Voices of ordinary people matter in a just society

IT CAN be depressing to be a South African nowadays. Almost every day there are more revelations of corruption and misdoing, especially among some senior government officials in collusion with certain business people.

There are many sceptics who feel South Africa is on a slippery slope and that, inevitably, we are going to end up in the situation where many other African countries have found themselves 20 or so years after liberation or independence.

If one allows one's world view to be informed only by what one reads on the Internet or in newspapers, then it is quite understandable that many South Africans would want to slit their wrists because, surely, there is no hope.

The mistake many people make is that they think the government equates with South Africa. Yes, the government is an important part of South African society, but it is not the only part. There are many other parts of South African society that give me real hope for the future.

I interact almost daily with people who are quietly making a difference to our society, through helping their neighbours, helping to educate children or helping children improve their education. Sometimes, this work is done as part of companies’ corporate social responsibility programmes but, often, it is done out of the goodness of someone's heart.

I derive most hope from what some would euphemistically term “ordinary people”. These are the people who politicians often take for granted and who carry on with life despite the shenanigans of politicians, and others, and not because of it.

South Africans have shown over the years that we can be resilient and formidable. We are known for being able to overcome huge odds and being able to unite based on the fact that we are such a diverse society.

In this month, when we celebrate our heritage, it is important to remember where we come from so we can determine where we want to go. Not too long ago, South Africa was ruled by people who believed in legalised oppression and exploitation. They successfully disenfranchised millions of South Africans and tried to use the vast resources of this country to benefit only a small minority. They ruled on the basis of exclusion, rather than inclusion. Any attempts to question their rule, and propose more viable and human alternatives, met with suppression.

People who compare South Africa today with what happened under apartheid have never lived under apartheid or have forgotten what is was like to live under apartheid. To say it was rough is an understatement.

Like many others who share my background of anti-apartheid activism, I am seriously disappointed with what is happening in government. It appears someone has declared a free-for-all in terms of corruption and many people with access to the public purse have decided to accept this invitation.

There are ways of dealing with corruption and these require leadership from the highest levels. The first way is to expose corruption wherever it exists. Corruption does not only exist in government; and government officials who are corrupted must surely have counterparts in private business who are aiding and abetting their corruption.

But there are many cases of corruption that do not involve government. One can think here of collusion between companies in industries where there are virtual monopolies.

The media has a powerful role to play in exposing corruption but the media cannot do this alone. They need honest people with a conscience to come forward to inform them of where abuse is taking place. Without whistle-blowers, many things will never be brought to the attention of the public.

The other way of dealing with corruption is to make sure that those who are corrupt face the consequences. Too often, we are outraged at some revelation of corrupt activity only to move on the next day when confronted by another brazen act of corruption. In this process, too many people are able to get away with their criminal activities.

Corruption must be seen as a crime and described as such. It is stealing, often from the “ordinary people” who depend on the government and others with resources to make a difference in their lives.

What gives me hope for our country is that there are millions of South Africans who have decided we are not going to go the way of many other African countries. These people are united in civil society formations and are making their voices heard.

These groups include many people who have lived through apartheid and understand that we can no longer have a government that does not listen to the people.

I am confident that, just like we defeated apartheid, we will be able to defeat corruption and move forward to making South Africa the great country we know it can become. What this will require is a reminder to those in government and business that they are not the only people who matter. The “ordinary people” matter as much and should make their voices heard.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 2 September 2017)

For District Six claimants, life's a stairway to hell

LAST month we attended a meeting in the City Hall where a newly formed representative body reported back to former District Six residents about the plans to bring some of them back to the area. I have been feeling uncomfortable about the meeting ever since.

We attended with my parents-in-law who had made a claim almost 20 years ago to return to the area from where they were forcibly removed to Mitchells Plain in the late 1970s. It has been a long and tiring process which, in their case, has meant attending meeting after meeting with government officials, only to walk away every time feeling nothing has changed.

We went to the latest meeting in high hopes, but walked away feeling the same despondency that we have felt many times in the past few years.

To call what has happened in District Six a disgrace is an understatement. It is ironic that, in our democratic era, the barren land lies as a reminder of one of apartheid’s worst crimes against people who were oppressed and dispossessed.

First let me deal with the meeting we attended. The meeting was held in the City Hall, which is not disabled friendly and definitely not a place where you would call a meeting with mainly older citizens. The downstairs hall filled up very quickly and we found ourselves having to climb the steep stairs with two people aged around 80.

I had problems with the meeting being co-hosted, and apparently being sponsored, by the Department of Rural Development and Land Reform, because you need a forum where District Six residents can talk freely without being watched over by government.

But I understand that the committee, whose members had only been appointed about two years ago and who work as volunteers, does not have money and would not have been able to afford hosting such a big meeting.

The meeting started well, with mainly administrative stuff, but when the floor was opened for questions and comments, the raw emotions that many people still feel over what happened in District Six, came to the fore.

It was clear there were many people who had run out of patience to return to the place that still holds dear memories about their youth. Many older people, who had lodged claims, have passed on and their children are now fighting for compensation.

My in-laws were hoping to hear when they would get a house in District Six, as they have been on the waiting list longer than most. But, once again, they left without being any clearer.

The only thing the meeting did was to agree on a process whereby people would be placed on the waiting list and ways in which houses would be allocated. The major purpose of the meeting, it appeared, was to get a mandate for the committee to speak on behalf of the residents.

District Six was declared a white group area more than 50 years ago and removals took place throughout the 1970s and even into the 1980s. Because of pressure from community groups, the apartheid government was never able to realise their plans to turn the area into a white residential area, with the only building on the site being the buildings of what is now known as the Cape Town campus of the Cape Peninsula University of Technology.

These buildings still stand out as a sore thumb in District Six.

In recent years, a few houses have been built for people to return, but the building has been at less than a snail’s pace. The first buildings were single- and double-storey, but the lates, which must still be allocated, also boast three-storey apartments.

After attending the meeting at the City Hall, we drove to see the new houses and I could not help thinking about how old people are supposed to climb the stairs to reach their third-floor apartments. And, when they reach the top, they will probably not be able to come down because of the effort involved.

I suppose, for the officials involved, it is not about dealing with the situation in a compassionate manner but merely making sure they provide housing for the people who have been forcibly removed, even if the new housing is inadequate.

As a young man in the 1980s, I was one of those who believed the democracy we were fighting for would be based on respect, because apartheid was based on a lack of respect. However, when I look at the way people are treated around District Six - as just one example of how respect is not deemed as important by those in power - then I feel we have moved away from what we had envisioned.

Democracy will only work if everyone feels that his/her views and feelings are considered. The people who were moved from District Six can justifiably feel that their views and feelings are not important.

Why else would they be kept waiting for so long?

I wish I was wrong, but you cannot argue when you see what is happening in front of your eyes. I really want my in-laws to return to District Six, because it is what they have always hoped for, but not to a third-floor apartment where they will be trapped. They would probably be better off staying in their little home in Mitchells Plain.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 26 August 2017)

Zimbabwe illustrates how unchecked power corrupts

I RECENTLY helped edit a trilogy of books written by former Zimbabwean deputy prime minister Arthur Mutambara called In Search of the Elusive Zimbabwean Dream. The first of the three books has just been released.

I had to reacquaint myself with Zimbabwean politics and history. As I was reminded of where Zimbabwe came from, and their proud struggle for liberation which ended in a flawed Lancaster House Agreement, I could not help but feel sad about what is taking place there now.

The last time I visited Zimbabwe was more than 15 years ago but, even then, one could begin to see a society unravelling. The Zim dollar was trading at around 300 to the rand, but soon it was trading at millions to the rand. The Zim dollar was eventually scrapped and Zimbabweans now trade in American dollars.

At the heart of the Zimbabwean crisis is a political party, Zanu-PF, which believes it is anointed to rule forever because of the role it played in its liberation struggle. There are people in Zimbabwe who believes in the slogan: “The bullet is more powerful than the ballot”. The argument is that Zanu-PF liberated Zimbabweans by using the bullet, so they cannot be removed by the ballot.

Part of the problem with this argument is that the rivals to Zanu-PF, Zapu, probably played a more prominent role in the liberation struggle and that the two liberation movements were forced into a negotiated settlement which left much to be desired. The theory about using the bullet to achieve liberation does not really hold water.

But Zanu-PF and its president, Robert Mugabe, have consistently found ways to undermine their country’s constitution and cling to power. As a result, Mugabe is still the party’s preferred candidate for president in next year’s elections - he’ll be 94 then. Mugabe was prime minister from independence in 1980 until 1987, and has been president ever since. He has effectively been in power for all the 37 years that Zimbabwe has been “free”.

There are similarities with South Africa. There are many people who argue the PAC was more prominent in the Liberation Struggle than the ANC, but this is debatable. The liberation movements in South Africa also had to negotiate a settlement with their former oppressors and adversaries. Like Zapu in Zimbabwe, the PAC in South Africa has all but disappeared.

