Resolute action needed against women killers

I received a message early on Thursday morning that a young woman I used to work with had been found murdered near her home in Khayelitsha.

I received this news as my family were watching live on television the funeral of Tshegofatsu Pule, the 28-year-old eight-month pregnant woman who was murdered and hanged from a tree in Roodepoort. Her body was discovered on Monday after she went missing last Thursday. She had been stabbed in the chest.

My former colleague’s name was Sibongiseni Hilary Gabada and her end appeared to be even more brutal. She was 34 years old and her decomposed body was found on a field in H-Section, Khayelitsha, near her home at the end of last month. It is not known how long she had been missing because she lived by herself. It appeared her body had been chopped up and placed in a small sports bag.

Sibu had worked with us at the Cape Town Festival for three years as youth festival manager in the early 2000s. The Cape Town Festival was born out of the One City, Many Cultures project which I initiated while I was editor of the Cape Times.

She was a poet, a performing artist and a writer. Over the past decade and a half, she had dabbled in theatre production and event management and, at some point, she worked with the artist known as Zola 7 in Johannesburg. She was also part of the And the World was Women ensemble of women performance poets, a project started by the poet Malika Ndlovu.

I can’t remember the last time I saw Sibu, but it was probably years ago at one of the Monday night poetry jam sessions started by the late Sandile Dikeni at Off Moroka Café Africaine in the Cape Town CBD.

More recently, Sibu, who was known to her family as Nomfazi, had lived in Khayelitsha where she was involved in the Khayelitsha Development Forum.

According to a community newspaper, Sibu’s cousin Buyiselwa called for her murderer to be sentenced to life for the pain he had caused the family.

Watching Tshegofatso Pule’s funeral on television while trying to process the news of Sibu’s death was not easy. Even though we had not seen each other for years, many of us who worked at the Cape Town Festival had become like family and would keep in touch.

But Sibu is also as old as the eldest of my three daughters and I could not help thinking about what must be going through the thoughts of the parents of young women who are so brutally taken away from us.

As a parent, I identified completely with Tshego’s mother when she said at the funeral that she would shoot the man who killed her daughter. I would probably do the same even though I am opposed to violence and have never handled, and never want to handle a gun. The instinct of any parent is to protect your children and most of us would resort to violence if need be.

I thought about the last minutes of these young women – Tshego at 28 and Sibo at 34 – and wondered what kind of society we have become where we allow these kinds of things to happen to women.

It is not only about men not having respect for women or for their lives. It is also about the murderers knowing that they will get away with their crimes, because violence against women does not appear to be a priority for our police.

Government has shown with its response to the coronavirus pandemic that they are able to resolve problems if they put their minds to it. They do not need resources; they only need the will. They need to put an end to gender violence sooner rather than later. We cannot afford to continue mourning young women who lose their lives in such a brutal manner.

Men have a responsibility to speak out against gender-based violence and violence against children, because, inevitably, men are the perpetrators. It does not help when men complain about slogans such as #menaretrash, because clearly we are.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 13 June 2020)

We must learn from history so we don't repeat mistakes

As we prepare for Youth Day on Tuesday, we have to think back to those two fateful days, 16 and 17 June 1976 – 44 years ago – when police shot on unarmed protesters in Soweto, killing hundreds of young people. Their crime was to oppose being taught in Afrikaans.

Soweto 1976, as it became known for many years afterwards, had a profound effect on our country, but also personally on many young people, including me. I was 16 at the time and confronted the political realities of South Africa for the first time. It set me on a path of opposing racism, exploitation, oppression and injustice, which I still do today.

The impact on the country was huge because, for the first time since the banning of liberation organisations in 1960, there was widespread mass defiance in our country. Faced with a repressive state who were not afraid to use their security forces to suppress internal political dissent, many young people from all across the country – as the protest spread like wildfire – left for exile and joined the banned African National Congress or the Pan-Africanist Congress.

What happened in 1976 would influence the protests of the next decade and a half before the Nationalist Party government finally agreed to release political prisoners and begin negotiations to usher in a democracy.

One of the first actions of the new democratic government, which we elected on 27 April 1994, was to rename Soweto Day as Youth Day, which could have had the effect of divorcing the day from its history in an attempt to get us to focus on the issues facing young people in our society today.

But history is important – as with Sharpeville Day which was renamed Human Rights Day in our democracy – because it can remind us where we come from and where we should never go back to.

I was in Standard 8 (Grade 10) at Crystal High School in Hanover Park in 1976 when Albert Fritz, one of our student leaders and now an MEC in the Western Cape government, went from class to class to explain to us what had happened in Soweto. There was no social media at the time. In fact, television was only introduced in South Africa a few months earlier, but most households were too poor to possess a TV set.

The result of Bertie Fritz’s intervention was that our school joined thousands of schools throughout the country protesting in support of the students in Soweto.

Contrary to the attempts of historical revisionists, over the course of about four months, the protests in the Western Cape spread not only in African areas, such as Langa and Nyanga, but also to “coloured” townships such as Elsies River, Bonteheuwel, Grassy Park, Athlone, Heideveld, Ravensmead, Esselen Park in Worcester and many other areas. It also spread to the University of the Western Cape, which was supposed to be for “coloured” students, and the University of Cape Town, which was reserved for whites.

Many of the young people who were involved in the protests in 1976 would have been inspired by the ideas of Steve Biko who promoted black pride in a nonracial context, as opposed to the humiliation suffered by blacks under apartheid. For Biko, blacks had to lead the struggle, but they should not exclude anyone who shared their ideals. Blacks for him meant Africans, Indians and coloureds, a definition which eventually became part of democratic South Africa’s Constitution.

There are many lessons that we can learn from what happened in 1976, lessons that could help us understand our current situation a bit better. These include: young people have the potential to bring about change in society and must lead this process, with support from people with experience; the struggle against racism must be based on a non-racist or, even better, an anti-racist alternative; and populist revisionists should not be allowed to write out of history the contributions of many who sacrificed for our freedom.

We need to learn these lessons so that we do not end up repeating mistakes that could easily have been avoided.

(Specially written as a blog for this website. First published 12 June 2020)

Take a stand against injustice and racism even if it's not trending on social media

In most cases, there is a certain wisdom that comes with old age. This week I enter the realm of old age - I am turning 60 and have been in the media industry for 40 of those - and I hope that I have learnt something from my time spent on this earth.

Two things I have learnt is that history has this nasty habit of repeating itself and nothing in life is as clear as black and white.

There are some stories that repeat themselves on an annual basis, while there are others that are repeated more often. We know that there are going to be murders of innocent people on the Cape Flats every week, we know that drunk drivers, at different times of the year, are going to kill people. We know that, in Cape Town, when it is winter, some areas are going to be flooded and, in summer, there are going to be infernos in informal settlements.

