a south african conversation south african conversation “there’s no such thing as...

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A South African Conversation

“There’s no such thing as objectivity,” I said. “Apartheid is wrong, democracy is right.”

“How can you say that?” Teresa asked.“Objectivity is relative.”

“Relative to what? To what we stand for? To what makes us the other, on the other side?” she asked.

“We negotiate because we know objectivity’s relative – whatever we do, in the end we must sit around a table

and talk,” I said. “To seek a common understanding?” she said.

“Yes,” I had to agree. “… We mustn’t be afraid to learn from the totality of

human experience.”

Mongane Wally Serote, Revelations, 2010

At the time of the country’s first democratic elections in 1994, South Africans were essentially positive about the shape the country would be in 20 years down the line. The brave political souls who

anticipated a less than romantic future did so with caution and moderation. The more outspoken critics who forecast a negative future were scorned as pessimists and spoilers. Some were called racists and some dismissed as counter-revolutionaries. Others were called radicals, looking for a glorious revolution. Still others were labelled naïve human rights purists. There were also those who were branded as the ultra-left who failed to understand the need for South Africans to find a realistic balance between moral principles and political reality.

Things have since changed. It has become fashionable among a widening circle of political commentators and “ordinary” South Africans to trumpet

Conversat ions in Transi t ion 15

the nation’s pending doom. This widening circle embraces those who have long been political adversaries and ideological enemies. It includes conservative, free-market liberals who always questioned what an African National Congress (ANC) with roots in a socialist tradition could offer the country; those who feared that the ANC’s tendency to draw a broad coalition of South Africans into national unity that transcends class, race and gender would lead to a position of unprincipled compromise; and those whose economic transition from poverty to material gain is either under way or has already been realised.

The philosophical divisions, historic memories and emotional attachments to different political parties and movements, however, prevent these divergent critics of South Africa’s eighteen-year-old democracy from finding common cause, let alone political unity. There is too much embedded in the fibres of existence to allow this to happen in the immediate future.

The conversations included in this book are with a cross-section of South Africans from very different backgrounds, whose journeys in life have taken them in different directions. They are influential people located in different layers of South African life, most of whom hearteningly acknowledge the need to understand the mental and emotional spaces of other South Africans. The common ground between them, expressed through a mixture of styles, dreams and desires, as well as fears and uncertainties, is an expectation that the country has the potential to do better. These are strong voices. At times they are strident and at times they border on the utopian. In most cases their views are infused with political realism. This, encouragingly, suggests that there are significant South Africans in most spheres of society who are more ready to undertake a national self-reckoning exercise than the heat of public debate sometimes suggests.

A South African conversationThe question is whether the strident public conversation of South Africans

can be transformed into the kind of debate capable of shaping the future destiny of the country. For this to happen there is a need for a conversation of continuous interaction and relationship building at various levels of our society, between people in and out of government.

Public conversation of this kind needs to be engaged in, as well as enriched and broadened, by all who dwell within this land, to ensure it captures the fullness of the human experience. The iconic insights and themes that emerge in

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the interviews that follow provide an indication of the nature of the conversation that is waiting to happen.

Foundational stories Asked to speak about their lives’ journeys and hopes for the future, those

interviewed all have foundational or formative stories to tell. Some consist of passing references to a memory or insight into life; others dwell on these moments, speaking of their ancestral roots or formative political allegiances. South Africans, like people everywhere in the world, tell stories – stories of hope and heartache, love and loss, courage and fear, sacrifice and selfishness. Some are verifiable and true. Others are interpretive. All provide an insight into the psyche of South Africans.

The question is whether, and to what extent, these primary stories can be integrated into an inclusive narrative that captures the different stories that South Africans tell. More crucial is whether new stories are emerging that have a capacity to contribute to binding the country’s diversity into a national whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. The possibility of this latter genre of stories emerging is dependent on the kind of national conversation that includes, rather than excludes, those life stories that have hitherto resulted in vexatious and often violent confrontations among those who are required to live together on this southern tip of Africa. Wally Serote reminds us that “we mustn’t be afraid to learn from the totality of human experience”.

Storytellers are as given to embellishments and reinterpretations as the best politicians who engage in spin and bias. Foundational stories also provide an insight into basic values and beliefs. Where embroidered on, they provide an inkling of the way in which those telling their stories are willing to engage others. They provide a window into the changing self that, negatively or positively, is able to adjust to a changing context. A human being, Lyotard contends, “does not precede but results from interlocution”.1 The Italian feminist, Adriana Cavarero, in turn, speaks of the “narratable self ”.2 Her thesis is that humans cannot help but speak. They are compelled to speak, although often inadequately. The need, as such, is for people to be drawn into deeper conversation with others, as well as with themselves. The implication is that people become fuller and more complete beings through telling stories and engaging the stories of others. For Africans, this involves a realistic understanding of the spirit of ubuntu as a piece of realpolitik, in the sense of drawing an adversary or a potential opponent into the community, rather


than leaving the person outside the human circle. Gabriel Setiloane speaks of ubuntu as needing to reach “across intra- and inter-community divisions whether political, religious or other. [Thus] inclusively understood, ubuntu means we cannot turn our backs on anyone who genuinely wants to be part of our community, provided that person is ready to accept the privileges as well as the responsibilities involved in being part of a family or community. Ubuntu, in this sense, places dialogue at the centre of what it means to be fully human. It involves a future that recognises the need to rise above exclusion and alienation.”1

President Nelson Mandela, on receiving the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in 1998, suggested that the chapter on the “Causes, Motives and Perspectives of Perpetrators” might be among the most important in the entire report. He indicated that unless a social, political, and economic plan that enjoyed the support of as many as possible of those who had brought the country to the brink of collapse was put in place, the conflict was likely to recur in one form or another. He stressed that “South Africans need to engage in national dialogue as a basis for giving birth to a new country”.

