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Why I will continue to be on lockdown level 5

Ryland Fisher

There are different kinds of people and, depending on the kind of person you are, this would have guided your response to what President Cyril Ramaphosa said when, on Saturday night, he announced a relaxation in the lockdown levels in an attempt to repair our very broken economy.

There are people who always follow rules and wait for guidance on what they are allowed to do, or not to do, from those with power and authority.

These people would have dissected the speech and would have rejoiced at the announcements that alcohol and cigarettes will be on sale again – legally – and that family visits can now also take place once again – the first time since the national state of disaster began five months ago.

They would also be happy that they will now be able to visit their favourite pub or restaurant – if it has not closed down permanently, like the oldest pub in South Africa, Perseverance Tavern or Persie as it was called by the regulars. (The pub announces last month that it was closing its doors after 212 years.)

Those who have been feeling trapped, not only in their homes but also in their province, would have rejoiced at the news that they will once again be able to travel to different provinces even though that visit to the family in England will have to wait for another while.

I am not one of those who listened in anticipation of a relaxation in lockdown levels to the President’s speech. Part of the reason is because I am not one of those who always look to people in authority to tell me what to do. I prefer to assess the information at my disposal and let that guide me in how I should approach any matter. I have always believed in doing what is right and not what the law or regulations say is allowed.

In the case of the coronavirus, I am not entirely convinced that relaxing the lockdown levels was the correct thing to do, even though I understand the President’s dilemma. South Africa had a weak economy even before the lockdown began – it was necessary at the time and probably still is, but it has only become worse over the past five months. Urgent steps were needed, and are still needed, to try and salvage what is left of the economy.

I fear that the relaxation in lockdown regulations might lead to some irresponsible behaviour over the next few weeks and months, and I am not only talking about people getting excessively drunk or stoned.

As far as I am concerned, I will continue to operate as if I am at lockdown level five and not level two. And this is not only because, in the middle of the lockdown I had a special birthday and I suddenly found myself falling into the vulnerable group who are most susceptible to the virus. I would have done this irrespective of my age or my health.

I do not have any allegiance to smoking or drinking but feel that these two vices often get a bad rap when there are other vices – such as consuming too much sugar – which can sometimes be more dangerous. But I don’t want to give the government any ideas, because there are some people in government who have seen how they can control us using the guise of the pandemic, and they seem to love their newfound power. I suppose many people in government are closet dictators.

I don’t know if I will go and visit family and friends, unless it is in an emergency and we are able to observe safe protocols. I don’t know if I want to go into anyone’s house but my own. So, I suspect, if I have to visit anyone, I will probably find myself talking to them from a distance outside their house. I will not encourage anyone to visit me: family or friends.

The same rules will apply to restaurants. My first choice would be not to go but, if I go, I will sit outside and very far from the person I am meeting, unless I am going for a meal with my wife or my daughters who live with me.

I don’t think that I will attend any live events for a while, even if government allows it again any time soon.

Irrespective of where I find myself, I will continue to apply the diligence and protocols that I have applied for the past five months: I will wear a cloth mask whenever I am in public; I will wash my hands with soap and water for at least 20 seconds as often as possible; I will sanitise my hands in between; I will ensure that there is enough social distance between me and others who do not live with me; I will work from home as far as possible and will try to meet most people only virtually, unless I have no other choice….

I will do this not because the President or someone in government has told me to do so, but because I believe this is a small contribution I can make to keep myself and my family safe and also hopefully contribute to the fight against the coronavirus which has already killed so many people.

I intend to stop doing so only when a proven vaccine is found for the virus – and not a moment sooner, irrespective of whether government ends the lockdown and the national state of disaster in the next few months. I believe it is the right thing to do.

(Written especially as a blog for this website 16 August 2020)

Why we should not talk about the 'new normal'

Ryland Fisher

(This is a part of my notes for a webinar on “The New Normal - the essence of adaptability”, hosted by Resolve And Change Systems (RACS) yesterday. I responded to inputs by media owner Ingrid Jones and RACS staffer Amaan Phiri)

I want to thank RACS, in particular the CEO Craig Arendse, for giving me this opportunity to share my views with you. I believe in thinking out of the box and sometimes my ideas can make some people feel uncomfortable, especially when it goes against what is considered conventional wisdom.