A story like Covid-19 is unique. It has not happened before and this is why everyone is grappling with understanding it and taking proper precautions against it. The fall of the Berlin Wall, the dismantling of the Soviet Union as a world superpower, the destruction of the World Trade Towers in a terrorist attack on 9/11 and the end of apartheid are among the stories that happen once in a lifetime.

Racism and violence against the vulnerable, however, are among those things that happen almost every day and hardly ever get recorded or reported, unless, as in the case of George Floyd in the US, there is a video to show it in all its brutality.

One of the reasons why there has been an international outcry over the killing of Floyd is that, in the days of social media, you can become a journalist just by owning a mobile phone with a camera. Anyone can record anything and distribute it worldwide within minutes using social media.

South Africans have been slow to condemn the killing of Collins Khosa, who was killed by soldiers in his house in Alexandra on April 10, apparently over a beer found in his fridge. The soldiers who were present - and whose names have never been published as far as I could ascertain - were ordered to be suspended by the High Court.

We have been slow to condemn the killing of Petrus Miggles, who was allegedly tasered and beaten with a hammer by police before he died near his home in Ravensmead. We have not expressed outrage over the death of Sibusiso Amos, who was allegedly killed by Ekurhuleni Metro Police and private security during lockdown patrols. We have been mainly quiet about the killing of Adane Emmanuel, who died after being arrested and assaulted by police for allegedly selling illegal cigarettes. All of these incidents happened in March, but have remained under-reported in the media, including on social media.

There are many others who have died during the lockdown and all of them lived in South Africa’s dormitory townships where the government continues to condemn the poorest in our society to lives in hell on earth.

The reasons why we have not displayed the same kind of outrage over the killing of black people in South Africa at the hands of police and soldiers are twofold: most of the police and soldiers are black, making it difficult to accuse them of racism, while none of these incidents have been recorded to be played over and over again on social media.

I am not opposed to anybody taking a stand against racism and authoritarian violence, but these stands must not only depend on what we see on social media or when it is pushed into our faces. Our stands must be rooted in deep principles of opposing injustice because it is happening every day, whether we can see it or not. Otherwise, injustice and racism will never end and history will just keep on repeating itself.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 6 June 2020)

Government is turning a deaf ear

President Cyril Ramaphosa likes to remind us that his is a listening and a caring government.In all his speeches he talks about the value of consultation and reaching consensus in decision making. After the events of the last week, I have to ask: Who has he been listening to? Who has he consulted? With whom has he reached consensus? Who does he and his government care about?

Most of South Africa’s close on 59 million population, especially the more than 26 million registered voters, appeared to have backed the president when he announced the nationwide lockdown almost 70 days ago in an attempt to curb the spread of Covid-19, to give us time to prepare our health resources for when we would inevitably be hardest hit by the pandemic.

There is no doubt that the lockdown worked in the beginning and gave the government valuable time to prepare for the peak of the virus. But in recent weeks, everything seemed to have unravelled.

It appears the government has been listening to certain sectors of society more than others, and even within those sectors, those with traditionally most influence, whether it is through their financial contributions to political campaigns or their influence on the electorate.

It appears not to have listened to the scientists. There have been many grumblings from scientists in the past two- or three weeks for there not to be some truth in claims that some of them have been sidelined.

It appears not to have listened to the parents who are fearful of sending their children back to school when we have not even reached the peak of infections. The Basic Education minister and her advisers seem to believe that children are less likely to get ill. This does not mean that they cannot contract the virus and spread it to their parents and grandparents, who could die because of it, but also spread it much wider in and outside their communities.

The government appears only to have listened to some religious leaders, those who think that religion depends on people congregating in a building. Religion is in your heart. You go to a building to congregate with others.

Maybe the loss of revenue from closed religious buildings is behind the clamour for churches to reopen. Thankfully, there are a few religious leaders and institutions who have decided against reopening their religious buildings as it could potentially lead to the virus spreading even faster. But they are not the religious leaders being listened to.

Everybody agrees that the economy needs to be reopened. But how do you allow the bulk of the workforce to return to work when the public transport system is in such a mess? The government will not be able to monitor taxis properly and they will probably continue to operate at maximum capacity, without any regard for social distancing.

But they appear to be among the people that government listens to. I wish that the government would truly listen: to the millions who are unemployed and the millions more who will join their ranks; to the homeless who have no influence because they don’t have money or unions looking after their interests; to the families who have lost loved ones; to the poor people who are trying to make a living while trying to keep everyone around them alive at the same time.

A listening and caring government does not only listen to those who have money and influence.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 30 May 2020)

Covid-19 can help Africa unite

Amid the cacophony of news about Covid-19, an important public statement by the Academy of Science of South Africa (ASSAf) almost fell through the cracks this week.

The academy describes itself as “the only statutory academy in the country established to provide the government and the public with evidence-based advice on issues of pressing national concern”.

It said some of its members, who come from all scientific disciplines, are advising the government on effective ways of dealing with the pandemic, while others are involved in global vaccine trials to identify treatments for Covid-19.

The ASSAf commended the government for its quick and effective response to the pandemic but said there were three areas where the government could strengthen it.

It wants structures, such as the National Coronavirus Command Council (NCCC), to include in its advisory bodies scientists from a broader range of disciplines; it advises that the NCCC expands its focus to a regional African context; and while it understands that the council has to deal with the immediate crisis, it suggests the government set up a scientific team to advise on the long-term impact on the economy, human settlements, the environment, health care and more.

This was the first time I saw anyone or a body with influence in our country talking about the need to locate the crisis in South Africa within a regional African context.

Laypersons, like myself, sometimes forget that scientists include psychologists, sociologists, anthropologists, economists, social workers, political scientists and historians, and they can help better understand various aspects of the pandemic and in charting the way forward, for after the pandemic.

Whatever solutions we come up with in South Africa, we must see whether it can also be applied to our neighbouring countries and on the continent.

South Africans can be insular and often do not see or think beyond our borders. In fact, many of us don’t see or think beyond our province, our cities or our suburbs.

As many countries on the continent prepare to celebrate Africa Day as a public holiday on Monday, it is important for us to explore our role on the continent, and especially with our neighbours.

Our futures are intertwined. The best, and probably only, solution is to help develop the economies in the neighbouring countries and on the continent.

The ASSAf says: “In normal times, thousands of Africans travel every month between South Africa and the other SADC (Southern African Development Community) states and beyond. It is vital that the regional connectedness of our neighbours is accounted for in the deliberations of the National Coronavirus Command Council.

“We should do so not only because of the regional, integrated character of the public health crisis but as a statement of solidarity with African neighbour states with even more precarious national health systems.”

It believes “the collective expertise of leading scientists from across the African region would fortify a continental response to the pandemic in line with the vision of the African Union”.