The foundational or primary stories in the interviews included in this book focus on: political turning points, including the resistance and struggle against apartheid; the formation and internal struggle within Afrikanerdom and the National Party (NP); influential figures and mentors who shaped the identity of interviewees and national groups; formative spaces ranging from Robben Island to places of birth; involvement in the planning of national memorials; visits to historic graves; moments of personal commitment and spiritual experience; involvement in history-changing events. These include the process of constitution writing, oaths and acceptance of high office; sites of organisation and belonging, including business, political parties, churches, mosques, synagogues and cultural entities; and other life-changing moments that extend from childhood memories to professional life-changing events.

Archbishop Thabo Makgoba speaks of a “memory, identity and sense of the sacred” embedded in a story his father told him of the beheading of King Mamphoku Makgoba in his ancestral home in Makgoba’s Kloof. FW de Klerk reflects on what it means to be raised in the inner circle of Afrikaner history, and as a member of the Gereformeerde or Dopper Kerk. Several interviewees – Kgalema Motlanthe, Trevor Manuel, Mamphela Ramphele, Tony Ehrenreich, Mazibuko Jara, Mosibudi Mangena and others

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– speak intensely of the different trends in the struggle against apartheid as defining moments in their lives. Deputy Chief Justice Dikgang Moseneke speaks of being sentenced to ten years on Robben island at the age of fifteen – and of the cathartic impact of visiting, together with Koos van der Merwe, Roelf Meyer and Cyril Ramaphosa, the graves of boer soldiers taken prisoner during the Anglo-Boer War, who died in exile in Bermuda. Helen Zille and Ann Bernstein typify the important role that the liberal political tradition played in chipping away at the apartheid edifice and its significance in the nation-building process. They discuss how growing up in political households moulded their political values and, in the case of Zille, how the murder of Steve Biko in detention significantly influenced her personal and professional life.

Wally Serote turns to the arts and poetry as he wrestles to understand his place in the past and future struggles for a democratic South Africa. Mary Burton remembers her involvement in the struggle against apartheid as a young woman settling in South Africa from Brazil and her native Argentina, and her involvement in Black Sash. Pregs Govender documents the struggle for women’s rights and democracy in South Africa. Richard Goldstone speaks of the influence of Rabbi Moses Weiler, a reformed rabbi, at the time of his Bar Mitzvah. Dennis Davis refers to his childhood memories of the stories of the Holocaust and how he related this to the apartheid situation in South Africa. Ebrahim Rasool and Farid Esack explain their engagement in the fight against apartheid in relation to the struggle for justice and moderation within Islam. Moeletsi Mbeki, Kuseni Dlamini, Hendrik du Toit, Paul Clűver and others see a central role for business in the shaping of South African democracy.

These are some of the memories that epitomise a diverse nation that needs to heal itself amidst the uncertainty of political conflict and economic turmoil in a country that is into its eighteenth year of democracy. They exemplify deeply divisive memories, and yet they signal the hope of a nation that the 1996 Constitution describes as one that “belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity”. The nation has since the 1994 transition not experienced the depths of identity wars that were once predicted or that marred the political transitions of other countries around the world. The latent memories of past conflicts continue, however, to linger.

Realising that “those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat its mistakes,” we would do well to note that there are hinges, rather than definite turning points, in history that have the capacity both to renew and to destroy our future. If we fail to remember the lessons etched in this


history in a positive and creative manner, the danger is that the trauma of this history can be harnessed by those alienated by the post-1994 dream in a manner that was once described as being “too ghastly to contemplate”.

The list of communities across the globe caught up in religious and ethnic conflicts is a long one: it includes Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland; the Serbs, Muslims and Croats in the Balkans; the Kurds in Iran and Iraq; the Sikhs in Northern India and Kashmir; Tamils in Sri Lanka; the concerns of Tibetans; and the Basque communities in Spain and elsewhere. In Africa there are the ethnic and resource-based conflicts of Rwanda, Burundi, the Democratic Republic of Congo, as well as those of North and South Sudan. The threat of difference, in turn, threatens social cohesion in the Americas and elsewhere.