For now, we have hope in South Africa, but I don’t know for how long, judging by the actions of some people in the ruling party over the past few weeks and months.

The ANC seems to think its constitution can overrule the country’s constitution, an approach that is very dangerous. Several ANC members have been talking about hounding and disciplining the ANC members who voted with the opposition in the secret ballot. The Constitutional Court’s ruling meant the MPs should have expected some protection, irrespective of how they voted. But the ANC does not seem to think so.

Also, several ANC MPs and at least one minister refused to co-operate with a parliamentary committee chaired by someone who was believed to have voted against President Jacob Zuma in the secret vote. They were effectively saying that they do not care about Parliament’s oversight role as much as they care about following the right factional line in the ANC.

It is against this background that I watched this week’s shenanigans around Grace Mugabe, 52, Mugabe’s second wife. Mrs Mugabe is believed to have assaulted a young woman with an electrical extension cord after finding her and another woman in a hotel room with her two sons, Robert jr, 24, and Bellarmine Chatunga, 20.

After Police Minister Fikile Mbalula promised that she would face the might of the South African law, Mrs Mugabe apparently “left” the country, only to resurface the next day, claiming diplomatic immunity. My hunch is that nothing will come of the case against Grace Mugabe. She has got away with worse in her country.

Those of us who care about the rule of law and democracy need to continue to put pressure on the government to make sure that Grace Mugabe does not get away with what appeared to be blatant assault. People who commit crimes in South Africa, irrespective of the position they hold, need to know they will be prosecuted and fined or jailed.

We need to start with the many South African politicians and supposed public servants who appear to have enriched themselves through corruption.

In my humble opinion, and I am thinking aloud, our only hope in South Africa is for civil society to hold the ANC and other political parties to account, to make sure that they follow the constitution so that we can achieve our potential as a country.

Power, as they say, corrupts. And nowhere is this truer than in Zimbabwe.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 19 August 2017)

Why are the police reluctant to deal with Manana?

I DESPERATELY wanted to write something positive this week. After all, this is the week when we are supposed to celebrate the glorious struggle for equality waged by South African women, and we recall the march on August 9, 1956 by thousands of women to the Union Buildings in Pretoria in protest at pass laws.

For those too young to remember, pass laws were introduced to keep Africans out of the cities because the apartheid government believed they should restrict themselves to rural homelands. A pass became a hated document that all Africans had to carry with them, especially in the cities. If you were found without one, you could be sent to jail.

But we have moved on and now have a democracy where we can all live wherever we want in South Africa. Of course, there are some people, especially in the Western Cape, who believe foreigners should be welcomed in our city and not people from the Eastern Cape, but that is a subject for another column.

I was determined to be positive this week and to remember the many amazing women who played a part in shaping the man I have become. Among these are my mother, who worked as a domestic worker or any other job she could find, but still found time to teach me to read so that, by the time I went to school, I could read books that were normally read by children who were already at school for a few years.

My two older sisters looked after me when my mother was not around. I was the youngest of five children but my brothers never seemed to care for me in the same way as my sisters did.

Since then, there were many other women in my life, including aunts and cousins, but my special women remain my wife and three daughters, who put up with me and all my peculiarities (for want of an understated word).

But just as I was preparing to be positive, the news broke about the deputy minister of higher education, Mduduzi Manana, who assaulted a woman at a night club over the weekend.

What angered me most about this case is not that it happened in Women's Month - any assault on a woman is bad, irrespective of when it happens - but the response from the authorities.

To say the police were slack is a compliment. It seemed police were trying to find reasons not to arrest the offending deputy minister, hiding behind the need for a “proper investigation”. This was, of course, after Manana confessed that he “slapped” the woman. Video evidence suggested the assault was, in fact, more violent than that.

Out of respect for my mother and all the women who helped to raise me, I have a zero-tolerance approach to violence against women. It is something I practise throughout my life and not only for 16 days in December, like some politicians.

Perhaps because this assault fell outside of the 16 days when politicians focus on violence against women and children, most political parties were not very vocal on what I consider to be a serious issue. Violence against women and children is one of the most serious issues affecting especially poorer communities and perpetrators will find solace in the police reluctance to act against Manana.

At the very least, I would have expected Manana to be arrested immediately, or to give himself up at a police station. He admitted his guilt, even if only partially, and he must be prepared to accept the consequences.

The only way to deal with serious crimes - and I consider this to be one - is by making examples of perpetrators. Criminals must know they will be arrested and prosecuted and, if convicted, they will spend time in jail.

At the time of writing, the police minister had announced that Manana was going to appear in court. Why an announcement? Why not just arrest him and take him to court? The police and the ruling party are sending out a wrong signal with regards to this case. But, I suppose, this is not unexpected given that people more prominent than Manana have gotten away with perpetrating even worse crimes against women and not much happened to them.

As we celebrate Women's Month, we need to remember the bad men who give all men a bad name.

These men make it difficult for us to celebrate women fully and freely because, as long as people like them are around, women will always be in danger of assault or worse. If Manana does not want to be seen to be one of those men, he should have done the right thing. He should have faced the consequences of his action, handed himself over for arrest and resigned from his position in government. Oh, I forgot, we don't do that in South Africa.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 12 August 2017)

It will help opposition if Zuma remains in power

THERE is a view that has gained currency in many circles in recent weeks, that politics in South Africa will be significantly different after Tuesday's vote of no confidence in President Jacob Zuma, especially if the vote is being held in secret. Some people believe a secret vote against the president will generate a majority.

I hate to disappoint the eternal optimists, but this is not about to happen. Apart from those who have already made their views known, I don't see many other ANC MPs going against the party line.

The malaise in the ANC is much bigger than one person and removing one person will not make a significant difference. This is one thing, surely, on which the ANC and the opposition agree.

What the vote of confidence does - as have the six or seven previous ones - is to present the opposition with a wonderful opportunity to tell voters and potential voters where the ANC has failed and where they would be able to do a better job, if they should be voted into power.

While those in the opposition to the ANC’s current leadership - and they include many ANC members - are hoping to convince some ANC MPs to vote against the president, the official opposition (the DA) and their allies, the EFF, must be quietly hoping they will fail.

After all, Zuma is the opposition's most potent weapon and it would not serve their purpose to remove him at this point, because it would give the ANC at least a year and a bit to recover some of the ground it has lost.

It will be much more difficult for the opposition to campaign against an ANC under a new leadership which promises clean governance, an end to corruption and improved living conditions for the majority of South Africans.

I know the ANC has always promised this, from the time of the “better life for all” slogan in 1994, but South Africans, desperate for any hope, might just believe a new ANC leadership, even in the interim, would be able to deliver. They might be persuaded to make their crosses next to the party's logo in 2019.

But politics is all about using your opportunities to exploit your enemy's weaknesses and to mobilise.

The current ANC is perceived to be weak, so they present a good opportunity to the opposition, one which they have gladly grabbed with both hands.

We have already seen the DA presenting the office of Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa with what they say are a million signatures from South Africans asking him and other ANC MPs to vote against the president in the motion of no confidence.

Mobilisation is also going on frenetically behind the scenes to ensure that there are several protests over the next few days, culminating in a huge march to Parliament ahead of Tuesday's vote.

The ANC, which used to have a monopoly on mass protests in the old days, have responded by calling a march of their own - in support of the president. Good on them, the opposition can't have all the fun.

But, seriously, whatever the outcome of Tuesday’s vote, our democracy is in good shape.

When we voted for the first time in democratic elections in 1994, many of us who had been involved in the Struggle, thought that this would in future be our only contribution to democracy.

We would go and vote every couple of years and, hopefully, the party which we voted into power, would make sure that the lives of South Africans improve.

After all, our opposition to apartheid meant that we wanted a society where the majority would be able to improve their lives through equal access to job opportunities, better education, health care, housing, etcetera.

We had a blind belief that the ANC, because of its record in opposing apartheid, would do a good job of changing the lives of South Africans in a meaningful way. As time went by, we realised your political pedigree and Struggle credentials do not necessarily translate into a desire to improve people's lives, except your own.

Democracy is so much more than exercising your vote. Democracy means getting involved in organisations and forums where decisions are made about your community and society in general. Democracy means that, if you see bad behaviour by politicians, you should let them know about it and warn them that they are not guaranteed your vote the next time.

I am so excited about what is happening in politics. Ordinary people are saying they want their voices to be heard beyond making a cross at election time.

The likelihood is those in power will not listen immediately - and the president will remain in power - and that is why the pressure needs to continue, ultimately impacting on where we put our mark in the next election.

Not much will change politically after Tuesday, but this is not necessarily bad. It provides more opportunities to engage on the nature of our democracy and what we expect from our political leaders. It is not about what we expect from Zuma, but from all political leaders, including those in the opposition.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argust on Saturday 5 August 2017)

When the music's over, a family's suffering starts

THE most poignant moment of the musical tribute to the late guitar legend Errol Dyers was not a musical one. Instead, it was an impassioned call by guitarist-singer Tina Schouw for musicians to stop complaining and start taking matters into their own hands.