I cannot agree more. The crisis has brought many South Africans closer together. It might also help bring us closer to our neighbours and other African countries. Happy Africa Day.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 23 May 2020)

We're divided by class, not race

Sometimes a crisis, like the fight to contain the Covid-19 pandemic, can bring a country together.

Countries such as the US have almost perfected the art of using crises to unite their people.

But South Africa is different. The inequalities in our country are too huge for us to unite against most things, even something as serious as the coronavirus.

The more I think about it, the more I realise we are far from being a “rainbow nation”, as Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela almost willed us to be.

Yes, I know we presented some sort of a united front when we hosted the Fifa World Cup in 2010 - 10 years ago next month. But, if you are completely honest, hosting and winning World Cups did not really bring about significant changes in the lives of most people in South Africa.

I have written columns for many publications over the course of almost 40 years in journalism, and I am never surprised by the response to some of my columns, especially when I write about entitlement and even more so when I associate entitlement with a particular race.

In recent years, I have realised more and more that entitlement is not necessarily based on race any more in South Africa, but that class has replaced race as the main determinant of privilege. Most of my columns are not meant to point fingers at anybody but are trying to help us understand our complex society better.

South Africa is a beautiful country (for some), and it has many opportunities (for some). What I have been arguing for most of my life is that we need to create a society where more people can appreciate the beauty and more people can have access to the opportunities.

The only way to do it is to take from those who have, to give to those who don’t.

This is normally the point when the vitriolic attacks come from people who feel their lifestyles and livelihoods are under attack by those who want to take from them.

South Africa is a hugely unequal society, and there are some privileged people who do not like us to blame apartheid for this. They are probably right: we should blame apartheid and colonialism. After all, we had about six times as many years of colonialism preparing the way for legalised apartheid to put the final nail in black people’s coffins.

While colonialism was almost “sophisticated”, apartheid was ruthless in the way it went about depriving rights - political, social and economic - in pursuit of protecting a small part of the population. We will still spend many years trying to undo the damage caused by apartheid and colonialism.

I thought about this as I listened to President Cyril Ramaphosa speaking to the nation on Wednesday night, and as I read the responses on social media afterwards. It was as if he spoke to two different audiences: one who felt that he said nothing, while the other appreciated his acknowledgement of mistakes and his commitment to do better in this uncertain situation.

I believe in giving our president the benefit of the doubt. I appreciate his dilemma: saving lives while preserving livelihoods. It is not an easy situation and, no matter what he does, he will not be able to please everybody all the time, especially in a nation as divided as South Africa.

I am as frustrated as the next person at having to live under a lockdown. But I am not an expert on what we are dealing with and will be guided by those, like the president, who have access to more expertise, even if it irritates and inconveniences me at times. We shall overcome. The virus. And inequality in South Africa.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 16 May 2020)

Best to choose battles wisely

When we look back at the Covid-19 pandemic one day, we might remember the last week of April and the first week of May 2020 as the period in which many South Africans reached the end of their tolerance levels with the lockdown and the regulations.

It was the first time, after more than five weeks of being in lockdown, that many South Africans started publicly questioning some of the government’s decisions. The questions came from all quarters, but on many social media platforms, some “political commentators” have blamed much of the criticism on the white community who, they have argued, find it difficult to be restricted by a black government.

It would have been wonderful if it were that easy. But nothing in South Africa is ever easy. We all knew the lockdown would test our tolerance levels. It was just a matter of when many of us would snap.

Yes, there has been disproportionate outrage from certain sectors about things like the government’s 360-degree about-turn on the sale of cigarettes or that it decided to allow the nation to exercise for three hours a day - 6am to 9am - a cold and dark part of any autumn day. There has also been renewed calls for the government to consider lifting the ban on alcohol sales, with threats of legal action, and nothing being confirmed.

There has even been an unprecedented “mass” protest by surfers demanding the right to return to the sea. This would have been funny if it were not stupid.Some have compared their protests or the lockdown restrictions to apartheid and the resistance against it. I wonder if the surfers are aware that many of the beaches were reserved for whites only during apartheid and that when we tried to liberate the beaches by insisting on swimming there, the police reacted with violence.

One would have hoped that protests against the government during this crisis would have been more about life and death situations, as opposed to reactions against limitations on individual freedoms.

For instance, the fact that the education authorities are considering opening schools despite the potential danger to millions of schoolchildren and their teachers, is something worth protesting about.It is irresponsible to reopen schools at the height of the pandemic and condemn millions of poor children and their teachers to an uncertain future.

While some of the protests and outrage have been portrayed as a white versus black phenomenon, that would be the lazy way to interpret it. It is easy to see everything in terms of race, when often an economic lens would be better. The black middle class shares a lot of the concerns raised by their white counterparts, but have mainly chosen not to raise them publicly.

However, just because concerns seem to come from certain sectors only, does not mean they should be dismissed. We don’t want anyone to feel their ideas don’t matter because of their race or class position.

Those who have been protesting about restrictions on their “freedoms” should consider that, in a country as unequal as South Africa, most people do not have the luxury to protest. Most people just want to get something to eat and to put food on their family’s table. Many poor people fear being killed by hunger more than by the coronavirus.

I have never believed in merely complaining; I have always tried to look for solutions. The energy spent complaining about the government could have been better spent looking for solutions to the many problems in our society, most of which existed way before Covid-19.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 9 May 2020)

Tribute to legend of the Struggle

The message, which arrived early on Thursday morning, was brief and simple: “His family and the Denis Goldberg Legacy Foundation Trust are very sad to announce that Denis Goldberg passed away just before midnight on Wednesday 29 April 2020. His was a life well lived in the struggle for freedom in South Africa. We will miss him.”

This message signified the kind of man that Denis Theodore Goldberg was: humble and grounded. He did not take himself seriously, but he did take seriously his lifetime of service to the people of South Africa, without ever seeking personal acknowledgement and plaudits. It was a service he would continue until the end.

Goldberg, who was 87, was one of the legends of our struggle. He was the only white person convicted and sentenced to life in prison for treason with Nelson Mandela, Walter Sisulu and five others in the Rivonia Trial in 1964. The only remaining Rivonia Trialist is Andrew Mlangeni, who is 94. Mlangeni turns 95 on 6 June this year.

Goldberg was sent to Pretoria Central Prison while his seven comrades were sent to Robben Island. He spent a lonely 22 years in prison, being joined occasionally in prison by a handful of other white anti-apartheid activists. He was released in 1985 and immediately left for London to become a spokesperson for the ANC in exile.

I was fortunate to have known Goldberg for most of the past 20 years. I conducted many interviews with him, in order to record our struggle history.

Goldberg was one of the founder members of the ANC’s military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe, and, as an engineer, he was responsible for explosives. On the day he and others were arrested at Liliesleaf farm in Rivonia, Johannesburg, on 11 July 1963, he was busy planning where to buy weapons for Operation Mayibuye, an underground campaign of MK.