Marshal McLuhan’s sense of the “global village” is insufficient to negate the sense of “our village” and the “warmth of our home”. Starry-eyed notions of world citizenship carry the danger of replacing belonging in a particular community or nation with a sense of anonymity in a crowd. The different level of interlocution with those in, and adjacent to, our immediate environment is rarely replaced by a sense of cosmopolitanism. The warmth of home is an inescapable reality and, for many, a cherished sense of attachment. We relate to those whom we know, whose interests we share and whose language we speak, in a manner that we do not share with those more distant from us. The South African nation-building process is still in its early days. It needs to be nurtured. In the words of Emanuel Lévinas: “One has to be patient with oneself, without asking patience of others.”1

Emotional and moral intelligence To adapt the words of Max Weber, the past is more than a light coat that

rests on our shoulders to be discarded at will. It has the capacity to weigh down on us, reinforcing our prejudices, shaping our behaviour and ordering our hopes. Common sense – which includes a measure of emotional and moral intelligence – requires that we act with a sense of social responsibility in pursuit of the common good, not least in a situation where a country is seeking to throw off the impulses of past conflict in pursuit of a different way of dealing with the heritage of a violent and oppressive past.

It is this situation that requires an ethic of responsibility, rather than an ethic of high moral conviction. It requires that we suspend our highest individual moral convictions in pursuit of a communal ethic that allows for

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the possibility of coexistence and moral compromise. Speaking on ethical values, Trevor Manuel argues: “Few of us are angels. We are not required to be more Catholic than the Pope. Sustainable institutions, whether political, commercial or community-based, require different priorities and policies to meet different needs at different times. These need to be thoughtfully and honestly decided on through collective and democratic debate. They need to be publicly and transparently declared and enforced in a strict and even-handed manner. Get this wrong and things fall apart. Get it right and we have a chance to build a decent future, in business, in politics and as a nation in its entirety. The uncompromising affirmation of core values provides a counter to the seductions of materialism, the lust for power, corruption and greed, which are an inevitable part of all collectives. Values, whether ours or those of others cannot, however, be imposed with the rigidity of the medieval church.”

FW de Klerk’s response to the shift in his political career, from being an ardent defender of apartheid to 2 February 1990 when he announced the unbanning of the ANC and the impending release of Nelson Mandela from prison, reminds us that a change in political strategy, no less than in personal conviction, takes time. When it comes it is debatable which came first and whether it is possible to distinguish the one from the other. Richard Goldstone’s recantation of the report of the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC) on the Israeli-Palestinian military conflict in Gaza that erupted in December 2008, in turn, illustrates the power of political and social pressure in the management of conflict and change in the world. Wally Serote’s literary wrestling with the characters of Otsile and Teresa in his novel Revelation cuts to the heart of the nation-building process. “We have liberated our country physically, now we have to emancipate its spirit … Not only have we inherited [the burden of the past], but we’ve become responsible for undoing it, while those who created it try to hold the moral ground and blame us for failing to heal it quickly enough.”

Moral intelligence, which requires a change of direction for the ship of state that is emerging from past storms, involves clear vision, appropriate political strategy and consistent behaviour that is aligned with the affirmation of core values. The interviews contained in the pages that follow grapple with these needs in different ways. They reflect the complexities of knowing what is right and finding ways to do what is right, which require a measure of common sense, intertwined with political wisdom. Recognising the need to have a reliable moral compass, the interviews suggest that such compasses are


created within, and are invariably linked to, the context of a past and present environment.

As suggested earlier, as human beings in their entirety do not precede, but follow, engagement with others, so too are moral values a product of the way in which we encounter society around us. The interview with Clűver, an entrepreneur and farmer, reflects the need for those who provide leadership to move beyond their own comfort zones, suggesting we need to experience certain vulnerability in order to broaden our outlook on life. He emphasises the importance of reading, travel and social interaction with others as a way of exposing ourselves to an environment that is mentally, psychologically and geographically a world apart from our own. This expanded environment creates a wider milieu within which to hone our moral compasses and develop a level of moral and emotional intelligence that enables us to coexist with others.

Constitutional governance Moseneke speaks of a “values-soaked Constitution” that provides the

nation with “a moral and social compass”. It is “a guardian and protector of the ideals and founding values of the nation we have committed ourselves to become”. As such it marks “the end of a brand of political sovereignty that was vested in the hands of a ruling party in Parliament”. The Constitution needs, at the same time, to be protected against those who are tempted to use a parliamentary majority to override its basic values. Stressing the importance of constitutional democracy, Moseneke argues against both a “mathematical form of democracy” as well as a “government of judges.” He refers to the deleterious impact of parliamentary sovereignty in Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and Vichy France, as well as the use of a parliamentary majority by the NP in South Africa to promote apartheid, arguing that a Constitution must be “robust enough” to withstand change by a simple majority in Parliament. For him, an entrenched South African Constitution that requires the support of 75 percent of elected members of the National Assembly for revision, indicates that any deviation from those hard-fought values that brought apartheid to an end and gave birth to a new nation, needs to be approached with extreme caution. Makgoba argues that having emerged from a negotiated settlement that saved the nation from catastrophic collapse, the Constitution is akin to a biblical covenant rather than political contract, deserving the respect of all South Africans.

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Makgoba continues: “In many ways we are a country on the edge.” This means things can go anyway – up or down. What is clear is that we cannot remain at the present level of existence. Things are too precarious to remain where they are.” Ramphele is more explicit. She sees the Constitution as encompassing values which South Africans need to defend by taking to the streets in resistance as “in the days of the United Democratic Front (UDF) where people actively united against issues that threatened to bring our nation to its knees”. Going further, she insists: “I feel strongly that it is the only way we can save South Africa right now.” She argues that if we stray from our constitutional values “we are doomed to travel down the Zimbabwean route”. Manuel sees the Constitution as “a brave and creative endeavour” aimed at ensuring that no sector of society is driven to resort to the desperate ends that characterise our past. De Klerk, on the other hand, argues that while it is necessary for a Constitution to guarantee the protection of individual rights, in multicultural societies it ought also to protect the communal rights – not least the rights of minority groups.