For instance, I believe that we should not talk about normal, whether it is the old normal or the new normal. The reason for this is that what we considered normal was never sustainable and was built on a societal model that is seriously in need of review.

What Covid-19 has done is to expose the absurdity of what we considered normal.

  • Normal means huge inequalities between rich and poor – the biggest Gini coefficient in the world;

  • Normal means one of the highest unemployment rates in the world;

  • Normal means rampant poverty, much higher than in most countries in the world;

  • Normal means that, at the same time as our extreme poverty, we have a small percentage of our population owning and controlling most of the economic wealth in our country.

Our normal is premised on a set of power relations that determine much of what happens in society. These power relations are based on economic power, race, gender, sexual preference and other ways in which we allow ourselves to be divided. They find expression in things like racism, economic exclusion and gender-based violence. They also find expression in our obsession with material things. So, we think we must drive the best cars, live in the best houses in the best neighbourhoods and send our children to private schools. If we fail to do this, the assumption is that we have failed. This means that the majority of people in our country have failed, because the majority are poor and vulnerable and do not have material possessions to show off.

So, I prefer to talk about a new reality and, through the Covid-19 pandemic caused by the coronavirus, we have been presented with a beautiful opportunity – as both Ingrid and Amaan said – to define what we want as a new reality.

We should start operating now in the way that is different, that challenges the societal norms and that speaks to the kind of country and, indeed, world that we want to live in. We should all want to live in a society that is more equitable and in which things like racism, sexism and other inequalities – and the violence that often accompany them – are a thing of the past. We should want to live in a society based on mutual respect for everyone, irrespective of their status in life.

In defining this new reality, we should start off by defining ourselves. Who are we? How do we describe ourselves? How do others describe us? What do we want to do with the remaining years of our lives? What kind of legacy do we want to leave behind?

When you explore these questions, you can do it in different ways. One method that I often use on myself is to do a personal SWOT analysis. I try to identify my strength and weaknesses, and identify the possibly opportunities and threats. In this way, I am able to identify my weaknesses and see whether I am able to turn them into strengths.

Part of redefining ourselves – whether it is personally or for a company or organization – is to understand the environment that we are operating in and to understand the possibilities that exist. Sometimes, like Ingrid said, you should explore the things that you are passionate about but never pursued for whatever reason. You might find that you are good at it and are able to turn it into a remuneration possibility.

I like the part that Amaan said about the past informing the future, or words to that effect. Over the past few months, I have drawn on my experiences in life, in the media industry where I have spent 40 years and in the struggle against apartheid which informed much of who and what I have become.

When Ingrid spoke about how we used to do things in organisations, it brought back so many great memories.

In the early 1980s, I worked at an anti-apartheid community newspaper that was owned by organisations such as trade unions, civic and ratepayers associations, churches, sports organisations, youth groups and the like. Most of our decisions had to be taken in consultation with representatives of all these organisations. We had a lot of meetings, but surprisingly, we also got a lot done. We learnt that consultation, if done properly, does not have to slow you down.

I learnt most of my management skills during my time at Grassroots.

Years later, just after we became a democracy, when I became editor of a major mainstream newspaper, I realised that I would have to transform the paper – not only in terms of demographics, but in terms of how we worked and how we were perceived by the public.

I held a workshop with my staff where I tried to look at the strengths and weaknesses of everybody and asked them what they would like to do and where they saw themselves in future. I started with myself and said that if the consensus was that the best role for me was to sweep the office floors, then that was what I was prepared to do.

It was a difficult conversation because it went against the fearful culture that was predominant in our parent company at the time. This was a handover of a previous era, apartheid, which was based on keeping people in subjugation through instilling them with fear.

One of the things that I learnt early on in my management career is that it is never a good idea to think that you, as the leader, have all the answers. Even though you might have certain preferred outcomes, you need to be able to take your staff with you. Sometimes this involves making compromises. You need to value the collective input of your staff.

About 10 or 15 years ago, I wrote a book called Race and I conducted many workshops with companies and advised some CEOs about how to transform their companies. The first thing I would do was to tell them that transformation is more than replacing a certain skin colour with another. It is much more than a numbers exercise. It is much more than ticking boxes. Transformation is an uncomfortable process that should test all of us in terms of our beliefs and our values. But ultimately, transformation is about accepting the value of everyone who works for you and treating them with respect.