“When the security police came into the house, I tried to flush my notes down the toilet but I was caught red-handed because there were cops at the door of the toilet,” he told me in one of our interviews.

He said that his involvement in struggle started at an early age. “We grew up in Slat River, Woodstock and Observatory. As a ten-year-old in the war, I sold the Guardian newspaper. Every Friday I used to sell dozens of copies at the clothing factories of Salt River.

“But I also knew about the war; I also knew about the racism of the Nazis; I knew it was not just about the holocaust, but about all opposition to oppression; about the link between communism and other doctrines. I could not express it so articulately, but I knew.

“For me, if we fought racism in Europe, Japan and the Far East, why did we have racism in our country? A child observes and hears things and discussions. My parents were communists and we had people of all races and classes in our houses. Workers, professors and factory owners all came to our house.

“When I became independent as an adult, I joined the Modern Youth Society, a non-racial youth movement, and later the Congress of Democrats and the Congress Alliance. I was part of the joint Congress executive in Cape Town.

“I also joined the Communist Party and later argued for the formation of Umkhonto we Sizwe and joined Umkhonto after its formation. There was no hesitation to join because I had been arguing for its formation for a long time.”

After he returned from exile, Goldberg spent a while working as an adviser to the Minister of Water Affairs and Forestry before he retired in 2006. In 2009, he received the Order of Luthuli (Silver) from President Kgalema Motlanthe.

Goldberg had a huge art collection at his house in Hout Bay which looked like an art gallery. He was passionate about supporting local artists, and this will be a major focus of the project that he leaves unfinished in his legacy foundation: the “House of Hope” which they plan to build in Hout Bay soon.

Despite being diagnosed with cancer a few years ago, struggling with a heart condition and not being able to move around freely, Goldberg worked tirelessly to ensure the building of this project, where they want to teach various art forms to the young people of Hout Bay. He negotiated support from various sources and was personally involved in securing a piece of land where the House of Hope will be built.

It is on a disused tennis court and we were privileged to attend a function there in February where he spoke passionately about his plans. Despite being in a wheelchair, he insisted on standing while he spoke and at some point, he had to be helped when he became dizzy.

He had used every occasion over the past few years, including his birthdays, as fundraisers for his foundation and the House of Hope project.

I was privileged to be among a reasonably small group of people celebrating his 80th birthday seven years ago and what struck me was that it was attended mainly by what some people would call “ordinary” people. The only politicians in attendance were fellow struggle veterans Pallo Jordan and Ben Turok (who passed away last year). His birthday party was devoid of political speeches, which I realised was because Goldberg did not go around wearing his struggle credentials on his sleeves.

Goldberg found reason to laugh at just about everything. He even laughed when he spoke about how the judge in the Rivonia Trial sentenced them to life in prison.

“I’m really glad he did not sentence us to death,” he laughed when I interviewed him a few years ago.

But the one time he did not laugh was when he spoke about how the ANC had become corrupted under former president Jacob Zuma. Goldberg said Zuma was “dishonest”.

“I am very angry, but this is painful, sad stuff. It is very sad, but I have to call on people to speak up,” he told me.

In a piece I wrote for a book to mark his 80th birthday, I said: “The best way to pay tribute to someone such as Goldberg is to make sure that his legacy lives on way beyond his 80th birthday.” His legacy should live forever. Rest in peace, comrade.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 2 May 2020)

Reflections on freedom

On 27 April 1994, my wife and I queued with many others at Leicester Road Primary School in Kensington, Johannesburg, to vote for the first time in democratic elections. I was 33 and had mixed emotions: I was angry that I had been deprived of this basic right until then, but I was excited to be able to exercise my vote from that point onward and to contribute to decision-making in our new democracy.

It was the same way I would feel when we visited some of my favourite beaches and I would be angry that we had been deprived of this beauty and pleasure for so many years because these beaches had been reserved for whites only during apartheid.

Apartheid was evil and cruel and had prevented the majority of South Africans of enjoying life and, in many cases, realising their full potential. Until the end of apartheid, we could not study where we wanted to study and what we wanted to study, we could not live where we wanted to live, we could not date or marry whoever we wanted, we could not work where we wanted to work, and we could not go wherever we wanted to go. Whites sat downstairs in buses, while blacks sat upstairs or at the back. Even park benches had “European” and “Non-Europeans” signs, with “European” meaning “white”. Resistance to apartheid often resulted in severe beatings, imprisonment or even death.

The election on 27 April 1994 signalled a move from this cruel and evil past to a democracy in which, we believed (not hoped, believed), all of us would be able to realise our full potential.

My youngest daughter, who was born in Durban in January 1994, a few weeks before we moved to Joburg, was with us on that maiden election day and I cast my vote in the hope that life will be better for her and her sisters, and for all the young people who we hoped would be able to benefit from freedom.

Twenty-six years later, South Africans celebrate this momentous day in lockdown along with citizens of countries all over the world. Our enemy is no longer apartheid, but a virus that is threatening to kill a large chunk of the world’s population and has been indiscriminate in the way it has gone about its business. But there is another enemy – inequality and poverty – that was there during apartheid and that continues to be there in our democracy.

Freedom Day 2020 is a time for reflection as opposed to celebration. 

My daughter is now 26 years old and trying to make a living in the music industry, one of the toughest industries to be in even during “normal” time. It is an industry that has almost been wiped out by the coronavirus, along with things like airlines, hotels, tourism, events and a range of other industries which will probably never recover fully.

My two older daughters – one is a street artist and the other helps artists of all kinds become more professional – have also seen their work grind to a halt. It has been tough on us as a family, but we still have much more than many others who have close to nothing.

Freedom Day 2020 is in some way reminding us of the basic human freedoms that we have taken for granted. The freedom to work is one of those, but also the freedom to walk around freely, to run or exercise, to visit family and neighbours, to walk dogs, to do whatever we want to do with our bodies, whether it is good or bad.

It is a good time, during this crisis and lockdown, to think about the current limitations on our freedom – which are necessary to try and halt the virus – and how hard we must fight to protect them when things return to “normal”.

South Africa is a rights-based society and we have one of the most progressive Constitutions in the world, with a strong Bill of Rights. Some of our rights have been suspended during this period of “national disaster” proclaimed by the President, but there are rights that should never be taken away. That includes the right to be treated with respect.

We have an opportunity, during the lockdown period, to review the way we have interacted with others, especially those who we considered to be inferior to us or with less power, money or influence than us. We have had an opportunity to see the importance of people who we took for granted and who are now in the frontline of the fight against the coronavirus. It is a time to pay respect to them and to ensure that that respect continues into the future.

It is a time when we need to revisit our attitudes to the vulnerable in our society, especially one as unequal as ours. Many people, if not the majority of South Africans, will never be able to escape poverty in our lifetime and probably many lifetimes to come. We need to accept that those who have need to share with those who do not have. And, in South Africa, there are some who have plenty while many have nothing.