For Davis, building a constitutional state requires, firstly, “an aspirational vision towards which we should all be reaching”. He bemoans the paucity of such a vision. Secondly, he insists that a constitutional state means that there are certain basic rights that are entrenched, even if the ruling political party has an overwhelming majority of the popular vote. Thirdly, he contends that a transformative constitutional order must be undergirded by the core values of transparency, accountability and participation. This, he adds, is central to ensuring that the state is responsive to the social and economic needs of all citizens.

The South African Constitution, regarded in the international community as among the most progressive and respected constitutions in the world, is written bold within South African politics. It encapsulates a political settlement and an ethical high water mark that few thoughtful South Africans would readily dismiss. This is what makes Moseneke so resolute in arguing that Parliament needs to function within the ambit of the Constitution and that, where necessary and requested, the constitutionality of the acts of Parliament need to be tested within the Constitutional Court. He insists that it is the obligation of the Court to uphold the Constitution rather than the will of any particular party in Parliament – a stance which earned him the wrath of President Zuma.


CorruptionFor the Constitution to be more than what President George W Bush, in

his defence of the controversial USA Patriot Act, notoriously called “just a goddamned piece of paper”, it is required to reflect the purpose and intent of a nation. It is easy to pride ourselves as South Africans on having the “most progressive” Constitution in the world. It is more difficult to conduct our personal lives in accordance with the requirements of the Constitution. The interviews in this publication suggest that there is both inadequate monitoring of corrupt practices in government and the private sector and a reluctance to implement the socio-economic principles enshrined in the Constitution.

Reflecting on the state of corruption in the country, Moseneke urges “faith communities, civil society and concerned people in politics, business and elsewhere to reach out to one another to ensure that the nation corrects the moral decay that threatens to destroy the journey we have begun in overcoming the corruption and abuses of the past”. He urges “government and those of us who live comfortable lives” to heed the warning that underlies the activities of “marginalised and alienated people across the country [who are] taking to the streets in outrage, supported by intellectuals, community leaders, social critics and moral spokespersons”.

Ehrenreich’s concern is that “we tend to be more vigilant in affirming some constitutional principles than others, especially when it comes to an opportunity for economic and financial gain”. Arguing that the socio-economic values of the Constitution are neglected not only at the level of governance but also in our daily business and economic behaviour, he insists that “corruption and obscene wealth are destroying the soul of the struggle that gave birth to democracy in 1994”. He argues that corruption is often too narrowly defined and that it needs to be understood in its broader context. “We must also pay attention to the growing incidence of moral corruption where civil servants are not doing their work, budgets are being irresponsibly or under spent, civil society organisations are not meeting the basic needs of the poor and managers are turning a blind eye to the poor performance of workers. Not only is this conduct dishonest, it is corrupt – and needs to be named as such.”

Manuel speaks of the “seductive lifestyle” associated with power in society. He suggests that no one is immune from its reach, which offers business executives, politicians and community leaders a false sense of power. “The boundary between right and wrong” he suggests, “is often

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crossed before one sees it coming.” His particular concern is that “those, once excluded from and alienated by the privileges of others, who find themselves in positions of influence and power are invariably subjected to opportunities and temptations that they never anticipated or even thought of ”. “In these situations,” he argues, “the flesh frequently proves to be weaker than we realise. If we fail to acknowledge this we will fail to deal with corruption in an adequate way.”

For Davis, the core values of the Constitution represent a bulwark against corruption. Mounting corruption, both in the public and private sectors, is one of his abiding concerns. He decries the fact that it has not been sufficiently curbed in post-apartheid South Africa as many had hoped. Motlanthe quotes the Sesotho saying, “polish my tummy and I’ll scratch your back”. His concern is that “the political will to fight greed, fraud and corruption will always be weak and ineffective if it is not supported by an ethical will”. “This”, he argues, “requires that we address issues of ethical behaviour in our homes, in schools, in universities, in training courses, in our political caucuses, in places of business and on the shop floor, to ensure that the incentive to act and behave honestly becomes part of who we are as people.” In similar vein, Makgoba argues that while corruption needs to be dealt with in an uncompromising way through the courts, the answer to overcoming corruption is not primarily a procedural or political one. He sees the solution as requiring individual and communal introspection, in which we ask ourselves what it means to be a fulfilled human being. This requires honest reflection concerning where the pursuit of material gain at the cost of all else will lead this country.