“We need to join associations and we need to fill in our performance sheets and send it to Samro (Southern African Music Rights Organisation) so that we can claim some money from them,” she said in between performing two songs in honour of the man whom she described as an elder brother who looked after her as a young musician. Samro is the organisation that manages copyright issues in the music industry.

Schouw was one of many top Cape Town musicians who either performed or were in the audience at a packed Kaleidoscope church/jazz venue in Claremont Main Road.

The place belongs to pastor Glenn Robertson, who also happens to be a veteran singer on the Cape jazz scene. That’s why it is church on Sunday morning, and a jazz club most of the other time. On Wednesday night, there were other calls for people to treasure our musicians a lot more but these were mainly from people representing associations performing various duties related to musicians. Schouw’s call was the only one from a musician. Most of the other musicians preferred to pay their tributes in the way that they know best: through music.

The evening was more of a jam session, with bands being made up on the spot and musicians lending each other their instruments.

We left just before midnight, with Hilton Schilder and his band performing, so I have no idea what time it ended. But Hilton did promise to play “maybe one, maybe two or maybe seven songs”. It was that kind of evening.

Earlier, a collaboration between Afrikaaps’ rapper Quintin “Jitsvinger” Goliath ended in partial disarray (but in a nice way) when the band that accompanied him, led by veteran pianist Mervin Africa and featuring a solo by Tony Cedras, decided to do their own thing and left the gifted rapper lost for words, for once.

Music is, of course, the best way to pay tribute to a fallen musician. But even musicians cannot live on music alone. Yes, musicians do not make a lot of money, but at least it’s sometimes enough to put bread and milk on the table and to keep the lights on. When this is taken away, families are often left destitute.

At the Dyers’s memorial, people who attended were expected to make donations, which were given to the family. According to Robertson, more than R12000 was raised in cash, but there were also bank transfers. On top of this, Robertson said, they had raised more than R32000 at a previous fundraiser and one of the trustees of the African Musicians Trust (which he heads) had paid R17000 for a painting and this money was handed to Dyers’s wife, Virginia.

“I just wish we could have bought Errol an oxygen machine. Maybe he would have still been alive,” said Robertson. Dyers died last Friday of emphysema. He was aged 65.

He was considered one of the masters of Cape jazz, a unique sound that has become popular over the past two decades or so. He released several albums and, from all accounts, was a prolific composer, not only of jazz music but also rock and pop. Dyers is to be laid to rest after a funeral service at the Good Hope Christian Centre in Ottery at 10am today.

I always wonder what happens to families after the funeral, when everyone has paid their last respects and gone home. This is when the real pain starts and the reality kicks in that your loved one is gone. When this is compounded by a sense of knowing this is the beginning of financial insecurity, it makes the situation even worse. For more than 30 years, I have heard the same story: musicians need to get together, to fight for their rights, they need funeral benefits, medical aid and a union.

There is something wrong with a society that derives so much pleasure from the work of musicians, but then allows them to die in poverty. If it is not the case with Errol Dyers, it will be the exception, not the rule. May he rest in peace.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 29 July 2017)

Madiba's legacy needs much more than 67 minutes

IN THE week that we celebrated what would have been the 99th birthday of former President Nelson Mandela, I found myself wondering about the hypocrisy of many people who believe all they need to do is dedicate themselves to do good for 67 minutes every year.

The rest of the time they continue with their lives, hardly thinking about how to make a difference and bridge the gap between the haves and the have-nots in our radically divided society.

There are also people who try to tell us about how we should emulate Mandela when they themselves don’t do so. Chief among these are politicians who spend most of their time undermining Mandela’s legacy but, on 18 July every year, they suddenly remember what made the man great.

In many ways, it is not Mandela’s political values which endeared him to South Africans, but rather his humanity and humility, something which modern-day politicians seem to lack.

I have never believed in doing anything for 67 minutes. I have always believed that goodness is not something that you can switch on and then switch off 67 minutes later. Goodness is something that should become part of who and what you are. It should become part of your DNA.

I am not trying to dismiss the good work done by many people throughout South Africa because, in many cases, it did make a difference to the people who benefited.

The point I am trying to make is that you should not display a badge for doing good for 67 minutes when you do otherwise the rest of the time. I also worry about big corporates who get their staff to perform certain good deeds and then they expect to be applauded for it. If you are going to be true to Mandela’s legacy, then you will do good because it is what needs to be done, and not because somebody is going to write something nice about you in the newspaper or take a photo of your activity.

I have seen a few companies asking their staff to make contributions, which the company then contributes to some charity on their behalf. Surely the point is about making contributions yourself, so what is the point of getting your staff to do the work and then you claim the credit?

I have also seen politicians cleaning up a street in a township and then getting into their fancy cars to go to a fancy lunch for VIPs only.

The other thing that irritates me immensely when it comes to the topic of Nelson Mandela is about who owns his legacy. Like most people who grew up in the struggle, I agree that Mandela was, first and foremost, a loyal ANC member and made his contribution to society in that capacity. But the impact of what he did for surpassed the ANC. In many ways, Mandela became bigger than the political party that he represented.

Whether we like it or not, Mandela belonged to the people of South Africa, including those who never voted for him but felt inspired by him. He embraced people who differed from him politically and, in some cases, won them over.

In any case, poor people do not ask for the political credentials of those who help them. In most cases, they are just glad to be helped. This is why sometimes you see people wearing the T-shirts of political parties without necessarily being loyal to that party. They were just glad to get a T-shirt that could keep the cold away.

I try not to do anything special for Mandela Day. I believe that whatever I do, whether it is work-related or personal, I should do it in the spirt exemplified by somebody like Madiba. I was not about to start counting the minutes when I did good and then switch off after 67. For me, it is important to do good all the time.

South Africa is in a difficult space at the moment. We are beginning to see the effects of the recession and the downgrades. We are clobbered daily by allegations of corruption, mainly involving government.

Part of what people like me do is to make sure that people are informed of what is wrong in our society, in the hope that we can use these lessons to improve the situation. It is not something that starts and ends at any point, and not everybody considers it to be good.

The ANC has made much noise about celebrating the 100th birthday of former ANC president Oliver Tambo this year. I would hope that they would do the same for Madiba next year. But more than that, I hope that they do not wait for next year to understand the lessons of Madiba’s leadership. They should interrogate it now already. Maybe it will help them understand the problems in our society better and provide them with the tools to deal with them.

After all, Mandela never put politics ahead of people, something which our politicians do not seem to understand nowadays. Let’s live Mandela’s legacy and not just for 67 minutes every year.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 22 July 2017)

People should hear tributes while they are still alive

MANY years ago, I interviewed Ray Chipaka Phiri after the release of one of his albums. One of the songs was dedicated to this father. He explained that his father, who was a mineworker of Malawian descent, always had a smile on his face. He had asked his father why, when he was so oppressed, he always managed to smile. His father explained that smiling and laughing was the only way to deal with his oppression.

“If I think about my oppression all the time, I would go through life depressed. I prefer to be happy,” Phiri quoted his father as saying.

When I heard this week that Phiri had passed away at the age of 70 after succumbing to lung cancer, I thought about this discussion we had in Bantry Bay, overlooking the sea, and how humble and approachable this talented genius had been. At that time, he had already achieved so much, having travelled the world with Paul Simon’s Graceland tour and having had huge success with Stimela, one of South Africa’s best bands ever.

But I also found myself thinking about the many friends and comrades who had passed away in the past few years and the things that I will always remember of all of them.

Death has a way of catching up on all of us but, when it happens, those of us who are left behind, are still surprised.

Last Saturday, we were sitting in St Georges Cathedral at the funeral service for Ronald Bernickow, popularly known as Berni, a former colleague and comrade who had passed away about two weeks earlier.

We all knew that Berni had contracted cancer years ago and we followed his progress with interest. It would not be unusual to hear that he was in and out of hospital or had suffered another setback. But every time he seemed to recover and continue his public service, which he did until the end.

I thought nothing about it when I bumped into Berni’s wife, Lorna, in our local supermarket a month or so ago and she told me that he was going through a tough time health-wise. When I had last seen him a few weeks before then, he had looked reasonably healthy.

Because he knew his time on earth was limited, Berni planned certain parts of his send-off, leaving notes for some people and even ordering his friends to celebrate his life and not mourn his passing by drinking all his leftover alcohol.

He had been given a few months to live 10 years ago, but never stopped living and giving until he could not continue anymore. One of the lessons, I suppose, I will take from Berni’s life is to live life to the full and to never stop giving.

Listening to people giving tribute to Ray Phiri over the past few days, I suppose one could say the same about him. He never wanted to stop being active and helping where he could. And, of course, performing.