Freedom Day 2020 is a good time to reflect how little freedom most South Africans have and how fortunate some of us are to have enjoyed some form of freedom over the past 26 years.

We thought that political freedom would bring economic prosperity. We have seen that this is not the case. We need to find a way of bringing economic freedom to those millions of South Africans who have not really benefited from having the right to vote. Economic freedom does not mean more social grants, but rather jobs that bring economic rewards as well as dignity.

We need to think about the vision we had when we voted in long queues on 27 April 1994 and find ways of making that vision comes true, even if it is already 26 years too late.

Happy Freedom Day.

Recipients may find it hard to cope once Covid-19 relief is withdrawn

When I used to manage a big staff, one of my rules was never to offer anyone more money if they told me that they were considering resigning because they were offered a job elsewhere with better pay.

My reason was that, if I offered you more money, you would probably come back in six months and want more money, because you would have become accustomed to your new salary. Having adapted your needs and wants, you would need to earn more.

I sometimes let good people go, but one of my other rules was never to bend the rules for anyone. Once you start, you never know when to stop.

I thought about this as I listened to President Cyril Ramaphosa on Tuesday night announcing significant increases in social grants and special grants for unemployed people who don’t receive social grants. The payments are supposed to end after six months. But will they? I predict that there will be huge protests when the increased social grant benefits come to an end. I hope I am wrong.

The money is so little in any case, even with the top-up, and the situation is so dire, that people will use every cent. It will be difficult to tell them that they must revert to receiving R500 or R250 less a month or not receive the R350 a month. In most poor communities, a few hundred rand could mean the difference between life and death.

There have been calls for a basic income grant for unemployed workers and those in the informal sector. The R350 appears to be the first step in that direction, so those who have supported the grant are hopeful that this will continue after six months.

One would have hoped that the decision on the grant would have been accepted under “normal”, not extraordinary, circumstances, in order to erase the inequalities in our society.

It is difficult to take policy decisions in difficult times and expect them to guide you during normal times. The reverse is easier: policies adopted in normal times should be able to guide you in abnormal times.

The economic interventions are almost revolutionary and should be applauded. But we need to think about what is going to happen afterwards. South Africa’s economy has been deeply flawed and the ANC government has made minor adjustments since it first won the popular vote in 1994. But to deal with the inequalities, which were there before 1994 and have grown exponentially since then, will require radical thinking: the economy needs to be restructured.

It is unsustainable to have a situation where, out of a population of more than 55 million, you have more than 17 million social grant recipients (more than 30% of the population); an unemployment rate of almost 30%; and less than 20 million people in employment, with most below the taxpaying threshold, according to Stats SA data. Our solution lies in creating more jobs, not more people who need government grants.

I can understand why the Cabinet is struggling with long-term solutions to our economic problems. It would have realised that we cannot continue along the economic trajectory of the past 26 years.

The radical transformation of our economy can lead to prosperity for all or it can lead to the destruction of what little we have left.

What will the ANC have to do to win the white vote?

I have been thinking about two questions over the past few weeks.Of the available political leaders, who would you rather have leading South Africa at this time of crisis? And who did you vote for in last year’s general election? Or maybe I should ask: who will you vote for in next year’s local government elections?

I am fascinated by the apparent adoration bestowed on President Cyril Ramaphosa by those who might have been doubtful about him, but were definitely antagonistic towards the ANC not too long ago.I am thinking particularly of those who, in apartheid parlance, would have been described as white. I know there are people other than whites who also did not vote for the ANC but for the purpose of this column, I want to deal with this group.

I am nervous to make comparisons between Ramaphosa and Nelson Mandela because I think it is unfair pressure to place on the former, but I think this time it is justified.

After the 1994 elections I always wondered about the many whites who gushed about Madiba but never made the effort to vote for him or the ANC.

I suspect, now, many whites speak positively about Ramaphosa’s leadership without necessarily feeling moved to vote for him or his party in next year’s local government elections, or by-elections before then.

Mandela, through his focus on reconciliation, saved whites from what would have been a justifiable black backlash after years of colonialism and apartheid. The world would have understood if we took out some of our anger on our white compatriots.But Mandela, through his astute leadership and management of black expectations, allowed whites to continue feeling comfortable in South Africa.

Many of them exploited economic opportunities that were not there during apartheid and their standard of living actually improved under a democratic government.

Ramaphosa, through his leadership during the Covid-19 crisis, is saving the lives of potentially millions of South Africans, black and white. Many whites acknowledge this but will probably not be thankful enough to vote for him, because they will see a vote for him as a vote for the ANC.

Granted the party has since its unbanning been its own worst enemy, especially during the Zuma decade, and this would not have endeared it to many outside its die-hard support base, which is mainly black.

But things change, including political parties, and the ANC of today is in a much better space than it has been for many years despite some major challenges, such as factionalism, which is present in all political parties.

One only has to look at the statistics by Statistics SA to know that most white South Africans are as well off today as during apartheid, with some even doing better. Some blacks have benefited but most are worse off.

I suspect that nothing the ANC or its leaders do will ever be able to convince most whites to support them. Even 26 years after we became a democracy, South Africans are still obsessed with race and base most of their major political decisions, including who they are going to vote for, on skin colour.

I understand our apartheid history and how the nationalists ruled through divide and rule, but I have been baffled that this appears to be the case still today.

It is something that I have thought about a lot and, as always, I am open to be persuaded to think differently. In fact, I hope I am wrong.

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

No one should be above the lockdown regulations

I had to go outside my property after a few days of self-isolation, and I felt uncomfortable. I only had to put out the dirt, but I found myself looking up and down the street, for what I don’t know. I might have been expecting police and soldiers shouting that I should go inside, but I realised that that was unlikely in Rondebosch.

If we had lived in Bokmakierie, Hanover Park or Mitchells Plain, the likelihood of being confronted by police when we stepped outside our property during a national lockdown, would have been more likely.

It is not that the police and army scare me, but that I felt conscious of not doing anything that could potentially undermine the lockdown and put people’s lives at risk. I want to be a good citizen and follow the directive set by the President and which were further outlined in regulations drawn up by different ministries.

I feel that, even if I disagree with some of the regulations, it is not up to me to be defiant but rather to be compliant. Maybe it will help to counter the Covid-19 outbreak in a small way.

Events this week have shown me that some people find it difficult to be compliant: some just cannot comply because of their economic and social situation, while others think that the lockdown regulations do not apply to them.

If anything, the coronavirus which forced us into this lockdown has helped to expose the deep, underlying inequalities in our society once again. We have always known about these inequalities, but we have never been forced to do anything about them. This is as good a time as any to confront them head-on.

We need to find ways of treating the most vulnerable in our society, including the homeless, with the same kind of sensitivity and respect that we afford people in middle-class suburbs.