Ramphele sees corruption, nepotism, the looting of public resources and the general moral decay as having become a way of life that is promoted by “the ANC policy of cadre deployment … The well-being of ANC members has been privileged at the expense of the public good.” Bernstein warns that the legitimate goal of transformation is being diverted through cronyism, corruption and incompetence. “Transformation has become a handy lever for personal and factional advancement,” she warns. “Cadre deployment and political patronage cut across all areas affected by transformation to the detriment of the millions of people who are desperately poor.” Mangena, in speaking of the pervasiveness of corruption, argues that black professionals and intellectuals have “embarked on a path of avaricious accumulation of wealth. This includes both subtle and more obvious forms of theft, corruption and the short-changing of the very masses that contributed to ending the


apartheid regime in 1994.” Mbeki warns that South Africa is getting closer to becoming the next Nigeria because it is getting to a point where it cannot operate state-owned enterprises, partly because of corruption but also because of a dire shortage of skills. For Burton, the failure to hold people accountable for their crimes in the apartheid era has implications for the perpetration of economic and related crimes of corruption and non-delivery in the present situation. Without suggesting a causal relationship between the non-prosecution of past gross violations of human rights and the impunity with which people inside and out of government are involved in corruption, she sees the nation drifting ever deeper into a situation of non-accountability.

Economic challengesInterviewees are of a single mind that the major challenge facing South

Africa today is an economic one, insisting that economic growth and development need to be embedded in the renewal of the country’s educational and health care structures.

Pondering the extent of national poverty, Makgoba warns that South Africa is a country on the edge. Mbeki predicts that 2020, give or take a year or two, will be South Africa’s “Tunisia Day” – the year when he anticipates that China’s mineral-intensive industrialisation phase will reach saturation point. It is an industrialisation phase that has forced up the prices of minerals which, he says, has enabled the South African government to finance its social welfare programmes. This, in his view, means that the ANC government will no longer be able to finance the social grants that he describes as a “bribe” to mollify fifteen million South Africans to secure their electoral support.

Du Toit reminds us that “life is brutal”. He argues that the poor cannot be redeemed through charity and welfare grants, insisting that the moral scourge of poverty can only be overcome through entrepreneurial economic endeavours, and that economic incentives ought to be put in place to encourage businesses to create and maintain jobs. He insists that “as a nation we are still too inward-looking, fighting over the crumbs of apartheid, instead of committing ourselves to growing new money as is happening in Brazil, Taiwan and elsewhere – using this money for development, the upliftment of the poor and the narrowing of the gap between rich and poor. We have succeeded in pulling off a political miracle. Now we face the economic challenge. Either we rise above the economic challenges we face or we

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are likely to be thrust into a serious social upheaval.” Du Toit’s concern is echoed by Mbeki. Both argue that the adjustments to the South African economy that have taken place since 1994, including Black Economic Empowerment (BEE), have done little more than shuffle around pre-existing wealth. Interviewees, however, agree that despite its limitations BEE has contributed towards restructuring wealth in South Africa, albeit in a skewed manner. Dlamini states that BEE is “not perfect and it needs to be refined every step of the way because there are certain unintended consequences that we have to guard against. But it is not something that we should throw away.” Although acknowledging the role of BEE, Ramphele is critical of its corrupting influence. She believes that what is fundamentally required is “a correctly executed empowerment process,” based on a commitment by white South Africans and supported by a strong and efficient state to be serious about redistributing the nation’s wealth.

Ramphele insists it will take “tough love” to grow the South African economy, a process that needs, inter alia, to begin with reversing the declining standards of education and skills training. She attributes this decline to eighteen years of failed policy choices, the effects of the ANC government’s cadre deployment in the education sector, inadequately trained teachers, the stranglehold of the South African Democratic Teachers’ Union (SADTU) on government, and appalling infrastructure in schools. Citing a Transparency International report she indicates that almost half (48 percent) of pupils did not have a desk and chair of their own, 40 percent did not have access to the necessary textbooks, 15 percent of schools were without electricity and 10 percent lacked water supply. “We are very rapidly moving towards the tipping point,” she argues, “that exists in many other African countries, and should we collapse we could make countries like Nigeria look like a Sunday-school picnic.”

The challenge identified by the interviewees is, where to go from here. Bernstein acknowledges the levels of corporate malfeasance and greed that are often used to demonise business, while arguing that where business is honestly and fairly practised it makes a major contribution to the social and economic advancement of society as a whole. She recalls a question posed during the TRC’s special hearings on the business sector in November 1997, in which business leaders were asked whether South African corporations had been complicit in propping up or turning a blind eye to the apartheid system. Bernstein remembers the response of Johann Rupert, chairperson


of the Rembrandt Group: “Would you have preferred Ernest Oppenheimer to have settled in Australia rather than in South Africa?” he asked. Clűver, a major export fruit farmer, in turn, argues that, “capitalism is about more than making as much money as possible for owners and shareholders”. He responds to Milton Friedman’s observation that “few trends could so thoroughly undermine the very foundation of our free society as the acceptance by corporate officials of a social responsibility other than to make as much money for their stockholders as possible”. Clűver’s riposte is that “there is a sense in which shareholders never own a company – not in the sense that they own their homes or their cars. They merely own a right to the residual cash flows of the company, which is not at all the same thing as owning the company.” Understood in this way, he argues that there is a moral integrity to the capitalist enterprise. Where this is ignored, he maintains you undermine business, as is the case in the collapse of financial houses and sections of the banking industry in the United States (US), in Europe and in financial corruption in South Africa. Dlamini, former Chief Executive Officer of Old Mutual South Africa and Emerging Markets, is highly critical of the failure of business to take the lead in putting its own house in order and taking its rightful place in both protecting its own moral integrity and the well-being of the country as a whole.