This lesson has been hammered home to us again and again during this pandemic. The virus does not know colour, class or gender. It doesn’t care how many cars you have or how fancy your house is.

Over the past few months, we have seen the importance of people we thought were not important. They have shown us that they can be more important than the CEOs and government ministers, at different times during the pandemic. I am not only talking about frontline workers such as health workers, but also cleaners, security workers, farm workers and shop workers, and others who we easily dismiss as being unskilled.

We need to go beyond saying that we appreciate their roles. We need to find tangible ways of paying them more and listening with greater appreciation to their voices.

Many of us have also had to revisit the way we view the most vulnerable in our society, especially people such as the homeless. Because of the huge economic impact of the pandemic, those in the middle class have begun to realise that there is vey little standing between themselves and being homeless.

One of the other things that has been exposed by the pandemic is the archaic management style of many of our leaders in organisations. Many leaders do not trust their workers and need to micro-manage them. Because of corona, managers and leaders have had to learn to trust their workers more, because they were not able to micro-manage them as in the past.

What the pandemic has shown is that work should not be about the hours you put in, but about your output. We have seen in many industries that output does not depend on where you work or when you work. We need to embrace technology, but we also need to embrace certain realities or life, such as that many women have been victimized in the past because they tried to balance their careers and looking after their children.

But we are all different. Some of us are morning people. Some of us like to work late at night. Working from home over the past few months have shown why it is important to be outcomes-based as opposed to worrying about working hours and when people take tea breaks.

Working from home has become the new reality for many of us. In many instances, this has not led to a reduction in productivity. It has in fact led to an increase in productivity. Many people have learnt how to balance doing their work while looking after children and, in most cases, this has led to greater contentment among many workers.

The pandemic has forced us to embrace what many people glibly call the fourth industrial revolution, with many of them not understanding what it means.

The fourth industrial revolution means embracing technology as a part of our lives and not being threatened by it.

Our new reality also involves helping people who are more vulnerable than us in whatever way possible. I am involved in a couple of feeding schemes and, I am glad to say, that in at least one of these schemes, we have started to develop food gardens which could lead to more sustainability for the people involved.

I have personally also reviewed my own service providers and, for instance, I now get all my fruit and veg from a small supplier in Mitchells Plain, who deliver to my home. The quality has been good and the service excellent.

One of my life mottos is “no problems, no challenges, only opportunities” and I have approached the pandemic in this manner, as I do most things in life. The pandemic has come at a huge cost, from both a health an economic perspective,. But we need to stop seeing the pandemic as a problem and as a challenge. Instead, we need to find ways of identifying the opportunities presented by the pandemic, not in an opportunistic way like some of the corrupt comrades, but in ways that can improve the lives of all of those around us.

We were completely unprepared for what hit us this year, and we all had to respond in ways that we have never anticipated. But we have responded, some of us better than others.

We have seen that government can deliver when we are in a crisis and maybe government needs to operate all the time like they are in a crisis, so that we can undo the legacy of apartheid and colonialism soon and not make excuses about why we did not do it in another 26 years of democracy.

But we have also seen that criminals and looters are prepared to exploit any situation, even a pandemic, to loot their pockets and we should be vigilant against this. This is an unfortunate reality in South Africa which will only be dealt with decisively once more people go to prison for corruption and robbing the state, which is effectively robbing the people of South Africa who pay taxes to maintain the state.

From a corporate perspective, we need to revisit how we value everyone who works for us because they are our most important stakeholders. A contended workforce inevitably leads to greater productivity which in turn can lead to greater profits.

From a personal perspective, we need to find ways of identifying the best person that we can be. We need to embrace the changes that the pandemic has forced on us and use it in our favour.

If we are able to learn from this pandemic and improve the world, our country and our community, then 2020 might not have been that bad at all.

Andrew Mlangeni’s death marks start of a new chapter for ANC

Ryland Fisher

The passing of ANC stalwart Andrew Mokete Mlangeni, 95, on Tuesday night signals the end of an era for the ANC and, indeed, for South Africa.

Mlangeni, the last of the Rivonia Treason Trial accused, was also the last of a golden generation of ANC leaders which included greats such as Oliver Tambo, Walter Sisulu, Nelson Mandela, Govan Mbeki, Albertina Sisulu, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, Helen Joseph, Harold Wolpe, Ahmed Kathrada, Elias Motsoaledi, Denis Goldberg, Raymond Mhlaba and Joe Slovo.