At Berni’s funeral service, which went on for a long time because of the number of people who wanted to pay tribute, I found myself thinking about what I would want people to say about me when I have passed on. I realised that, while I have no intention of dying anytime soon, I suppose it is something that I would have no control over.

I have this dream of dying and watching people pay tribute to me while they are not able to see me. In my dream, I find myself asking whether I am at the right funeral because I cannot believe some of the things that people are saying about me.

I understand the notion of paying tribute to people once they have passed away. In many ways, it is also a way of finding closure for the people who are left behind. “We have given you a good send-off. Now we can get on with our lives.” Unfortunately, when everybody has left, the family is often left alone to deal with their grief.

But sometimes it is important to pay tribute to people while they are alive. It is not good enough to tell someone how much you loved them when their coffin is lying in front of you. They should have heard it often while they were alive.

One of the things that I have requested from my family and friends is that the people who speak at my funeral or memorial service should be people who know me and they should be able to speak about my values, my hopes and my dreams. I do not want politicians to speak, unless they are people who knew me genuinely.

We only die once so it is important to make sure that our final send-off is done properly. Unlike Ray Phiri’s father, I struggle to go through life smiling, because I get angered my injustice and inequality very easily. And unlike Berni, I will properly not leave notes for all my family and friends. But I hope that, like them, I will be able to leave a legacy that makes my family proud. For now, let me go on living.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 15 July 2017)

Public support best protection for press freedom

AS A YOUNG journalist living in Hanover Park many years ago, it was always difficult to write stories about my community. Part of the problem was that you knew almost everyone you would write about and, in cases where stories were not complimentary, it was easy for them to track you down and confront you about it.

Once, I did a story about the goings-on at one of the local high schools in which a certain SRC member came off badly. The next day, he arrived at our house in Solent Court with his mother, demanding I publish an apology. My mother took exception to these people bringing their problems with my professional conduct into our house, but I managed to speak to them and, after I explained the story, they left without expecting an apology.

The mother's biggest problem, it appears, was the humiliation of seeing her son's face on the front page of the newspaper. She had not bothered to read the article.

Listening to the ANC once again raising the spectre of regulation of the media at their national policy conference this week and, after the incidents at the homes of respected newspaper editors last week, got me thinking about this incident of years ago. I asked myself how much had changed in the decades since then.

I suppose it must be difficult to be a politician or a senior employee at a state-owned entity at the moment, waking up every morning not knowing whether you'll be the story based on e-mails you happened to have sent to a politically connected family, asking for favours.

Whenever politicians realise that they could potentially be embarrassed by revelations in the media, they start talking about media regulation.

When I taught media relations to senior people in the government and corporates, I told them that, if they did not want their dirty linen to be aired in public, then they should not dirty their linen.

What this means is that, if you have done wrong, you should expect the media to pick this up, sooner or later.

Throughout history, and throughout the world, journalists and politicians have always had a strange relationship.

Politicians like journalists to write stories about the good things that they do, but they always take exception when journalists point out bad things.

But politicians need journalists as much as journalists need them.

Politicians need to develop a thick skin and learn to live with a vibrant media that carries out thorough investigations. This is one of the lessons that they could learn from democratic South Africa's first president, Nelson Mandela, who knew how to manipulate the media in a positive way to achieve the objectives of his government and political party.

Mandela, who had an elephant's memory for names, always greeted journalists by their first names and knew personal things about them, such as if they'd recently had a baby or acquired a dog. He realised the best way to handle journalists was to engage with them, showing he was a human being and then maybe they would start reporting on him like a human being.

I remember how he would call cartoonists to ask them to send him copies of cartoons which could have been considered derogatory. But he was also not shy to point out mistakes to journalists and would often call editors early in the morning.

The intolerance that has been shown from certain quarters to journalists - and I refuse to name them because they have received more than enough publicity already - should not be allowed to continue. There are platforms on which to engage with journalists and that does not include visiting them at their homes and threatening them and their families.

Politicians will soon discover journalists are a strange breed, in that we will vigorously defend each other's right to practise our craft. We have realised that, if you allow attacks on one journalist, without defending his/her rights, you will soon have attacks on other journalists whose views might be closer to yours.

I believe we must have as many views as possible expressed in the media. It is important to know what right-wingers are thinking, just as it is important to know what left-wingers are thinking.

Ultimately, most journalists are driven by a desire to bring the truth to the public. Journalists are, in the main, loyal to their profession and to the public they serve. This includes their readers, listeners or viewers. Politicians and political parties quite often do not form part of this public or community.

Unlike many of my colleagues, I am not yet too concerned about threats to the media, even though last week’s invasion of private homes could be considered a new low.

But we need to remain vigilant and we need to make sure that we always have the support and confidence of the public. The public needs to know and understand that any attack on media freedom is an attack on their freedom. This protection, by the public, is probably the best protection anyone in the media industry could enjoy.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 8 July 2017)

Hani's ideals would've made him an ideal leader

Chris Hani would have been upset at how legitimate demands and political slogans are being used to promote the interests of a faction in the ANC.

Chris Hani would have turned 75 this week. It is an event that passed without any fanfare but it would have been an appropriate opportunity for our political leaders to reflect on Hani’s values and his commitment to the struggle for the liberation of all South Africans. We should not only commemorate death but also celebrate life.

Two of Hani’s contemporaries in the Struggle, became presidents of South Africa. Thabo Mbeki, who turned 75 on June 18, was president from June 14, 1999 until September 2008, while Jacob Zuma, who turned 75 on April 12, was president since 2009, having been re-elected for a second term in 2014. 

There are many who believe the SA Communist Party leader would probably also have become president of the ANC and the country if his life was not cut short by a right-wing assassin on April 10, 1993, just over a year before South Africans voted in our first democratic elections. 

Other contemporaries who are roughly the same age include Pallo Jordan, who turned 75 on May 22, and Mavuso Msimang, who will turn 76 on October 19. 

It is interesting to look at this group to see how things turned out differently for men who were the best of comrades during their years in the Struggle. 

Hani was deprived of an opportunity to accomplish greatness in South Africa, Mbeki went on to tarnish his good name as president, due to some bad decisions and misguided loyalties, but this was nothing compared to what Zuma has “achieved” as president. Some of his critics blame Zuma for the demise of the ANC and warn that the party may lose the 2019 elections if there is a perception Zuma is still in control, even if not as president of the ANC. There are even people who want Mbeki to make a comeback. They have obviously forgotten the criticism they bestowed on him when he was Number 1.

Jordan went into hiding after his lack of a doctorate was exposed, while Msimang surfaced as one of Zuma’s most vocal critics, part of the group of ANC stalwarts, demanding leadership change in the organisation. 

Leadership will be top of mind for everyone at the ANC’s policy conference this weekend, although, officially, ANC members are not meant to discuss this publicly. 

It is difficult to speculate what Hani would have said about the current state of national politics but, I suspect, his views would probably have been closer to Msimang’s. Hani was committed to the ANC, led by Oliver Tambo, who would have turned 100 in October this year, and would have been upset at how legitimate demands and political slogans were debased as they are now used to promote the interests of a faction in the ANC.

Whether this faction is truly committed to tackling white monopoly capital and radically transform the economy, is debatable. 

Because this faction appears to have taken ownership of these terms, others are not engaging with them meaningfully, leading to a situation where nobody is taking the transformation of our economy, and our society, seriously. 

Talk of transformation, so far, has only been hot air. If we had proper transformation in our society, and particularly our economy, we would not see headlines about the huge gap between the earnings of South African chief executives compared to what they pay workers. According to a report this week, some chief executives earn up to 500 times more than the lowest paid workers in their companies.

I have no problem with chief executives earning huge salaries, but it must be reward for good work and they must lead in a way which empowers their staff. The best leaders are not those who try to accrue capital and benefits only for themselves, but those who believe that sharing in a more equitable manner with their workers will lead to a situation where everyone will earn more. There are some people in South Africa who still have misguided notions of the communism espoused by people like Hani. They focus unnecessarily on the notion of communists being non-believers.

I would like to think that someone like Hani believed in humanity, equality and justice, and that is good enough for me. I will gladly take a pro-poor non-believer over an oppressive believer any day. There are some good non-believers in the same way as there are bad believers (just think about apartheid). Ultimately, we should judge people on their actions as opposed to their words.

Let’s celebrate Hani’s life but let us also commit ourselves to creating a society where everyone will be treated as roughly equal. I don’t think that is communism. It is just doing what is right.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 1 July 2017)

Aunty Hilda was a hero, and should be honoured

THE name Hilda Paulsen is not as well-known as many as that of many others who contributed to the struggle for democracy. But to many people who lived in Mitchells Plain, and particularly Eastridge, in the 1980s, she was a hero who dedicated her life to improving the lives of people around her.

(Please note that I use the word hero because I do not believe there should be gender distinctions for bravery.)

