process to get under way.
When negotiators chatted well into the early hours of the morning, they were not merely looking to achieve a practical outcome, however important that was. The very act of speaking constituted political activity.In a positive way the political negotiations were the earliest steps towards a recognition that the proverbial other is one's moral and political equal. The outcomes, a democratic election and a normative vision enshrined in the Constitution, were important concrete goals.
But the political grammar of that time constituted positive, transformative speech acts.
Sadly, the power inherent in language is also susceptible to abuse. Just as an inspirational declaration from Martin Luther King that he has “a dream!” can galvanise a people to continue its struggle for political and social freedom, so the words “kill the boer!” can instil fear in thousands of human beings accidentally born into a white skin through no fault or choosing of their own.Language can, therefore, be pernicious, violent and anti-transformative in the hands — or mouths — of irresponsible and unethical public officials and politicians.
All of which brings us, some 20 years after the Codesa talks, to teenage democratic South Africa. Political language, unbeknown to many of our politicians, betrays the state of our politics in stark, naked terms. Sadly, it is becoming self-evident that political grammar in democratic South Africa is as violent as ever, but for a brief euphoric lull in the mid-1990s and another about to hit us in the form of the World Cup.
It is important that we recognise the symptoms that betray and occasion this violent political grammar.It is not clear whether it is surprising or unsurprising that often the most violent political grammar comes from the ruling ANC.The formation of the Congress of the People (Cope) saw the break-away crowd being referred to by some of their former political bedfellows as cockroaches, baboons and, that more enduring of dated insults, enemies of the national democratic revolution. Calling a political opponent a cockroach is violent speech act.
This example is powerfully illustrative of three general facts about political grammar: It exposes your psychology; it has an impact on an audience; and it constitutes a living record of the state of a society, in particular, its political space.Calling a political opponent a cockroach, for example, is evidence of vicious ill-will on the part of the person who throws that label in the direction of another human being.
Quite apart from the public impact of the statement or what it says about the political space of the time, it reveals something deeply disturbing about the psychology of the speaker in the first instance.A useful analogy here is to think of more general instances of hate speech. If you call your black colleague a k*****, the performance of such a speech act tells us something about your own state of mind. Even in the absence of someone hearing you utter the words (say, for example, you think the word or utter it under your breath), the speech act is a powerful piece of evidence of the presence of a less than flattering moral psychology.
Sadly, the violent political grammar that is becoming commonplace in SA today means that the work done during the early 1990s in getting our politicians to see each other as fully human is being eroded by the development of a political psychology that is more vicious than virtuous.Besides telling us something about the psychology of a political actor, violent grammar also has violent consequences. Singing lyrics such as “Bring me my machine gun!” and “Kill the boer!” instil fear in others.
It does not matter whether the intention of the speaker is not to instil fear. If there is widespread perception that these words constitute a real threat to others, an attempt to direct and curtail the speech and behaviour of others, then such words take on a violent colour that cannot be wished away on the grounds that they emanate from an innocuous mindset.Our political actors need to realise that just as pointing a gun at someone is a violent act, even if you do not mean to kill them, so the uttering of violent grammar constitutes a wrong even if the intention is not to hurt.
This is not, heaven forbid, to suggest that all rhetorical flair must be taken out of political discourse. And it is important that political players across the political spectrum develop thick skins so that robust debate can be possible rather than thwarted. Why else did we fight for such civil and political freedoms as the right to free speech?
The point, however, is that moral constraints on free political speech are apt even in liberal democracies. Too many of our politicians are becoming drunk on democratic freedom and misunderstanding the moral limits of speech. Violent political grammar is, in a very real sense, non-speech.
This brings us, lastly, to the tragic historic fact that such linguistic weapons of mass destruction do not merely tell us something about the headspace of politicians nor do they “merely” have bad consequences.They also constitute a record of our times. Just as a majestic speech by Mandela that “never again” will we live in a racist society records the conciliatory mood of the early 1990s, so the violent language of our times will embarrass us in the eyes of future generations doing a stock-take of the trajectory we were on some 16 years after our first set of democratic elections.
Yes, not all political parties or all leaders within the ANC engage in these actions. But the mere silence in relation to an overzealous youngster like Julius Malema smacks of blameworthy indifference on the part of the elders. It is not only physically violent protests that could break our democracy. Violent political grammar is sometimes equally powerful.
http://www.mg.co.za/article/2010-05-14-beware-the-power-of-words
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