With his passing, the ANC might have finally lost the moral integrity that people like Mlangeni gave it.

In some ways, he was the last reminder of the ANC that fought bravely against apartheid for most of its 108 years - through the banning, detention and imprisonment of its leaders, and a long period of exile.

There are still a few old ANC leaders around, but few have been as outspoken or as high-profile as Mlangeni, who continued to play a role as an ANC stalwart and as chairman of its integrity commission. The symbolism of the passing of the Struggle icon is heavy for an organisation that prides itself on its history.

Mlangeni’s fellow Rivonia Trialist, Goldberg, passed away in April soon after the lockdown began. For three years, since the passing of Kathrada in March 2017, Mlangeni and Goldberg had been the last men standing of the eight who were sentenced to life in prison in 1964 for sabotage and furthering the aims of communism.

Mlangeni, along with Mandela, Sisulu, Mbeki, Kathrada, Motsoaledi and Mhlaba were sent to Robben Island prison to begin their life sentences. Goldberg, as the only white prisoner, was sent to Pretoria Central Prison.

Mlangeni was prisoner number 467/64 and occupied the cell next to Mandela on Robben Island.

Mandela’s prison number was the famous 466/64.

In his biography, Long Walk to Freedom, Mandela wrote about how, in 1963, when he had already been on Robben Island for a while after being arrested in Natal, he saw Mlangeni in a courtyard at Pretoria local prison, where Mandela had been moved in anticipation of the Rivonia Trial.

It was the first time, Mandela wrote, that he suspected that something was seriously wrong. Over the next few weeks, he would learn of the arrest of the Rivonia leadership.

The State’s evidence against Mlangeni in the Rivonia Trial included that he and Motsoaledi were responsible for recruiting members for uMkhonto we Sizwe (MK), the armed wing of the ANC. Mlangeni had, according to evidence in court, carried messages and instructions for MK and had disguised himself as a priest while doing this work.

Mlangeni told the court that he was assaulted in prison and subjected to electric shock treatment. Mandela reflected in Long Walk to Freedom that the life sentence meted out to Mlangeni, Motsoaledi and Kathrada had been particularly harsh.

“I had expected him (Judge Quartus de Wet) to discharge Kathy, and to give Elias and Andrew lighter sentences. The latter two were comparatively junior members of MK, and the combined offences of the three of them could hardly be compared with those of the rest of us. But by not appealing, we undoubtedly cost Kathy, Andrew and Elias: an appeals court might have cut down their sentences.”

With the last of the Rivonia Trialists, Denis Goldberg and Andrew Mlangeni, at Goldberg’s last birthday party before he passed away.

With the last of the Rivonia Trialists, Denis Goldberg and Andrew Mlangeni, at Goldberg’s last birthday party before he passed away.

In separate discussions I had with Kathrada and Mlangeni in later years, they both said that they had no regrets and had been prepared to serve the maximum sentence with their comrades. In fact, they thought they would be given the death sentence and were surprised when they were sentenced to life in prison. This view was echoed in my discussions with Goldberg.

Mlangeni, along with Mandela, Sisulu and Mhlaba were moved to Pollsmoor Prison in March 1982 after 18 years on Robben Island, in what appeared to be an attempt by the authorities to separate the ANC’s leadership from rank and file members. Kathrada joined them later.

Mlangeni was released in October 1989, along with Sisulu, Mhlaba, Kathrada, Motsoaledi, Jeff Masemola, Wilton Mkwayi and Oscar Mpetha.

Mlangeni became a back-bencher in Parliament for 10 years after 1994, which was probably in line with his style of never having leadership ambitions. He received the ANC’s highest honour, the Isithwalandwe/Seaparankwe award in 1992.

Mlangeni was born on June 6, 1925 on a farm in the Free State. He was the ninth of 12 children and part of the second set of twins in the family. After his father died when he was 10 years old, the family had to move from the farm to the township in Bethlehem where he began to work as a caddy on the local golf course to help sustain his family.

This was the beginning of a lifelong association with golf and it is a game that he continued to play into his old age. I was honoured to play alongside him a few years ago and he put the rest of our four-ball to shame.