Mrs Paulsen, as we all knew her, lived in Eastridge and was my main contact person in the area when I was sent to organise the community in the early 1980s. Her small house became our head-quarters where all pamphlets and Grassroots community newspaper copies were delivered before we gave them out door to door.

She represented the area on all kind of committees, such as the Cape Areas Housing Action Committee and the structures of the United Democratic Front. She was one of the many ordinary working-class people who dedicated their time and energy to helping us overcome apartheid by engaging in community campaigns for lower rent and electricity payments, for a hospital in Mitchells Plain, and supporting worker and student struggles.

Her daughter, Marlene, was as involved as her while her son, who later converted to Islam and became known as Mogamad Nazier, was at high school and an interested observer of what we were doing. I would like to believe that he drew some inspiration from the activities of his mother and sister which inspired his later involvement in community organisations and finally the Economic Freedom Fighters, which he now represents in Parliament.

I moved out of Mitchells Plain in the early 1990s – to Durban and Johannesburg – and lost touch with many of the people in Mitchells Plain. Mrs Paulse had also moved out to Crawford, which is around the corner from where I now live.

I can’t recall the last time I saw Mrs Paulsen, but I bumped into Marlene a few times, the most recent being at the Cape Town International Jazz Festival, and she asked me when I was going to visit her mother. She told me that her mother had become blind but would definitely recognise my voice. I promised I would visit soon, but kept on delaying it, mainly because of my work and travel schedule. But I kept on saying to my wife that I needed to visit Mrs Paulsen.

On Wednesday this week, I heard that Mrs Paulsen had passed away. She was 82. I never kept my promise to visit her and I could not go and see the family immediately because I am up in Gauteng until the end of this week.

On Monday, I received a call from another woman who lives in Eastridge and she told me about how the creche in Leadwood Road, where we often held community meetings, had fallen into disrepair. She asked me to see whether there was anyone in my corporate network who would be prepared to assist them with funding because otherwise the creche would have to close. She pointed out that she does not get paid to work at the creche.

I thought about Mrs Paulse then and, if I had been in Cape Town, I would probably have gone to visit her immediately. But I also thought about the structures we had set up in the 1980s and the people who were involved. Many of these people are now despondent that the future we thought we were building has not been realised.

Some, like Willie Simmers, continues to make a difference in Mitchells Plain through the Mitchells Plain Advice Office, which has also been struggling to make ends meet for many years. Willie is now in his late seventies and, as far as I know, still volunteers his services to the advice office.

From time to time, we bump into former activists at funerals or memorial services. Many of them no longer find themselves in the ANC, which would have been their natural home after their time in the UDF in the 1980s. The energy levels might no longer be there, but their commitment remains to make our country different to the one in which we grew up.

Most of them, like Hilda Paulsen, have not been acknowledged for their contribution and have never asked for any acknowledgement. The only thing many would have wanted was for our country to be close to what we thought it was becoming: a non-racial, non-sexist democracy in which everyone would have equal access to education, housing, health, justice and employment opportunities, among others.

They would have wanted to play with their grandchildren knowing that South Africa now offered much greater opportunities to them.

Unfortunately, while South Africa today is very different to what we went through under apartheid, there still remains a lot of work to be done to get us even close to what we thought we were fighting for. Yes, it is up to the young people to take the struggle forward, but we cannot afford to let people like Hilda Paulsen pass on without us tapping into their wisdom.

I regret not having the opportunity to see Aunty Hilda in her final years, but I know that she will forgive me. After all, forgiveness is one of the key lessons we have learnt in the struggle in order for us to move forward. But I would have loved to ask her what she thought about the situation in our country and what needed to be done.

Rest in peace, dear comrade. Your journey has not been in vain.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 24 June 2017)

Benni can reignite local interest in the beautiful game

Ryland Fisher is excited about the relaunched Cape Town City and the appointment of Hanover Park-born Benni McCarthy as coach.

For many young boys of my generation, who lived on the Cape Flats, soccer was an important part of our lives. Many of us played soccer, either in the Saturday or Sunday leagues - some in both, even though technically this was not allowed - and we had formal practices a few times a week. On the other days, we could be found playing soccer on one of the open pieces of land near the blocks of flats where we lived.

It was a way of keeping ourselves occupied and helped to keep many of my peers away from the gangs which infested such a huge part of our community.

Support for local soccer has always been big and, over weekends, dozens of people, sometimes even hundreds, would stand on the side lines to watch us play. They would not only be parents who were forced to watch us, as happens with lots of sporting activity in the wealthier suburbs, but would include many people for whom this would be a rare entertainment activity.

Soccer supporters were mostly fairly knowledgeable and would encourage their teams to do whatever was needed to do to win. They would normally take umbrage at refereeing that they considered to be below par, which was most of the time.

The support for local soccer has never really transferred to the PSL teams and stadiums remain largely empty when our professional teams play, unless it is against teams such as Kaizer Chiefs or Orlando Pirates when the stadium is filled with supporters of the teams from Gauteng.

Part of the reason for the lack of support could be blamed on economics - you can watch local amateur soccer for free but having to pay to watch professional soccer, even if it is only R20 or R30, can be hard on the pocket and has to compete with bread, milk and airtime, which, for some people, has become as great a necessity as staple foods.

There are some people who argue that Kaizer Chiefs supporters seem to find the money to support their team, wherever they play in the country, but this is not something that requires a cash injection week after week.

The big teams visit every couple of months, at most. Support for local soccer is going to depend on people being prepared to part with their cash on a near weekly basis.

I was very excited when I heard about the launch (or should that be relaunch) of Cape Town City. I grew up supporting the old Cape Town City and my father used to take me to watch them play at Hartleyvale when it was still a soccer stadium. When I became politically aware, I started supporting Santos, which competed in the non-racial league.

My support for the new Cape Town City has very little to do with what they’ve done on the field, although that has been impressive.

My enthusiasm was linked to some of the things the team said it would do, and what it did at the outset.

One of these things was to identify soccer stalwarts, not only from the PSL but also those who supported anti-apartheid sport, and offer them free entry to their games. They spoke about taking soccer to the people.

The appointment of Benni McCarthy as their head coach, despite his not having coaching experience, is another good move.

Let me declare my conflict upfront: I am a proud product of Hanover Park, a place which is always in the news for the wrong reasons but which has given to our community leaders in many areas of society, not only in sport and entertainment.

McCarthy is, of course, a product of those amateur leagues that are so popular on the Cape Flats but he was noticed by professional scouts at a young age, going on to become Bafana Bafana’s most prolific goal scorer.

I am sure he will make us proud and hopefully convince more people that they should part with their hard-earned cash to support local professional soccer.

Years ago, I learnt that people who succeed in life also want vindication from the people with whom they grew up or who live in their home towns. I have worked with at least two internationally-acclaimed South African musicians who shared with me the same story about how they wished they could have the same acclaim locally as they enjoyed abroad.

McCarthy has an opportunity to wriggle himself back into the hearts of people from all over Cape Town who may have begun to forget his achievements on the soccer field. He can also be the catalyst for reigniting interest in local professional soccer.

As we celebrate Youth Month, apart from sorting out pertinent issues such as unemployment and a lack of opportunities for young people, we need to pay more attention to the things that interest our youth. Sport, in particular soccer, and music are two of those things. It is a pity that the government and many corporates do not seem to realise the importance of the stuff that feeds our soul, such as sport and music.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 17 June 2017)

Keeping kids safe is everyone's responsibility

WE HAVE almost reached the end of Child Protection Week but for most children in South Africa, it has not made any difference to their lives. Of course, the protection of children and others who are vulnerable in our society should not be the focus for only a week, or even a month. It should be something that we focus on every day of the year.

The protection of children is also something that should not be the preserve of government or law-enforcement agencies. It is something for which all of us, especially parents, should take responsibility.

The dangers to our children are not new. They have been around forever. They were there when I was young, more than 50 years ago.

When I visit townships on the Cape Flats and look at the hundreds of unsupervised young children playing and walking around, I often reflect that I used to be one of them. I used to play unsupervised. I used to wander all over Hanover Park without my parents having a clue where I had spent my day.

Every year, we host a concert in town as part of the One City, Many Cultures Cape Town Festival. We bus in people from several Cape Flats communities to experience the concert for free. This year, for the first time, I noticed that most of the people who come on the buses are unsupervised children. Clearly, their parents see a bus trip to town as a way of keeping their children occupied for the day. At the end of the day, when the buses return home, I often wonder if any of the children have been left behind.

It is easy to blame parents for being negligent when children suffer harm in the townships. Surely, they should be aware of where their children are, one often hears people say, people who have not walked in the shoes of a township single mother who has to work to feed her family, or of a couple who both have to work because the wages of one will not be enough to care for their children.

In most cases, parents are not able to afford day care, so schools become a place where you deposit your children for safekeeping and, after school, you hope that they stay off the streets and will be safe. You trust any adult to look after your children, even if your gut tells you that you shouldn’t.