Among the villains who exposed themselves over the past week was the Minister of Communications, Stella Ndabeni-Abrahams, who, despite the lockdown restrictions, went for a meal at the home of Mduduzi Manana, a former deputy minister who was convicted two years ago of assaulting two women at a Johannesburg nightclub.

Ndabeni-Abrahams has been put on two months special leave (one unpaid) by the President and has made a less-than-convincing public apology.

She became a victim of the ANC elite’s obsession with flaunting their luxurious lifestyles and political connections on social media. Manana could not resist posting a picture on social media of them having a meal.

He has also recently posted a styled video of his Gucci-inspired lifestyle on social media. The video, and other similar social media postings from senior ANC members, represents an “up yours” to the millions of mainly poor people who has voted for the ANC in successive elections without seeing a marked improvement in their lives. That this kind of behaviour is continuing in the middle of the worst crisis we have faced as a democracy, makes it even worse.

I am one of many who has publicly praised President Cyril Ramaphosa for his handling of the Covid-19 crisis, but I feel that, if he wants the public to support an extension of the lockdown – which seems very likely – then he needs to show that the same rules apply to everyone, including ministers, premiers and mayors. He needs to take firm action against transgressors, irrespective of their political position and standing. [Note: this column was written before the President announced the extension.]

While one can be disappointed by the President’s apparently soft handling of Ndabeni-Abrahams – coming soon after a bridal party was arrested and some people have even been killed by the police for much less – he has not ruled out further action. The police need to pursue legal charges against the minister and the ANC, as the governing party, needs to sanction her and other transgressing members.

The coronavirus has been indiscriminate and has paid little respect to class, race, sexual orientation, gender or age in its infections. It is time that we display the same kind of agnosticism in our attitude towards people who undermine our attempts to contain the virus.

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

Be prepared for a prolonged lockdown

It is now just over a week into our 21-day lockdown and, by all accounts, apart from a few problems, many of which were not unexpected, South Africans appear to have embraced our new normal. We are becoming accustomed to spending time at home with our families and, sometimes, learning to know and understand each other better.

While we are separated from society, extended family and friends, we are finding ways to connect without having to be physically close to each other. For instance, I have taken to calling some people that I have not seen in a while just to ask them how they are doing.

The pace of life in the 21st century is such that often we neglect to take time out for ourselves and we do not appreciate the little, beautiful things that happen around us.

But while we appear, in the main, to be accepting of the restrictions imposed on us by the lockdown regulations, I have realised that there are many people who are counting down the 21 days.

But, what if? This is the question that nobody dares talk about. What if the spread of the coronavirus does not decrease significantly in the next two weeks and government sees the need to prolong the lockdown period?

It is highly likely that the government might feel the need to do this, like has happened in several other countries, but they will do so at great cost to society, and not only economic.

I fear that there will be people who had psyched themselves up to suffer for 21 days only, and whether they would be able to tolerate any longer is debatable.

Most people, no matter how understanding they might be, have limits on their willingness to sacrifice. This could lead to a host of social problems.

I found myself thinking back to 1985 when I was one of thousands throughout South Africa who were detained under the emergency regulations.

The successive states of emergency imposed by the apartheid government were cruel and nothing that our democratic government has done so far, despite complaints from some quarters, can come close to what we suffered in those days.

When you were detained under the emergency regulations, the police did not have to tell anyone where they were keeping you and they did not have to tell you how long they were keeping you.

They could imprison you anywhere, even in other parts of the country, without anyone knowing where you were. The only way people would know where you were was when someone who was in prison with you, was released and they could inform your lawyers or your family.

The police used these regulations to punish us even more. Sometimes they would come into the large communal cells where we were held and tell someone to pack his bags. They would not say where he was going, but his expectation would be that he was being released.

Sometimes he would just be taken to another cell. Sometimes he would fill in all the necessary forms to be discharged from the prison and, when he stepped outside, he would be detained again and taken back inside. Other times, the police would put him in the back of a police van and drive him to another prison where he would be kept for another indefinite period.

Making everyone think that the lockdown is only going to last for 21 days – and that they would be able to buy alcohol and cigarettes, and walk their dogs or go jog afterwards – and then extending it at the last minute, will fill the nation with the same kind of despair that we felt when police would play with our emotions during the states of emergency.

One can only hope that the President and the people around him will communicate clearly with everyone that, failure to bring down the infection rate because people ignored the lockdown rules, could necessitate an extension of the lockdown period. That will hopefully make people realise the folly of not abiding by the regulations. The message is quite clear: Stay at home. Or else.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 4 April 2020)

Let's work together despite our differences, not only in this crisis

While Covid-19 or the coronavirus has been indiscriminate in who it is targeting – ignoring class, gender, race and age – the response to it and the government’s resultant lockdown, which took effect from yesterday, has revealed the deep differences that still exist in our society and that will, unfortunately, still exist way after this pandemic.

While there appeared to be general support for the strong measures President Cyril Ramaphosa announced on Monday night, the immediate response varied from panic-buying to wondering whether they would be able to job or walk their dogs among more affluent citizens, while those in poorer communities were contemplating weeks, if not months, of not been able to earn even a little money to support their families. They were also thinking of how it is possible to self-isolate when you are six or eight people living in a corrugated iron shack or an RDP home.

Concerns among those with means seemed to bother on the personal and the private, while among poorer communities there appeared, as always, a level of communal concern, what we called “comradeship” during the days of struggle.

The concern for many with money was about making sure that they have enough food, toilet paper, hand sanitisers and, of course, alcohol.

Immediately after the Police Minister announced on Wednesday night that no one would be able to buy alcohol during the 21-day lockdown period, many started planning their trips to the bottle store for the final time in a long time on Thursday. Of course, some middle-class people on social media blamed working-class people for the ban on alcohol, because “they” resort to violence, especially against women and children, when “they” have had too much to drink.

South Africa has always been, and probably will always be, a country with two nations: one rich and one poor. Class has become the new marker for privilege in South Africa, rightfully replacing race as the great societal divider.

In this period of uncertainty for our country, one hopes that all of us will use the next 21 days to reflect on our role and contribution to the divisions in our society and how we can rather play a positive role in helping everyone to work together for the betterment of our country.

Already there have been positive signs. When the two richest families in the country each donate one billion rand to help small businesses – something they did not have to do – their gesture should be appreciated and not frowned upon because they built their wealth on the back of the poor working class. Instead, we should look at whether their contribution could mark a new beginning in their relationship with those who are most vulnerable in our country.

Others have come forward and made smaller contributions, but there are many others who could do more. The banks, for one, at the time of writing, had not committed fully to helping relief the plight of many people who have lost significant chunks of their income because of the coronavirus.

Other financial institutions, such as insurance and assurance companies, could also make a contribution by suspending payments for maybe three months. Municipalities could also offer some relief by offering payment holidays on, for instance, rates. We are all in this together and all of us are expected to make sacrifices.