He joined the Communist Party and the ANC Youth League while he was still at school in 1951, before joining the ANC a few years later. In his authorised biography, The Backroom Boy: Andrew Mlangeni’s Story, author Mandla Mathebula wrote about how, in 1962, Mlangeni was among the first six MK members to receive military training in China, where they met Mao Zedong, or Chairman Mao as he was known, who was then chairman of the Communist Party of China.

I shared a birthday with Mlangeni, but my last interaction with him was at the birthday party last year for Goldberg and it was clear from their interaction that they had huge respect for each other.

As we reflect on Mlangeni’s life, it is difficult not to interpret his death as the beginning of a new period in the history of South Africa and the ANC.

It could be the signal to those who always wanted to corrupt our country and the ANC to take their efforts to a new level because they are no longer impeded by the high standards set by people such as Mlangeni.

For once, I really wish I am wrong.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 25 July 2020)

Leading in turbulent times: My thoughts

Ryland Fisher

On Tuesday, 14 July 2020, I was a panelist in a webinar hosted by Resolve and Change Systems (RACS). The topic of discussion was: Leading in turbulent times: charting a new direction. Below are my prepared notes for this discussion:

First, let me thank RACS for giving me this opportunity to share my views on a very important topic.

I would like to start with the definition of leadership, not in terms of what you find in dictionaries, but what I have learned from my experience at the university of life.

My rough definition of leadership is when someone, through their words and actions, show others what to do in particular situations, and convince the others to follow. Leaders can be found in many situations and places, from huge corporations or government departments, to community organisations, NGOs, religious groups, sports bodies, etc. But leadership is also found in homes, where it is often the most critical.

I would like to talk about leadership in all these areas in the next few minutes. I will share with you 10 lessons in leadership that I have learned from watching those in government, and in the corporate and non-profit sectors, among others. Most of these lessons are based on observing government, but they can also easily apply to corporates or other sectors of society.

We all think we know what government is doing as the leaders of our country. We wait with anticipation every time the President is supposed to address us and we express our anger when he announces a greater curtailment of our freedoms or he ignores certain areas that we deem important.

A case in point was President Ramaphosa’s televised address to the nation on Sunday night in which he announced a new curfew and that alcohol sales would be suspended with immediate effect. All of this would be done with the aim of curbing the spread of the coronavirus, which has caused havoc with health systems and economies throughout the world.

Of course, not everyone is happy with the President’s announcement: there are those who upset about the exceptions made for the taxi industry; the lack of acknowledgement of teachers and learners who are being forced to go to school; the lack of practical support given to health workers; and the fact that no mention was made about helping the most vulnerable in our society.

But such is the burden of leadership, that you are never able to please all the people all the time. This is the first lesson in leadership during turbulent times that I want to share: you must be prepared to make unpopular decisions based on what you think is right.

The second lesson in leadership is that you have to communicate your position clearly and logically. Even people who might disagree with you, must be able to understand why you have done it. This has not always been the case with the lockdown regulations and the way it has been communicated by the President and his ministers.

The third lesson is that the buck has to stop somewhere. In the case of government, the buck has to stop with the President, even if he has delegated some of his responsibilities to the Coronavirus Command Council. The President, as the leader of government, has to take credit where it is due and criticism when it is warranted.

While the President gives an overall picture, it is up to his ministers to brief the nation on the detail, and this is one area where there have been different levels of performance from ministers – some passed and some failed. It appears that not everyone in the Cabinet is singing from the same hymn book.

This is the fourth lesson: you have to convince those around you of your arguments so that they can all go out and speak with one voice. There are still too many factional and sectoral considerations with regards to the work done by some ministers. For instance, the Minister of Basic Education’s insistence on schools reopening and the concessions made for taxi drivers by the Minister of Transport, seem to fly in the face of the supposed commitment to contain the spread of the virus and to safe lives. There have been other examples of where the actions of Ministers appeared to have been at odds with that of the President.

The fifth lesson in leadership during a time of turbulence is to keep your eye on the ball at all times. It is when you lose focus that things can unravel. There were times during the past four months, and especially when the decision was taken to reduce the levels of lockdown, that there did not appear to be clarity of what was meant to be achieved. In many ways, there was a feeling that government was getting too involved in trying to curtail the activities of citizens as opposed to trying to contain the virus.