The rejoinder to the “friendly face of capitalism” comes essentially from Ehrenreich and Jara. Often referred to as “a working-class hero” and a significant influence in the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU), Ehrenreich’s concern is that government is failing to take the needs of workers into account with sufficient dedication. “The essential problem that underlies the stand-off with workers is not money,” he insists. “There is a lot of money around. The country has money to buy arms, to pay consultants, to meet exorbitant executive and ministerial salaries, to build world-class sports stadia and to host the FIFA Soccer World Cup. The problem is the determination of an elite group in government and business to control the profit margins and the subservience of workers.” This he sees as a basic violation of established ANC policy, the Constitution and the essential values of the 1994 democratic settlement. Adopting a realistic political position he notes, “I [am] forced to look at the bigger picture of economic development in South Africa, realising that workers and beggars can’t be choosers. The unions have to work with those representing business interests.” Reflecting on the difficult process of developing this relationship, he says: “Without getting that right no one

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wins.” He prioritises three necessary interventions to ensure a measure of stability in the country. “More government investment in basic services ranging from police and security to education, health care and transportation – as a basis for giving the poor access to basic services that the wealthy enjoy through private companies and acquisitions”; the active promotion of work programmes by government along the lines of Franklin D Roosevelt’s New Deal policies; and “the leverage of resources, involving money and skills, needed to meet an appropriate transformation programme”. His concern is that if government and business are not prepared to meet what he sees as the modest needs of workers, the future of the country will be a dismal one. In addressing the impact of this crisis on young people, Moseneke interestingly refers not only to Roosevelt’s New Deal policies during the Depression in the United States of America (USA) but also to development projects in Cuba after the 1959 revolution.

Jara, who was expelled from the South African Communist Party (SACP), has in turn emerged as an articulate voice of the New Left, not least with regard to the need for job creation. His concern is to ensure that “progressive forces” reclaim a space within South African politics and that an alternative “people-based” economic model be explored. His commitment is to build a coalition of forces which includes workers and unemployed people. Acknowledging the enormity of the task involved in challenging the “hegemonic power of the ruling ANC” he believes that left-wing politics has a critical role to play in the restless and petulant South African electorate.

Burton calls for a rediscovery of those values that enable us to care for one another. “Our country and its resources are big enough for all of us to live peacefully within it. It is our task as South Africans to acknowledge this reality and develop policies and practices in government, business and other areas of our existence to ensure that these resources are equitably shared on the basis of fair opportunity and appropriate forms of affirmative action.”

The economic challenge both unites and divides those interviewed for this book. They all recognise that the country faces a huge economic challenge. While some characterise this as the “tipping point” and a potential “Tunisia Moment”, others are more sanguine, but all recognise that bold action is needed at every level of society for the 1994 dream to be realised. The point of difference between those favouring capitalism and those who are critical of it is precisely what needs to be done to ward off what both sides fear could lead to a devastating economic and social conflict. More important is whether the


various perspectives and needs of the different constituencies and actors in the economy can coalesce in a manner where mutual hope, if not immediate benefit, can generate an economic debate that needs necessarily to be clear-headed rather than heroic.

Leadership Each of the interviewees refers specifically to the need for inspirational

leadership at every level of society if the country is to meet the demands for renewal and transformation. Makgoba maintains that we need “stronger ethical leadership that draws on the constitutional promises … that gave this nation birth”. Moseneke speaks of the need for this leadership to be manifest at every level of society, calling on “faith communities, civil society and concerned people in politics, business and elsewhere to reach out to one another to ensure that the nation corrects the moral decay that threatens to destroy the journey we have begun in overcoming the corruption and abuses of the past”. Manuel argues that “honest leadership is lacking, not only in government but in business, in academia, in religious organisations and in many other sectors of society”. He warns that the “slope is slippery and fast”.

Bernstein decries the failure of political leadership in South Africa to improve the global competitiveness of the country’s economy and address its serious social challenges. She is also critical of the business sector’s failure to provide effective leadership on several major national issues that face South Africa. She believes that there is a profound threat to the market economy in South Africa today and argues that the business sector has been timid in making the case for competitive capitalism. Dlamini bemoans the dearth of visionary business leadership and urges business to craft a clear vision of how to grow the South African economy beyond generalities. “Business ought to generate a blueprint on how it plans to create employment, tackle poverty, address challenges in the education system, grow skills, deal with crime, and improve infrastructure. At the moment when it comes to these topics I don’t think there is a clear and coherent position that we have been articulating as organised business.”

Ramphele suggests we tend to place too much faith in individual leaders, insisting it is the duty of all citizens to demand honesty and delivery from the country’s leaders. She insists that South Africa needs “a second transition” in order to strengthen democracy and ensure that all South Africans have a stake in the country. “It is time for concerned citizens to speak up. We need perhaps

30 Introduct ion

to go back to the days of the UDF where people actively united against issues that threatened to bring our nation to its knees. I feel strongly that it is the only way we can save South Africa right now. We need a new generation of leaders who are sufficiently challenged by the reality we face today to mobilise the citizens of this country into a strong social movement that reaches across the entrenched barriers of the past, giving us a new opportunity to realise what we dreamt about in the 1980s and early 1990s.” Govender, for her part, posits a different kind of leadership and power, arguing for a break away from “Big Man” politics to a kind of politics where everyone has the power of love within them that they can use as a force for change. “What I am arguing for is deep self-respect and respect for other human beings. It is about asserting a different kind of power.”