Most parents want the same thing for their children and would never want any harm to come to them. But we do not live in a perfect society, so some children will always be in more danger than others, especially in poor areas such as those on the Cape Flats.

Both my parents had to work, so my siblings and I were left to our own devices most of the time. Sometimes my mother would take me (the youngest of five children) with her to work, especially when she worked as a domestic worker, but when she worked in a more formal environment, like a clothing factory, she was not able to take me with her. 

If my mother saw or knew some of the people with who I used to hang out as a child of less than 10 years old, she would be shocked.

My sisters, who are two and four years older than me, were given the responsibility of looking after me while my parents were at work, but it is an unreasonable responsibility to give to young girls.

In township homes, young girls have to grow up quickly to take responsibility to look after their younger siblings. The same kind of pressure is not normally placed on boys.

I’m glad that the President has given so much attention to Elsies River over the past few weeks, visiting the area twice after the brutal killing of three-year-old Courtney Pieters, whose lifeless body was found in a shallow grave in nearby Epping, less than two weeks after she disappeared from her home. Mortimer Saunders, 40, has been arrested and charged with raping and murdering the young girl. He lived in a room in the family’s small home.

There are many other communities on the Cape Flats where crime is as much of a problem as in Elsies River and where the residents are looking at the President’s actions with interest.

The crime problems besetting our townships will not disappear with a R10 000 donation and the promise of a house to a bereaved family, no matter how good the intentions. The problems are multifaceted and complicated.

I would like to give the President the benefit of the doubt and say that he is genuinely concerned about what has happened in Elsies River and probably also in other parts of the Cape Flats. What he needs to do now is to engage with community leaders and other interested parties from throughout the Cape Flats and talk to them what can be done to eradicate, and at the very least reduce, the violence that is paralysing many of these communities.

Crime on the Cape Flats will only be eradicated if everyone works together – the police, communities, civil society organisations, churches, business people and others. We owe it to our children, and the generations to come, to make sure our townships are no longer places of fear.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 3 June 2017)

If you have money, you can do whatever you want

The Spur scuffle, lack of black representation on the JSE, land restitution and water restrictions: There is an economic threat that runs through all these incidents, writes Ryland Fisher.

Cape Town – One of the things that always surprises me about South Africans is how astonished or outraged we are by something we should have expected as a natural response to something that happened previously.

For instance, did we really think that the apparently racist and sexist incident in a Spur franchise in Johannesburg, where a white man insulted and verbally assaulted a black woman, would have no repercussions? The incident apparently began after what looked like a scuffle between children in the restaurant’s play area. The man, from Orkney in the North West, was subsequently banned from Spur restaurants countrywide.

Since then there has been something of a right-wing backlash against Spur’s response and the punishment meted out to the offending patron. It seems some white people have been boycotting Spur in droves, impacting seriously on the franchise restaurant group’s profitability – at least in branches that used to be supported mainly by a certain demographic.

I don’t begrudge anyone the right to decide where they want to buy their steaks, but incidents like these make me realise how much wealth is still concentrated in the wrong hands in South Africa.

I thought about this saga this week when I read articles about the lack of black representation on the Johannesburg Securities Exchange, the Department of Labour’s struggle to get companies to comply with employment equity regulations, continuing battles about land restitution and water restrictions in the Western Cape.

All of these things are related, although this might not be initially obvious.

There is an economic threat that runs through them all. This means that people with money will not hesitate to use it to get their way.

It’s amazing how many white people will oppose anything that could potentially impact on their pockets without thinking about how the money ended up in their pockets in the first place.

Most white people still benefit from laws and procedures put in place during apartheid and colonialism and they will continue to benefit for the foreseeable future, unless something drastic is done to redress this situation.

The other day I was reading a story about a supposed whizz kid who bought, renovated and sold his first property when he was 21 years old.

I thought that he was definitely not from my old neighbourhood because, where I come from, nobody has money to buy property at that young age, and often not even at an older age.

Yes, he was able to go on to build a successful business, but he would not have been able to do this without the help he received at the beginning, help that in most cases is not available for people of a different demographic.

Companies on the JSE will continue to conduct business in the same way as they have always done, because they have enough money to pay fines if they do not comply. In the same way, companies that do not comply with employment equity legislation will just buy their way out of trouble.

Because they can.

Many white people who own large tracts of land will not want to give up any of that land and are not even concerned about how they became the land owners in the first place. They will use their economic muscle to prevent giving up land for as long as they can.

The same principle applies to many other areas of society. For instance, there are people who do not mind how many traffic fines they receive and they do not change their driving behaviour because of fines. In fact, they just pay and move on. Because they can.

The Western Cape is facing one of its biggest crises at the moment – lack of water. There are many people who probably do not even think about the implications of fines for using excessive amounts of water. They will just pay the fines and continue to waste water. Because they can.

Granted, not only white people have money in South Africa. Thanks to black economic empowerment and the relationships that some previously-disadvantaged black people have developed with previously and currently advantaged benefactors, there are quite a few black people who now fit in the middle class, with some even fitting into the upper class.

One of the things many of the nouveau rich will probably have learnt by now is that, while money can’t buy you happiness or love (if you have to believe the Beatles), it can probably buy you just about anything else.

It is untenable for South Africa to continue on the current trajectory where poverty, unemployment and inequality are meant to live side by side with so much blatant wealth in the hands of a few. We will never be able to have a truly free South Africa as long as this situation is allowed to continue.

The wealth in our country needs to be distributed more equally, and not only to the elite, whether they are black or white. This is not radical economic transformation or whatever the government is calling it today. It is common sense.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 27 May 2017)

It takes more than a hashtag to end violence

While men will never truly be able to understand the struggles of women, we can play a role in stopping gender violence, writes Ryland Fisher.

Women have always played a major role in my life. Being the youngest of five children, I was close to my mother and interacted mainly with my two sisters because of the age gap between my brothers and me.

For most of my adult life, I have lived with my wife and three daughters. At some point, I even had four female cats. But I digress.

In many ways, these experiences have sensitised me to women’s issues, but I can never ever claim to be able to understand what women are going through in our society.

The recent reported spate of violent, if not brutal, incidents against women occupied much of my thoughts this week.

I’ve used the word “reported” because I believe that women throughout South Africa suffer violent abuse on a daily basis but most of these incidents are never reported in the media.

It often takes something outrageous - like the horrendous killing of a beautiful young woman, allegedly by her boyfriend - to grab the attention of the media.

I keep on asking myself: What is wrong with our society that we allow acts such as these to happen? And, what can we - men and women - do to stop this?

“What is wrong with us” is probably easier to answer than “What can we do about it”.

It is easy to blame apartheid for much of what remains wrong with our society today, and there are people who roll their eyes when one does that. “How can you still talk about apartheid 23 years after we have become a democracy?” they ask.

But apartheid is still very much with us, and not only in the dormitory townships that will take generations to undo, or the huge number of skilled and unskilled people unable to find work, often because they happen to be the wrong skin colour.

The most damaging thing apartheid did to our society was to dehumanise most of our people. It is easy to discriminate against people if you consider them less than human. So, when police went into townships and beat up protesters, they could do this without feeling anything for the people they were beating up. In their minds, they were not beating up people, because only whites qualified to be people.

When security police had a braai after burning the body of an anti-apartheid activist, they could do so without feeling any irony because, in their minds, they considered the anti-apartheid activist to have been less than human.

And when these same policemen went home at night, dined with their families, read their children bedtime stories and kissed them goodnight, they did not think about the impact of what they did during the day because they only “took care” of sub-humans.

Throughout society we create pyramids or ladders, in which we attach more importance to some people than to others; and how much respect we accord you depends on where you find yourself on this pyramid. In many cases, women are at the bottom end. Women are meant to respect men, but men are not necessarily expected to respect women.

Unfortunately, there are many people, not only men, who think women are lesser beings than men. Often, this is what they learn through religious teachings. This is probably one of the reasons why some people think it is normal for a man to “put a woman in her place”.

Have you ever seen a women colleague with a black eye, which she claimed happened when she fell against the stairs? Or have you ever heard the noise from a neighbouring flat where clearly a woman is being beaten by her partner, and yet did nothing about it? This is not unusual but it makes you party to abuse.

My advice to my daughters and to other women I know has always been: if he starts abusing you, even if not physically at first, it is time to move on. Don’t ever believe that he will change and things will improve.

It was not a mistake that he hit you and he will probably do it again, and maybe even more severely. Your best defence against abuse is to get out of the relationship and to report the abuse, even if we know the police often do nothing about it.

As a man, I have a duty to be respectful towards everyone around me, especially women.

While I can never assume the right to protect women - that would be condescending in a way - I can help create awareness among other men about the rights of women. I can speak out when I suspect abuse, and report it if necessary, and I can try to show women that there are some men who care.