The sixth lesson, from the perspective of reviewing government’s leadership performance, is that you need to be able to take the majority of citizens along with you on all decisions, to convince them to buy in even when it looks like they will be inconvenienced. Government has failed to get its message across to the bulk of South Africans. It is either that or the people of South Africa are not prepared to listen to anything about the pandemic. I have no other way of trying to understand the disdain that exists in many quarters towards the attempts to halt the spread of the coronavirus. In the same way as government has to convince most of the people, corporates have to convince most of their stakeholders, which include staff and customers.

The seventh lesson, and this is something that applies to government as well as corporates, is that one should always try to lead by example. The President tried to do this by announcing early on in the lockdown that he and his Cabinet would make salary sacrifices. A few CEOs of major companies followed suit, but I don’t believe that there was much of a sacrifice among the heads of major businesses, especially in an environment where entire industries, especially those consisting mainly of SMMEs, such as tourism and hospitality, had been decimated. We have also seen how a major company like Naspers announced a major payout of hundreds of millions of rands for their CEO and CFO, among others in leadership and then, a week or two later, they announced the closure of several newspapers and magazines, leading to the retrenchment of more than 500 people.

The eighth lesson is about giving in a time of turbulence. Too many people in charge of big organisations – from whatever sector – are only prepared to give if their act of kindness is recorded or acknowledged. The best leaders are those who do not expect anything in return for giving, knowing that, somewhere along the line, they will receive something in return for their good deeds, even though they do not necessarily want it. This reminds me of the mantra that I grew up with during the struggle years, and which I was taught by people such as Johnny Issel, who was my political mentor. I was taught that, if you help somebody, they will be able to help somebody else, who will then also be able to help somebody else. At some point, it will come back to you. Leadership should never be about short-term gratification, but about long-term commitment to changing society for the better. If society improves, all of us eventually benefit. From a business perspective, it should be simple to understand that the more people you uplift, the better it is for the economy.

The ninth lesson is about adaptability. Government has had to adapt its strategy as it goes along, because it has never had to deal with a pandemic such as the one we are facing at the moment. They got some decisions right, like the one to have a hard lockdown initially to try and arrest the spread of the virus, giving us time to get our health resources in place.

But government also got many things wrong, some with legitimate reasons, while others were just strange.

But government has not displayed enough dexterity in their handling of the crisis. It should not only be about lockdowns and providing relief packages. They had a wonderful opportunity to completely reimagine the kind of society we want to live in and fashion their responses along those lines.

The 10th and final leadership lesson that I want to share is one of compassion. Compassion means respecting people irrespective of where they might find themselves in society. The people who are at the bottom today could find themselves at the top in a few years’ time. But the contribution that you can make should never depend on whether you are a minister, a director-general, a CEO or a director of companies. I have learnt many lessons in life from people who would be called “ordinary” by people who think they are more important.

My earliest influence, and probably one of the most important influences in my life, was my mother, who was a domestic worker. But she understood the importance of education as a way of escaping from poverty and she read to me from even before I can remember. This is why, when I finally went to school, I could read much better than many of the children in my class.

Up until today, I can never disregard the wisdom and knowledge of life that one can receive from people who are domestic workers or other supposedly unskilled workers. One of the things that the Covid-19 pandemic has shown us is the importance of people who were always considered not important in our societal food chain, and that has probably not changed. I am talking here about people such as cleaners and shop workers, etc. I do not need to point out the importance of health workers and others who have been at the frontline of fighting the virus.

Compassionate leaders will not only pay lip service to their contribution, but will look at ways in which they can be better remunerated, as well as how their views can be better expressed and appreciated by all in society.

Like Covid-19 has given us an opportunity to reimagine the nature of our society, it has also given us an opportunity to re-evaluate things like leadership. We can never go back to the way things used to be. Society needs to adapt to our new realities and leaders need to be able to show them the way.

The little things that point to a bigger problem

If the Covid-19 pandemic and the resultant lockdown regulations have taught us anything, it is that often the seemingly little things in life matter as much as, if not more than, what is considered big.

We have all had to revise our views of people who were considered untrained or unskilled workers, such as cleaners, dirt collectors and supermarket workers. We have had to realise that we have not shown enough appreciation to the people whose job it is to look after us and heal us when we are sick.