When we became a democracy, I believed that our first democratically elected President, Nelson Mandela, missed an opportunity to effect proper reparation on our country. He could have imposed heavy taxes on people who built their wealth during apartheid and no one would have batted an eyelid. Everyone in the world would have supported him.

We have a second opportunity to test the commitment of everyone to our country. Some can make monetary contributions much bigger than others, some of us can offer our skills, some can only offer humanity and love. But we all have something to offer.

Let us find ways of making the differences in our society work in our favour as we lockdown for 21 days, but especially when we resurface afterwards to rebuild our country.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 28 March 2020)

Skin colour matters very little when you are faced with a deadly virus

They say a week is a long time in politics. It is even longer in a country dealing with Covid-19.

Since President Cyril Ramaphosa last Sunday announced stringent measures to stop the spread of the coronavirus, life in South Africa has changed. The challenge is going to be how much of what we have learned in this period will stay with us after the pandemic.

It seems like it will be the simple things that will keep us safe. I was once fortunate to work with South African jazz pianist Abdullah Ibrahim on promoting a locally assembled jazz orchestra and some concerts, and I thought it was strange he refused to shake anyone’s hands.

When Ibrahim announced he was cancelling his appearance in this year’s Cape Town International Jazz Festival - weeks before the festival was called off - because of concerns around Covid-19, I thought back to my interactions with him and realised he was ahead of his time.

We have been living dangerously for too long, shaking hands without considering what the other person might have been doing with theirs, and touching everything without thinking.

One of the things we should continue doing after the virus is to refuse to shake hands and find other, healthier ways of greeting.

We should be diligent about washing our hands, even when we think it is not necessary. This is not only about the virus; it is about basic hygiene.

We should also learn that, ultimately, we are all people and that skin colour matters very little when you are faced with a deadly virus.

Covid-19 has been indiscriminate about who it attacks, but you still find people wanting to blame certain demographics for initiating and spreading it. Our focus should be on containment and healing, not looking to blame anyone based on where they come from or what they look like.

I am glad most political parties seem to be in agreement on the measures we need to tackle the virus. We are stronger together than when we are fighting each other.Over the past week, we have seen examples of human kindness from a few people who have plenty and many others who have little. Hopefully we will realise we can all make a difference in the lives of those who might not have as much as we do.

But we have also seen how people have used their privilege to protect themselves at the expense of others.

I am thinking of those who bought excessive amounts of items such as toilet paper, and the companies who exploited people’s fears for profit. Also, the Gauteng family who tried to escape isolation after they tested positive. The government had to go to court to force them into quarantine.

As we mark the 60th anniversary of the police shootings at Sharpeville and Langa on March, 21, 1960, which is now commemorated as Human Rights Day, it is only proper that we reflect on how a virus has affected our most basic human right: the right to life.

We can also reflect on how we sometimes do not pay enough attention to the rights of all humans. We do not need a virus to teach us this.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 21 March 2020)

Trevor Noah, coloured identity is not a topic that can be reduced to a one-liner

People look up to role models, often in entertainment, for guidance on key decisions concerning their lives. It could have to do with fashion choices, relationship decisions or identity issues. But these people might not be the best people to dispense advice on some topics.

Over the past week or two, I have been fascinated by responses on social media to two people who are considered celebrities and whose views are often taken seriously.It made me wonder why people listen to certain so-called celebrities and what qualities these people bring to the party, apart from being popular.

One of them is Trevor Noah, who appeared to have upset many people who identify themselves as “coloured”.

His comments were attributed to his book, Born a Crime. He apparently wrote: “Most coloured people don’t speak African languages. They speak Afrikaans. Their religion, their institutions, all of the things that have shaped their culture, came from Afrikaners. The history of coloured people in South Africa is, in this respect, worse than the history of black people in South Africa. For all that black people have suffered, they know who they are. Coloured people don’t.”

Noah’s comments have been shared thousands of times, with some people questioning how he could speak about the “coloured experience” when he was not coloured, but “mixed race”.

As someone who prides himself in his understanding of different, and sometimes complex, people, Noah should have known that this was not a topic that could be reduced to a one-liner. I have written a book and many columns about race and identity, and I will not be bold enough to claim to understand everything about what some people call coloured identity. I would normally say “coloured”, but I understand that this is real for many.

Noah might have more than 10 million Twitter followers, but that does not make him an expert on anything, least of all something as complex as the smorgasbord that is known as coloured identity.

The other is rapper AKA, aka Kiernan Forbes, originally from Mitchells Plain, who has more than four million Twitter followers.

AKA tweeted: “If someone tries to give you advice, ask yourself: does this person live in the house I want, drive the car I want, or generally live the life I want if the answer is no, then ask yourself what qualifies this person to dispense ANY sort of advice to you in the first place.”

When someone as popular as AKA uses dismissive language and gives such bad advice to people who idolise him, then it raises questions about the values that he is trying to promote and how much worth he attaches to the contribution made by our elders.

Many older people, especially in the black community, sacrificed so much so that young people can have the freedom to follow their dreams. Their advice is mainly based on real-life experiences, which are invaluable.

I recently watched an interview with an overseas soccer coach who was asked about the coronavirus. He told the journalist to ask an expert. “Football coaches cannot be expected to be experts on health matters,” he said.

It was one of the best and truest responses I have seen from an influential person. Maybe Trevor Noah and AKA can learn from him?

You don’t always have to pretend to be clever. Sometimes you must know when to shut up.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 14 March 2020)

Pictures of politicians in economy class show so much of what's wrong with society

Over the past few weeks, several ministers and deputy ministers have posted pictures on social media of them flying economy class.

This is supposed to be a way of them showing their commitment to government cost-cutting, but the reality is that they would never have done it if the Minister of Finance did not insist that they should make this adjustment to their lifestyles at a time when everyone is tightening their belts.

The fact that they feel they need to share this “inconvenience” on social media so others can see how much they are prepared to sacrifice, shows they have no clue about the struggles poor people go through in South Africa every day.

Ministers, deputy ministers and members of Parliament are, in the main, completely out of touch with the lives of what is sometimes referred to as “ordinary people”.

South Africa’s economy has been in trouble for a while, with Statistics SA announcing this week the country is facing its second technical recession in two years.

A technical recession could have a serious impact on our country’s ability to attract investment - which is one of the mantras of President Cyril Ramaphosa - but, more importantly, it could have a disastrous impact on the employment figures due to be announced by Stats SA soon.

I am at an age where I reminisce a lot. Sometimes it is at the funeral of a comrade, a colleague or a friend; sometimes it is at a special birthday celebration of one of my friends. We sometimes joke about the things we got up to or endured during the Struggle against apartheid.