While men will never truly be able to understand the struggles of women, we can play a role in stopping gender violence - and we do not have to wait for 16 days in December to do so. Now is as good a time as any to start, but it needs to go beyond a hashtag.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 20 May 2017) 

Mother's Day is a time for me to reflect and respect

MY MOTHER passed away more than 30 years ago and it still seems like yesterday when she was around. I don’t need a special day to think about her but, I guess, all the noise that is made around Mother’s Day does assist in making her top of mind at this time of the year.

I was fortunate that for most of my growing up years, I had my mother and father around, expect for a brief period when my parents were separated and my father took my two older brothers with him and my mother took me (the baby) and my two sisters with her.

They lived apart for a few months until we got news one day that we had been successful in getting a rental council house in Hanover Park. This was the first time my family had a home to call our own and it allowed us to be together once again. Later, we were able to buy a house in Mitchells Plain which, I suppose, was a logical development for our family.

Maybe one day I will write more about this period and all the things that went on then but, for now, I want to focus on my mother and what she meant to me.

There are certain perks to being a boy, and the youngest at that, when it comes to mothers. Mothers always seem to have a soft spot for their boys. I still see it with my women friends and their boys. It is like boys can do nothing wrong in the eyes of their mothers.

I saw it many times when I was a young reporter writing about gangsterism on the Cape Flats. I have yet to meet anybody who died in gang violence who was a gangster, at least in the eyes of their mothers. Their sons always remained innocent to them. This is not to say that innocent people do not die in gang violence; too many do.

I remember the jealousy of especially my sisters when we were growing up, because they felt I was being spoiled by my mother, and how they took “revenge” on me when she was not around. I also remember how my brother forced me to fight against other boys in an attempt to “toughen” me up. I suppose he believed that it was not enough to have a tough character, but that you needed to be tough physically as well.

The role of mothers, especially in the rough neighbourhoods of the Cape Flats, are not always acknowledged properly. In most cases they are the glue that keeps families together. They are also the ones who have the most influence on their children.

In an environment where there are thousands of errant fathers, who do not take responsibility for their children, the role of mothers become even more important in guiding their children and influencing their life choices.

A few weeks ago we were at a family wedding in Mitchells Plain and taking pictures in Westridge Gardens, when my sister noticed a young man walking with his son. She said that it was strange to see young men taking responsibility for their children in Mitchells Plain. I had assumed that it would be the norm for young men to do that.

My mother was not educated in the traditional sense. In fact, she worked sometimes as a domestic worker and sometimes in a factory.

But I refuse to call her uneducated because she knew the value of education and tried to instil this knowledge in her children. I suppose, because I was the youngest, it was easier to instil this in me. She encouraged me to read with the result that, when I went to primary school (we did not have the option to go to pre-primary or day-care in those days) I could already read books meant for children in higher grades. My love for reading continues to this day.

My mother also instilled in me the value of tolerance, something that I struggled with at first. Now, as an adult, I see why it is important to be tolerant towards those who are perceived to be different to you.

But the most important lesson that I learned from my mother is to respect women, all women. I saw the way she and other women were struggling to raise their children against incredible odds, and yet they carried on without complaining.

This made me determine to teach my three daughters, who could become mothers themselves someday, not to depend on men for their survival and success. I realised that, if my mother had not struggled like she did and had access to resources that many in my friendship circle take for granted, she might have been able to make a much bigger impact on society and the world.

I am glad that she was able to impact on my world. I hope that I will be able to pay homage to her by making sure that I will continue to promote and share the values that she introduced to me – without even realising it. Those values have served me well and continue to serve me well.

Happy Mother’s Day.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 13 May 2017)

Making a difference is what counts, not skin colour

ONE of my mentors in journalism was Mike Norton. We met while I was volunteering at Grassroots community newspaper in about 1980 and I would later replace him on the fulltime staff.

Mike did not talk much about himself but I learnt that he had worked at one of the papers in Johannesburg and was jailed in the 1970s for refusing to reveal his sources. At that time, journalists could be jailed for six months for refusing to reveal their sources. As far as I could ascertain, Mike was the first or the only person to have been jailed in this way. While we were often threatened with this law, it was hardly ever used.

If you try to Google Mike Norton, you will not find much about him, but he was one of my heroes.

I often wondered how someone like Mike, who worked at one of the big newspapers in Johannesburg, came to work at a small community newspaper like Grassroots. But I did not complain. I learnt a lot from him and, between the two of us, we helped members of political youth groups, who were interested in media, to understand the intricacies of newspaper design and production.

We often worked late into the night at Grassroots. I was employed at a paper called the Cape Herald at the time and remember going to work at the Grassroots office after hours. Quite often, Mike and I would run to Cape Town railway station – and Mike could not run – at around 10pm to catch the last train to Mitchells Plain.

We also worked together on anti-apartheid organisations in Mitchells Plain and, just the other day, I saw a picture in my collection at home of the two of us, with Neville van der Rheede, representing Mitchells Plain at a United Democratic Front general council meeting. It must have been in 1984 or 1985.

I am not sure when Mike died, but I think it was in the late 1980s. One of the things I remember from his funeral in Westridge, Mitchells Plain, was the presence of a few white people who did not look like comrades. They looked just like ordinary white people (if there is something like this). It turned out that they were Mike’s family and that was the first time that I realised Mike was white.

I thought about Mike a few times over the past few weeks. At the end of March, I participated in a debate on race and human rights at Stellenbosch University and one of the panellists spoke about how she, as a white person, felt about issues of race. I thought about Mike, who never identified himself as white or black, but just got on with the business of opposing apartheid.

I felt disappointed that this young woman felt that she had to contextualise her contribution to the debate and to society by virtue of her skin colour.

But I suppose that is just the way things are nowadays. Everything we do is coaxed in racial categorisation. So, when people decide to march against the President, the assumption is that they are white and, because they are white, they must be racist.

I remember feeling uncomfortable a few years ago when Julius Malema (then ANC Youth League president) attacked Jeremy Cronin who had made a huge contribution to the Struggle years before Malema was even a twinkle in his father’s eye. It was clear that Malema felt that, as a black person, he had the right to say whatever he wanted to any white person, irrespective of that person’s credentials.

I thought about Mike again when I saw the stories a week or two ago about the visit to South Africa by Rachel Dolezal, the American white woman who pretended to be black and who now calls herself transracial.

Mike was different to Dolezal because he never pretended to be black. He just never spoke about being black or white. Dolezal purposefully set out to convince people that she was black and even rose high up in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.

There are many whites who supported apartheid and who now claim to have never known about apartheid. There are also many whites who hate blacks and take great joy in the government’s failures because it fulfils their prophecy of the ineptitude of blacks in general.

But not all white people fall in either of these categories. There are many white people who, like Mike Norton, just want to make a difference to our society and turn it into the better place that the ANC promised us since we voted for the first time in 1994. There were many such white people who were involved in the Struggle and there are many still today.

We need to get to a point once again where it does not matter what your race is, but whether you are prepared to make a meaningful contribution to uplifting poor people in our society. Frankly, I have met many black people who talk a lot but do nothing. I would prefer a white person who acts over one of these black people any day. I suppose now I am going to be called a racist, but that’s okay. I’m just thinking aloud.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 6 May 2017)

Workers' Day should be about more than just organised workers

ON Monday, May 1, we celebrate International Workers’ Day, our last holiday for at least six weeks - which is a long time considering the slew of holidays we have had in the past few weeks.

I intentionally included the word “international” because South Africans sometimes forget to contextualise our struggle as part of what is happening in the world.

Workers’ Day, also known as May Day in some quarters, began in the US and some other countries in the 1800s when workers demanded an eight-hour working day.

The situation in South Africa was very different then, as we were still grappling with colonialism and the after-effects of slavery at the time, especially in the Cape.

Slavery was abolished only on December 1, 1834.

In the Struggle years, we unofficially celebrated May Day on May 1, when we remembered the contribution of workers and their representative organisations.

It only became a legal public holiday when South Africa became a democracy, although there were some employers who had given their staff the day off since the late 1980s.

Today the situation in South Africa is different, even though it is probably more in tune with what is happening in the rest of the world.

We are very much part of the global village and are afflicted with all the ills that exist elsewhere.

I could not help thinking, as I read about the row over the president’s (non-)attendance at Cosatu’s big May Day celebration, how what constitutes the working class has changed, and wondering whether, as we believed, the organised working class should still be at the apex of our struggle.

Before you accuse me of going soft in the head, I am merely thinking aloud which, I suppose, I am allowed in this column.

The reason for my question relates to the changes in South Africa over the years, where the number of people who qualify to be organised has dwindled significantly.

There are many people nowadays who are not employed. The official figure is around 26%, but it is probably higher.

There have been attempts to organise unemployed workers, but it is difficult because unemployed workers do not have the means to pay membership fees - which is often the lifeblood of representative organisations - but, if they are lucky, unemployment should be a temporary state.

It is easier to organise boilermakers or food workers because they are likely to be in their industries for a long time. If our economy improves, the membership of potential unemployed workers’ unions should decrease significantly.