We have had to think about how we deal with the most vulnerable in our society, including the homeless and people who are forced to live in shacks because not enough houses are being built.

As our economy reopens while we are yet to reach the peak of the pandemic, our hearts also go out to those who are forced to return to work – not because they are heroes, but because they have no option but to risk their lives in order to earn enough money to feed their families.

We fear for the thousands, if not millions, of people who are being crammed into taxis to get to and from their workplaces, knowing that they are at risk but being left with no choice: if they stay at home, they will earn no money.

We fear for our children and teachers who are being forced to return to overcrowded schools without proper assurances that they will be safe.

A few little things I noticed on a necessary shopping trip kept me thinking this week. Outside one shop, I noticed a young woman leaving without wearing a mask and talking to several people on her way. As she left the shop, I could see in the entrance, the mandatory sign that all shoppers had to wear masks and sanitise their hands, etc.

Two children were standing in the doorway of another shop, eating ice cream, with their masks around their chins. They were waiting for their mother, who was shopping inside. We had to walk too close for comfort past them as we left the shop.

Outside another shop, a few workers were enjoying a smoke break – yes, people are still smoking despite the government ban – with no masks (obviously) and no social distancing.

I am mentioning these little incidents because they are indicative of a greater problem, a lack of understanding about how we should deal with the pandemic and our own role  in it, which could mean that the pandemic will get much worse before it gets better.

There are many people who feel that they will not get the virus or they cannot spread it, for whatever reason. There are others who just don’t care and have had enough of being inconvenienced.

South Africans often look at government for leadership when it is possible to take things into our own hands. We saw, for instance, how government was forced to take action when students protested that fees had to fall or when thousands marched against gender-based violence (the stupid term for violence committed by men against women), even forcing the President to leave a meeting with potential investors to allay the fears of the protesters.

We cannot march at the moment, because it would be irresponsible, but we can continue to put pressure on government and everyone in society to do their best to contain the virus.

Government seems to have painted themselves into a corner with the levels-based lockdown approach to dealing with the virus. It should never have been about what you can or cannot buy under which levels and which businesses are allowed to operate.

It should always have been about creating an awareness in society and getting the buy-in of what is sometimes euphemistically called the masses. All our energy should be aimed at making sure that everyone does the little things right: such as staying at home (as much as you can), social distancing, washing hands, sanitising and doing everything in our power to stop the spread of the virus. It can be done, with proper will and determination.

(This is the unedited version of my Thinking Allowed column that appeared in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 11 July 2020)

Bidding farewell to legendary lensman

Displayed with pride in my front room are three framed black-and-white photographs taken by George Hallett, who passed away this week at the age of 78. 

The one was taken in District Six, before the removal of people when the area was declared for whites only under the Group Areas Act; the second is of a flock of birds in Bo-Kaap; the third is of the late former president Nelson Mandela. 

The photographs capture a few moments in the life of a remarkable photographer, who was more feted internationally than locally. George died peacefully in his sleep on Wednesday. He had been ill for many months. 

George was born in Hout Bay in 1942, and left South Africa in his early twenties to pursue a photographic career overseas. He lived in self-imposed exile in many cities in Europe, before returning to Cape Town in 1995. In that time, he had become, in my humble opinion, probably the best black-and-white portrait photographer ever in South Africa. 

Legendary lensman George Hallett deserves more recognition for his work. Picture: Mujahid Safodien/African News Agency(ANA)

The first time I encountered the name “George Hallett” was in the late 1970s when, as a teenager, I was introduced to a series of books called the African Writers Series. It featured some of the top writers on the continent and George had designed all the covers, including taking the pictures.

I would meet him around 1980, outside Newspaper House in Cape Town, with one of my mentors who also became my friend, Warren Ludski, who was then news editor of the Cape Herald, where I started my journalistic career. I was impressed by this man, who walked around with a small Leica camera around his neck. He told me that as a photographer, you must always be prepared to capture any moment on film. 