Emphasising the vital role of leadership in governance, Zille reflects back on her mayoral stint, pointing to the vital role that good leadership and effective governance played in reversing the city of Cape Town’s decline. “In my role as mayor, the biggest challenge was trying to get the right people in the right places to ensure the city of Cape Town ran as efficiently as possible,” she says. “This has taken a lot of time and some trial and error.” She speaks of “how quickly functional institutions can become dysfunctional under the wrong leadership, and how long it takes for them to become functional again under the right leadership”. She says the turn-around strategies that she led and implemented as mayor succeeded largely because of the skilful and capable administrative team that she was able to assemble.

A key test is how to ensure that the views and demands of all sectors of society are drawn into what is effectively a new social contract that enables the nation to address the challenges that are generally perceived as capable of driving the nation beyond a tipping point into collapse. Motlanthe speaks realistically of the importance of discerning national goals in relation to the history we have lived through, stressing that we “need to learn from the mistakes we have made, as well as the insights we have gained into the needs of the different groups that comprise South Africa as we know it today”. He argues that without specific organisational goals, the chances of the nation making progress towards its projected ideals are small and the possibility of holding leaders accountable is reduced.

Motlanthe sees the complexities of South African politics and those of the ruling alliance of the ANC, COSATU and the SACP as a strength rather than a weakness. He regards the “bumping of heads” as an inevitable part of

governance in a country as racially and class divided as South Africa, insisting that the task of attaining the right balance between leadership and consensus necessarily lies at the heart of a successful political process in South Africa.

A reflective spaceThe scope and magnitude of the challenge that faced South Africa at the

time of 1994 elections and that again confronts the nation, requires “time-out” in which to ask – who are we, what now, and where to next? In 1994 it evoked a political revolution and promised a far-reaching ethical, if not spiritual or deeply inward, reorientation of society. The present demand involves a similar need to turn away from a habitual preoccupation with self-centred privilege and greed. It indicates a need to turn toward the wider community with whom we are connected and a form of behaviour that recognises the interests of others alongside our own.

For some the challenge is rooted in religious belief, for others not. Former President de Klerk recalls being sworn in as South African head of state, in September 1989: “It was as though I stood before God, promising that I would execute the task He had given me.” This moment was soon, however, given political content in the concessions he made in Parliament in February 2000 when he announced the unbanning of political organisations and the pending release of Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners. Moseneke reflects on his roots in the Methodist Church. “I find a sense of stillness, spiritual fortitude and moral strength in religion,” he says. “I am, at the same time, intolerant of loud religion. For me quiet is better than loud. Perhaps it’s got something to do with my personality.” Makgoba, as Anglican Archbishop of Cape Town, provides a broad and inclusive theological underpinning for spiritual and ethical renewal. Acknowledging that not all South Africans share his religious worldview, he encourages people to find their own spiritual space in which to define and affirm their values. This, he argues, is a space that fortifies us against losing our reflective capacity by becoming entrapped in material and other forms of instant gratification. It is an affirmation of our humanity, he argues, that requires us to pause amidst our daily lives in order to regain a sense of purpose and direction.

Rasool speaks from a Muslim perspective of the cost involved in the struggle for justice and the dignity of the poor in mosque and church, while acknowledging the importance of a form of religion that is located at the centre of the struggle for human dignity. While critical of parts of Islam in


32 Introduct ion

the Western Cape, he insists, “I am still part of it … If I had not been able to read the Qur’an, attend mosque and share in Muslim fasts and celebrations, I would not have had the spiritual strength to get me through some very dark days.” Esack, also speaking from within Islam, warns against the consequences of entrapment in exclusive religious belief systems as well as an entrenched alignment between religion and economic or political privilege. Goldstone, a secular Jew, speaks of the religious and cultural influence of Judaism on his life and of his need to honour Sabbath customs on a Friday night, “out of respect for our roots and cultural identity”. The difficulties he faced in the wake of his involvement in the enquiry by the UNHRC into the Israeli-Palestinian military conflict in Gaza, in turn, highlight the hazards involved in the alignment of religion with a particular political agenda.

Mbeki broadens the debate on spirituality and religion. He suggests a need to reassess the historic encounter between traditional African values and culture on the one hand, and nineteenth century Christian missionary religion on the other. By implication, this is an encounter that needs to include other forms of institutional religion, as a basis for appropriating values that have a capacity to ameliorate the present South African impasse.