But then there are also the people who are employed in companies or situations where it is difficult to organise.

Much has been made about the ability of small-to-medium enterprises to create employment.

Most of the people who work in these enterprises never get to belong to unions, either because their companies are too small to be unionised or the workers are too scared to be unionised for fear of losing their jobs.

In a situation where jobs are as scarce as they are in South Africa, many people believe it is more important to hold on to your job than to express working class solidarity by becoming unionised and potentially getting involved in strikes, which could lead to losing your job.

A generous estimate is that about 4million people belong to the various trade union federations and independent unions in South Africa. This means the majority of people who would be considered working class are not unionised and will probably never be unionised, because they fall outside of industries targeted by unions, because they are in companies considered too small to be organised, or because they are unemployed.

When one considers society is much bigger than people who belong to organised formations, whether these are unions or political parties, one should think of ways of gauging their opinions at all times when taking decisions about democracy.

The ANC is right that South Africans have voted them into power nationally, in most provinces and in most municipalities. But that does not mean that only the voices of the ANC’s roughly 700000 membership should matter in the debates going on about our democracy at the moment.

Each of the more than 30million people who are eligible to vote would feel that their voices should be heard in the current debates - irrespective of where they placed their crosses the last time.

How they are treated now might determine where they place their crosses in 2019.

South Africa is about much more than membership of political parties, just like Workers’ Day should be about more than organised workers.

As those of us who are privileged to have regular incomes celebrate our rights tomorrow, we need to also think about the people who do not have this privilege and how we are going to make sure that they have the right to enjoy it in future.

(First publshed as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 29 April 2017)

Freedom stumbles in delivering a better life for all

With all the political and economic upheaval of the past few weeks, it is easy to forget that we are celebrating 23 years of our democracy next Thursday. Officially it is called Freedom Day but we have learned over the past 23 years that “freedom” is a bit of a misnomer. Maybe it should have been called Political Freedom Day, because economic freedom is still far from being a reality for most South Africans.

But Freedom Day – to use its official title – is a good time to reflect on how far we have come as a nation and how far we still have to go.

There is no doubt that South Africa is a better place to live in today than it was under apartheid. You cannot compare a system that oppressed the majority of South Africans – often brutally – with one in which we have the freedom to speak our minds, no matter how disgusting our views might be.

We now have different ways of dealing with what could be construed as offensive views, and not just detention without trial or bannings.

Having been the victim of detention without trial and working at publications that were routinely banned, especially as apartheid were sighing its last gasps, I can bear witness to the fact that it is a much better environment in which to work as a journalist and commentator.

The challenges today are different for journalists – nowadays we are challenged by shrinking staff and juniorisation of newsrooms. In some newsrooms, we are also faced with the rapidly disappearing Chinese wall between editorial and advertising, making it sometimes difficult to ascertain what is news and what has been paid for.

Our Constitution guarantees most human rights and our courts have not been shy to perform their duty to hold those in power to account for their abuses. We also have vibrant civil society organisations, many of whom would have been closed by now already under apartheid.

But while rights are good and necessary, they mean very little to people whose lives have not changed in an economic sense since the days of apartheid.

Most South Africans still live in under-resourced townships where there appears to be a different reality and a different set of rules to that which govern the inner-city areas and the suburbs.

I grew up in some of these townships and most of my family still live in them. For many people in these townships, apartheid might as well never have ended.

They still struggle to find decent work, their schools appear to be sausage-making machines that provide a place where you can send your children for 12 years and hope that they come out with a decent education, which often does not happen.

As a result of the bad foundational education, young people struggle when they go to universities – that is if they are lucky to find bursaries to pay for tertiary education.

But most young people who live in these townships end up going to work after spending some time at school. The reality is that most of those who enter the primary school system do not go on to high school and most of those who enter high school, do not complete matric.

In an economy where growth is slow, and where graduates often struggle to find work, imagine how difficult it must be to find work if you did not even complete your primary or high school education. No wonder in many of these townships, you will find hundreds of able-bodied young men standing on street corners, in between badly-build houses, without any hope of ever finding work.

But there are other realities for people who live in the townships, which are often far away from the city centres or industrial areas which means a dependence on reasonably-priced and efficient public transport.

While middle-class people can always use Uber or Taxify if they have a transport problem, poor people are left at the mercy of a Metrorail system that is mostly inefficient, a taxi industry that can politely be described as volatile and a bus industry not immune to untimely and inconvenient work stoppages.

Imagine the impact of the recent bus strike on people who depend on buses to go home over the long weekend to see their families, who they only see at Easter and/or Christmas.

Radical economic transformation, the term that is being used as a vote-catcher by certain people in the ANC ahead of the elective conference in December, means nothing to people on the Cape Flats whose lives have not changed in the past 23 years.

It will only mean something if people see a significant improvement in their lives and those of their families. We can no longer continue to have these different realities in South Africa. The rich cannot sleep easily while the poor go hungry. It is up to those with resources to find ways of making a difference in poor communities. It should not only be up to government to improve the lives of poor people so that they can also celebrate what the rest of us call freedom.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 22 April 2017)

Zuma's detractors are not necessarily all racists

There is a scenario that often plays itself out in South Africa. A black person who is unable to argue against another person, probably white, decides to use the race card as her defence. There is another scenario that plays itself out around election times, not only in South Africa, but throughout the world, where politicians, in their desire to increase their support base, reverts to group identity in an attempt to turn their supporters against others who might be perceived to be different.

I was thinking about these two scenarios this week, a week in which we saw some significant shifts in power relations in South Africa and the re-emergence of what we used to call “people’s power” in the 1980s when we were trying to bring apartheid to its knees.

Last Friday’s countrywide protests against President Jacob Zuma was dwarfed in Tshwane by the march on Wednesday organised by opposition parties, with especially the Economic Freedom Fighters supporters, in their customary red uniforms, coming out in their thousands.

Zuma’s camp, because that is what government has effectively become in many ways, tried to counter the damage of the biggest protests seen in our democracy, by using the memorial for Chris Hani, the SACP leader who was killed 24 years ago, and a 75th birthday party in Soweto on Wednesday, where Zuma could speak comfortably, without having to fear being interrupted by rowdy protesters.

But his supporters saw nothing wrong with doing some disruption of their own last Sunday when members of the ANC Youth League turned a memorial for the late ANC stalwart Ahmed Kathrada in Durban into a rowdy affair where speakers who appear to be critical of the President were drowned out. This was despite a court ordering the Youth League not to be disruptive.

But when your principal, the President, continuously ignores court orders and makes spurious remarks about the judiciary, then that almost gives the ANC Youth League and his other supporters the right to ignore the law, or even worse, break it at will.

It is clear to me, as a concerned South African, that the President and his supporters in the ANC have chosen to go down the path of dividing South Africans. Why else would they blame everything on “white monopoly capital” and “white racists”. It is irresponsible for the President to try to create a situation where all white people are perceived as racist.

The President’s men and women seemed to have calculated that, if they consolidate their base of ANC supporters in KwaZulu-Natal, that would be enough to carry them through the ANC’s elective conference. But winning at the ANC’s elective conference in December does not mean that the ANC will win the general election in 2019.

If the protests of the past week are anything to go by, the ANC should be very afraid of losing their majority in the national government and some provinces come 2019. I don’t know if the ANC is ready to be in opposition, so soon after our supposed liberation.

In a situation like this, the ANC would do well to ask what went wrong and why, and not to strengthen the walls of their bunkers, but to engage with society on ways of getting out of the mess in which we find ourselves.

How did we go from a very strong and credit-worthy economy to junk status? (Yes, I know it is only two out of three ratings agencies, but it is serious enough already.)

How did we get to a point where President Nelson Mandela used to love interacting with the public, especially children and often impromptu, to one where Parliament has to be barricaded because the President is in the House?

One of the most telling things about the President’s expensive birthday celebrations in the middle of Soweto – at Kliptown where the Freedom Charter was adopted in 1995 – was the presence of his security detail on stage and below the stage. It is clear that he feels that he needs protection even when he is surrounded by people who sing his praises.

I am a stupidly loyal person at the best of times and I have constantly given the President the benefit of the doubt, hoping that eventually he will do the right thing. It is clear that he has no intention of doing this.

The sad thing is that he is dragging the ANC, once Africa’s proudest liberation movement, down with him.

It is sad that there are such serious divisions in our society at the moment, but there is also hope. Hope lies in the fact that the citizens of South Africa – and not only whites – are increasingly deciding that they hold their future in their own hands.

Democracy means much more than just voting every couple of years. Democracy means engaging with all the issues in society, and playing an active part in seeking its resolution.

The President needs to listen to and try to understand the anger of the people. If he did, he would probably understand the reasons for him to step down.

I really and sincerely want to support our President, but cannot do so at the moment. If that makes me a racist, then so be it.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 15 April 2017)