I was more impressed by his humility, especially after Warren told me who he was. I had been in the presence of greatness without knowing it. We would work together much later on my first book, Making the Media Work For You, for which George supplied all the photographs, and later on my second book, Race

George sat in on some of the interviews for Race, so that he could have a better idea of the kind of photograph required. He would later arrange to photograph the people I interviewed. Among others, he photographed Professor Carel Boshoff, the founder of white homeland Orania, under an Africana tree; cricketer Vincent Barnes, in the stands at Newlands Cricket ground; traditional leader Phathekile Holomisa, in a Xhosa outfit; he convinced Obed Zilwa and Leo de Souza to dress up in the way they did on their wedding day; and he captured Manenberg residents Kenny and Sielie Nolan in front of the infamous “Thug Life” graffiti, painted on one of the courts in the area. 

He decided that I should be captured in pensive mood. It is still one of my favourite pictures. 

We worked together many times and spent hours talking at his flat in Frederick Road, Claremont. George took a portrait of my family and helped to guide one of my daughters who expressed an interest in photography. 

Ironically, for someone who is known for his portrait photography, George arguably took two of the best news photographs ever of Nelson Mandela, both on the same day. The first picture, which has graced the pages of publications throughout the world, showed cleaners and other workers at Mandela’s Cape Town residence rejoicing as they welcomed the new president. 

The second photograph, which I have, shows Mandela talking on his cellphone.  In the original picture, a worker can be seen walking past in the background with something on her head. George felt that the picture worked better with Mandela alone because it was not his intention to create an image of a “privileged” man in a suit versus the worker. He wanted to capture Mandela in an unposed moment. 

George was always conscious of the potential power of his images and that is why he spent so much time in planning his portraits. I just wish that he received as much acknowledgement in South Africa as he did overseas. 

Rest in peace, my friend. 

(First published in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 4 July 2020)

'Gatvol' with disregard for Covid-19 danger

If there was one word to describe the mood in South Africa at the moment, it is probably “gatvol”, the Afrikaans word imperfectly translated into English as “fed up”.

This month has been one filled with milestones, personally, politically and otherwise: among others, it started with my special birthday; we just had Youth Day, followed by Thabo Mbeki’s birthday; it's Father’s Day tomorrow; and next Thursday we celebrate 65 years of the Freedom Charter.

But we reach another milestone on Wednesday: 90 days since the start of the lockdown, and, I suppose this is behind the “gatvol” factor taking root in our society. South Africans are sick of the lockdown.

I am among those who have been diligently observing the regulations, but more importantly, doing whatever needs to be done to halt the spread of the virus.

The first thing that should come to mind is the devastation it has caused in many countries, including South Africa. The next thing that should cross our mind is what we can personally do to help in the fight against this invisible killer: whether it is social distancing, wearing a mask, washing our hands ad nauseam, and sanitising everything until it can be sanitised no more.

On Tuesday, which I realised at the last minute was a public holiday - the days have been blurring into each other - I decided to relax my own lockdown regulations and take a drive Muizenberg way to see the sea. My wife was nervous, but I made it clear that we’d stay in our car and, if we needed to get out, we’d do so where there were few or no people, we’d wear our masks and we’d observe social distancing. I had not seen the sea in more than 80days.

It became clear very soon that hundreds, if not thousands, of others had the same idea, but what was shocking was the callous regard many had for the fight against the coronavirus and the risks to which they exposed themselves and others.

Many people were walking along the road between Muizenberg and Kalk Bay without social distancing and without masks. The coffee shops were making brisk business and it seemed like everyone was saying: “Pandemic, what pandemic?”

I got a sense of people feeling that they would/could not be affected by the virus and, if it should happen, it should just happen. This is one of the reactions when people feel “gatvol”.

I thought back to a telephone conversation I had with my sister in Mitchells Plain a few weeks ago. She wanted to know when I was going to visit, and I said not any time soon. She told me that in Mitchells Plain, there was no lockdown. Most people were carrying on their lives as normal.

Therein lies the problem. There is not going to be a normal - new or otherwise - for a long time, at least not until there is a cure for Covid-19. This is our new reality and the sooner we accept it, the more chance we will have of coming out on the other side alive.

Watching President Cyril Ramaphosa speaking about opening more of the economy on Wednesday night, I realised that we have now reached the stage in the fight against the pandemic where we hold our lives in our own hands. No level of lockdown is going to have any effect unless we change our behaviour.

Our tasks are simple: wear masks, wash your hands a lot, social distance, sanitise and stay at home if you can. This is our new reality and we need to embrace it sooner rather than later.

(First published as a Thinking Allowed column in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 20 June 2020)

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)