There are other interviewees who locate the struggle for moral integrity in a doggedly competitive world at the heart of the business enterprise. Dlamini, for example, argues that business needs to address the question of how best it can lead from the front in rooting out corruption and in the creation of an environment in which workers and the unemployed have a fair chance of improving their lot in life. Ehrenreich, a leading trade unionist, speaks of “another world”. This is not an abstract world, not a religious world or a world that replaces the present one. For him, it is a world that can only grow out of the contradictions of the present reality where those who benefit from the status quo, and those alienated from it, engage one another in search of a different way of ordering the economy. He says, “Some people have their ostentatious houses and fancy cars. If it makes them happy it’s okay by me, provided it is not at the cost of the poor – which it invariably is.” Speaking of what it means to be “an integrated and complete human being” he suggests it has something to do with having “open hands”. “If you give,” he suggests, “in a strange way you receive.” His concern is that in the breakdown of relations with others we have lost the essential values that make us fully human. He traces this back to ubuntu, to the great religions of the world, and to an insight that comes from living in solidarity with workers across the world. Raised a


Roman Catholic, he occasionally goes to Mass, arguing that over time more good has probably been done through religion than most other institutions. “I just don’t find that my ultimate questions in life are adequately addressed in religious teachings and belief. So, for me, it is a case of a luta continua in the quest for spiritual, intellectual and social change.”

The need in 1994 was for a decision-making process that enabled the nation to find sufficient common ground to enable South Africans of different backgrounds, worldviews and immediate interests to coexist. The memory of the events surrounding the 1994 process continues to inspire a nation that needs to engage again in this level of decision-making.

African self-beliefThe need to create a reflective space in confronting the challenges we face

is seen by several interviewees as requiring an overt sense of African self-belief. It requires what Serote refers to as the need for an “African exploration of existence in the wake of the disruption of traditional systems, institutions and communities by colonialism and apartheid”. This, for him, involves a sense of spirituality and moral rediscovery which is part of the unfinished business of the South African democratic process. South African consciousness reaches beyond revenge, racial competitiveness and bitterness, towards others. “This,” he suggests, “is not merely necessary to overcome an individual grudge or to gain a level of national serenity for the sake of white people or for the sake of black people. It is for the sake of the nation as a whole and humanity itself.”

Mangena says if he were elected president of South Africa “the first thing I would do is get our people to believe in themselves again, believe that their destiny is in their own hands, believe that this country belongs to them and work for the realisation of a country that respects the dignity of all South Africans, both black and white.” A major concern for him is that notwithstanding the defeat of the apartheid system, many black South Africans continue to suffer from a sense of subservience and self-imposed psychological oppression. He argues that “black people in this country, generation after generation, were born into a white racist system that despised everything about black culture which they made subservient to white domination. These many centuries of domination, exploitation, contempt, brainwashing and derision have resulted in black people internalising a white-imposed inferiority. In the process many blacks have lost the capacity to know they are equal in capacity and will to any other person on earth.” Mangena is adamant that “people who are without a

34 Introduct ion

capacity for self-worth are ultimately unable to control their own lives or to contribute to the creation of a new society. They are unable to be free. What Biko taught us in the 1970s is vindicated and shown to be true by the reality of our current situation in this country. The government cannot give anyone their freedom and self-dignity; these are qualities that each individual and each community needs to earn for themselves.”

Mbeki reflects on the implications of Africans having essentially lost their religion, their culture and any sense of pride under the onslaught of nineteenth century missionary religion, aligned as it was to mercantile capitalism. In the process, they lost a core part of their being, which was the source of their ethics and of their identity as a people. He sees coloureds as having undergone a similar experience. Having lost a sense of belonging that characterised the Khoi and San peoples, they were stripped of their language and, in many instances, he sees them as having been divested of their religious and cultural identities.

He argues that the essential ingredients of traditional African religion, which is as multiple and complex as is any other religion, are community, ancestors and tradition. In ultimate form, the African person is a person through other people. This, he insists, is a value which needs to be rediscovered in South African business life, arguing that pre-colonial Africans had developed skills and resources that were destroyed by the military might of invading colonists and settlers. Mbeki argues that the government and corporate sector need to rethink their preoccupation with individualistic material consumption and squabbling over existing products and resources. For this to happen, he argues, a creative relationship needs to be allowed to emerge which recognises the contribution of traditional African values to South Africa’s modern industrial mentality, which is dominated by Western forms of individualist capitalist growth.

South Africa on the edgeThe nineteenth century philosopher, Georg FW Hegel, once argued

that while successful leaders need to be one step – but never more than one step – ahead of the populace, they must not be so far ahead that they fail to understand and reflect the needs of the community. The needs of South Africans are not only diverse, they are also changing. Eighteen years into democracy the self-interest of those who have benefited politically and economically has changed. The patience of those who have been left behind


is running out. Corruption, greed and poverty are rife. Class distinction is fast becoming a defining characteristic of South African society. New alliances are beginning to emerge and the age of liberation politics is beginning to show signs of making way for a politics that is directly focused on inadequate access to bread, houses, education, health care and jobs.

These developments make a second national conversation as pertinent as the conversation that resulted in the 1994 elections. This conversation is likely to place a higher price on material and social delivery.

1 Jean-Francois Lyotard, “The Other’s rights”. In On human rights: The Oxford Amnesty Lectures., eds. Stephen Shute, Susan Hurley (New York: Basic Books, 1993), 136.

2 Adriana Cavarero, Relating narratives, storytelling and selfhood. New York: Routledge, 2000, 34

3 In Charles Villa-Vicencio, Walk With us and Listen: Political Reconciliation in Africa (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 113.

4 John Muckelbauer and Erik Doxtader, “Reading Otherwise than Being: Asking for Patience,” JAC 29 (3) 2009, 493-509.

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