Often, when we talk about those days, we reflect on why we engaged in the Struggle and we realise while none of us would ever go as far as saying that things were better under apartheid, we have to admit we have failed to deliver the better society we promised our people when we asked them for support during the Struggle.

We were probably a little bit naïve during those days. We believed in a utopian society and we did not anticipate that breaking down the structures of inequality created by apartheid and capitalism would be so difficult.

But, mainly, we believed our political leaders would remain true to their commitment and service to the people. We did not anticipate that so-called leaders would see their ascendancy into political office as a way of financially securing themselves, their families and friends. We did not anticipate that for many assuming political office meant being able to move out of the townships into fancy suburbs and driving fancy cars.

I don’t have a problem with the upward mobility of people after the collapse of apartheid, but one would have assumed those who chose to “serve” our people through public office would have at least tried to find ways of taking others with them.

Like the garish display of opulence at the opening of Parliament, and the Gucci bags and Italian shoes associated with our supposed public servants, showing off pictures of flying in economy class when most people will never fly in their lives, displays so much of what is wrong with our society today. Ministers and others need to think twice about the message they wish to send out to the people who voted for them in the hope of improving their lives. But I suppose they don’t care.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 7 March 2020)

Warm tribute to Shaun Johnson, anti-apartheid trailblazer, colleague, friend for decades

We have lost many friends, colleagues, associates and comrades over the past year, in the media industry where I have worked for almost 40 years and in progressive political circles, where I have been active for even longer.

The most recent of these colleagues and friends is Shaun Johnson, who died suddenly and unexpectedly this week. He retired in December at the age of 60 as CEO of the Mandela Rhodes Foundation, having created an opportunity to study abroad for so many students from the African continent.

Shaun was one of those people whose paths I would cross in my various guises, as an activist and as a journalist. We met at Rhodes University in 1979 where I first saw his face on a billboard proclaiming his candidacy for the Student Representative Council (SRC) – I think for president – before we became friends and worked together in several societies.

We played soccer outside the university, in Grahamstown’s townships, under the banner of the South African Council on Sport (SACOS), one of whose leaders famously declared that there could be “No normal sport in an abnormal society”. Later, we both followed careers in journalism until our paths crossed again when we both became senior editorial executives within the Independent Newspapers group in the 1990s.

We continued to interact after he left newspapers to join the Mandela Rhodes Foundation and, in August 2018, Professor Bryan Trabold, an associate professor of English at Suffolk University in Boston, Massachusetts, asked the two of us to speak at the Cape Town launch of a book he wrote about the alternative media in the 1980s. He focused in his book – Rhetorics of Resistance: Opposition Journalism in Apartheid South Africa – on the Weekly Mail, where Shaun worked, and the New Nation, where I worked. I learned that night that Shaun had also written the feasibility study for the New Nation.

It was a good discussion, allowing us to reminisce about the good old bad old days when investigating the apartheid government’s indiscretions (for want of a better word) could get you imprisoned or killed. Afterwards some of us went for dinner, where we continued our reflections, before all going our separate ways. It was the last time I saw Shaun, even though we did engage in conversations via email and telephone over the past year.

Reflecting on my experiences of Shaun this week, I thought about some of the stories we shared that night. There were differences and similarities between the papers we reflected on: the Weekly Mail and the New Nation. Both were fiercely anti-apartheid and pro-struggle, but the Weekly Mail readers were mainly white, while the New Nation readers were mainly black. The Weekly Mail journalists received bylines, while we wrote anonymously at the New Nation. Part of the reason for this was to protect us from possible persecution from the security police. Our editor, the legendary Zwelakhe Sisulu, took most of the brunt of the security police on himself, leading to him serving long spells in detention without trial.

But while the papers were different, what they had in common is important. At a time when there are people who want to rewrite the history of our country, and especially the resistance to apartheid, it is important to acknowledge the role of anti-apartheid newspapers such as the New Nation, the Weekly Mail, Vrye Weekblad, Grassroots, South, Saamstaan, the Eye, Bricks, Speak and a host of others – targeting different audiences but speaking the same language: keeping up the hope of a free and democratic South Africa, at a time when things looked very dark. The people who were involved came from different backgrounds, but we had in common our love for democracy.

These form part of my memories of Shaun Johnson, along with the intense and interesting discussions, the long lunches, his beautiful turn of phrase – and the young man with the trendy hairstyle who implored me from a billboard on a lamp post to vote him onto the SRC at a time when I could not even vote in my country. Rest in peace, my friend.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 29 February 2020)

I do not know Tazne or her family, but I share their pain and grief

When the news came in on Thursday morning that eight-year-old Tazne van Wyk’s body had been found in Worcester the previous night, it came as a shock, even though most people who were following the story probably feared the worst.It is not often that a child, especially a girl, would be returned home safely after being missing for almost two weeks. Tazne, of Elsies River, disappeared on February 7.

As the father of three girls - who are adults now, but I still furiously try to protect them - this is something that all of us fear as our children grow up. We live in an evil world, but we can only hope that we have done enough to protect our children from the violence and other bad things that happen to so many others.

One can only imagine what Tazne went through in her last days - or rather I don’t want to imagine - and I hope that the media will report on the details of what happened with sensitivity out of respect for her memory and her family and friends.

I do not know Tazne or her family, but that does not mean that I cannot share their pain and grief. When we were growing up, every child in the community was the child of every adult in the community. We shared in each other’s joy and, more often than not, in each other’s grief and sadness.

Those who do not appear to share our pain and grief are members of Parliament, who once again showed this week that they are out of touch with society or that they do not really care about the rest of society, as long as they can earn their salaries and promote their parties and political leaders.In a week when MPs, who are supposed to set an example to the rest of us, acted disgustingly, especially in relation to gender-based violence, Tazne’s death should be a reminder of the dangers that women and girls face in our patriarchal and violent society.

Every day, many women get raped in South Africa, which has made us almost accept rape as part of our culture. As men, we don’t speak up enough against rapists. We don’t speak up enough against men who abuse women and children.We often encourage and perpetuate gross behaviour towards women by not speaking up when women are subjected to sexist comments or sexist behaviour. We sometimes laugh when other men make sexist comments although we won’t admit it publicly.

We have been down this road before when we have expressed our outrage over violence against women and children. But it seems like the outrage lasts for a few days, even weeks, and then it dissipates. Not enough appears to be done to ensure that this is an issue that remains top of the national agenda.

The economy is important and we need to create jobs for the millions of young people who remain unemployed, but this is not enough.

All of us want the same things for our families and children. We want them to grow up in decent houses, have access to proper education and job opportunities - and we want them to do all this in a safe environment. We don’t want to lie awake at night when our children are out, waiting for the phone to ring with bad news.

The one way we can honour the legacy of people like Tazne van Wyk is to ensure that our women and children are protected, that when anybody hurts them, he pays a heavy price in the form of a long prison sentence.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 22 February 2020)

In search of our common humanity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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