Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 23 May 2011
Based on the results of the recent municipal elections, various commentators in the mainstream media have started to marvel at what appears to be a definite shift in the voting patterns of the South African electorate.
In the last municipal elections in 2006, the African National Congress (ANC) obtained 66.3% of the national average. This year, the figure declined to about 62%.
Meanwhile, the official opposition party, the Democratic Alliance (DA), has increased its support significantly from 14.8% of the national average in 2006 to almost 24% this year.
Based on these percentages, a presumption is being made that South Africa is heading towards a two-party state in which the DA may soon triumph over the ANC and become a ruling party at national level.
The possibility of a solidified opposition with enough muscle to defeat the ruling party at the polls is being marvelled at based on the benefits that may arise as a result of stiff competition between the two main parties.
It is generally acknowledged that when a ruling party faces the possibility of defeat at the polls, it becomes more competitive and that such competitive behaviour may ultimately benefit the voter.
Because of a variety of factors, however, South Africa is far from becoming a two-party state and is set to experience many more years of ANC domination.
Perhaps the biggest of those factors is the one most disdained by the minority elite; i.e. South Africans’ reluctance to accept that we have adequately addressed the legacy of apartheid and that we are ready to move forward as one united nation.
Many white people – especially the youth who repeatedly and desperately distance themselves from the atrocities of apartheid – do not understand why blacks continue to vote on the basis of what happened in the past.
On a Facebook friend’s discussion recently, a white man asked the question: “How much longer do us young generation of South Africans have to be taken back to apartheid?”
And my response: “Apartheid is still very fresh. There are people and institutions that are actively trying to maintain its economic, intellectual and cultural infrastructure.”
The man retorted with a familiar line. “I was not part of apartheid”, he said. “A black man who was not part of the struggle; how does he forgive?”
The discussion is one that should take place broadly and in an even-tempered environment, pure of the venom and bigotry that often characterises debates about past and present injustices as well as the bright, prosperous and just society that is envisioned in our constitution.
Unfortunately, we are not ready to speak with common purpose about the future we seek because we pretend to have dealt with our past despite glaring evidence to the contrary.
There is deep-seated mistrust based on our political history. Whites want everyone to move on and bury the ghost of apartheid because many of them, they say, cannot be held accountable for apartheid.
It is one thing not to be accountable for an act of injustice. It is something else to have benefited (and to continue to benefit) from it.
It is a fact that many in South Africa are reaping the economic benefits of apartheid and that their future generations, not guilty of apartheid, may also benefit from it.
Former President Thabo Mbeki, whilst still deputising Nelson Mandela in 1998, attracted widespread criticism when he spoke of South Africa as being a country with “two nations”, one of which is black and poor and another white and privileged.
The “black nation”, as Mbeki put it, “lives under conditions of a grossly underdeveloped economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure” and “has virtually no possibility to exercise what in reality amounts to a theoretical right to equal opportunity”.
The other nation, white and privileged, “has ready access to a developed economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure” which gives members of this group “the possibility to exercise their right to equal opportunity”.
It is precisely this racial and class divide that may determine – for a long period of time – the ability of the opposition, led by the DA, to garner enough votes to one day beat the ANC at the national polls.
For as long as South African society maintains the ugly shape that was moulded by apartheid, people are bound to continue voting along racial lines drawn by the same apartheid system.
The challenge, therefore, is not for white people to do everything in their power to maintain their apartheid-style economic privileges but to join hands with blacks towards an equal society in which all people are able to practically exercise their freedoms.
The great pity, though, is that the kind of equal society that Helen Zille talks about is not one of real economic equality but rather one of equal competition. And so the question arises: can there be equal and just competition amongst unequal people?
At the end of the day, it is the ability of black people to be free from economic bondage that will determine the success of the DA. And that, I am afraid, may not happen anytime soon because a lot of DA supporters seek protection from the poor, not inclusion.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Melrose House, shunned scene of great history
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 09 May 2011
They probably thought the continuous display of Hendrick Verwoed’s statue in the town of Midvaal, Gauteng, was a harmless preservation of history.
With municipal elections around the corner, the powers-that-be in the DA-led town soon learned something else: Verwoed, the apartheid architect, remains an insult figure even in his lifeless, artistic depiction.
Amongst black people, the history of South Africa’s colonial and apartheid periods is being shunned for the loses that black people suffered. It is a reminder of the humiliation of the day.
Amongst whites, South Africa’s pre-1994 history serves as a reminder of the guilt of their forbearers. They are too ashamed to take pride in the story of South Africa before Nelson Mandela walked out of jail a free man.
Between the two races, there is an attempt not to remember the past, and one had observed with great discomfort how this plays itself out in real life.
When I visited the Melrose House museum in Pretoria recently for a tour, I saw South Africa’s past being neglected. I was the lone visitor, only to be joined later by two young white males, probably in their 20s.
My fellow tourists, though, were not interested in the extraordinary stories told at the museum.
The tour normally starts at a room next to the reception, but my fellow tourists, upon paying their entrance fee, immediately ran upstairs.
No sooner had they arrived there that the purpose of their visit was revealed. Sweet melodies emanated from their direction, and the security guard knew exactly what they were doing.
“These boys, they are playing the [preserved] piano,” he moaned as he quickly ran upstairs, and I could hear him saying: “It’s enough; it’s enough, guys”.
After their admonishment, my fellow tourists asked a few questions about the age of the piano before departing the museum, with one of them still raving about it as the pair stepped out. “It’s so old but the sound is great”.
Built in 1886 and owned by entrepreneur George Jesse Heys, the Melrose House is the scene of great historical significance, having served (between 1889 and 1902) as the headquarters of the British army during the Anglo-Boer War.
Befittingly, the Treaty of Vereeniging, which signaled the end of the war on 31 May 1902, was signed at the dining room of the Melrose House.
The British government was so grateful to the Heys family they even sent them cash. And, perhaps because of their wealth, the Heys family did not spend the cash but rather used it to decorate their dining room wall.
Heys, son of English immigrants, (his farther, George, was born in North Langashire, England) was born in Durban in 1852, later moving to Machadodorp to start cattle farming.
Later, in 1879, he moved to Pretoria and started several companies, including Heys and Co. General Dealers as well as Geo Heys & Co’s Express Saloon and Coach Service.
Building of the Melrose House started in 1886 at the corner of Minaar and Andries Streets, Pretoria, where it still lies quietly today, facing the Burgers Park.
The house was popular amongst local folk, and there’s no guessing why. “Tea and cake were served at four o’clock (pm) and whisky and soda at five o’clock. The men played billiards when it rained,” says a note.
The Heys family had a huge staff compliment, amongst them a cook, a fulltime housekeeper, ironing servants, chamber maids, gardeners and a coachman.
Inside the house, which had mostly imported interiors and which has been restored to its original form, the black staff members were not allowed upstairs as per Victorian and Edwardian era standards.
Each of the three big bedrooms, all upstairs, had, in addition to the usual stuff, a fire place, a reading table, a bible and a door leading to a balcony.
Next to the main bedroom of Heys and his wife lies a small room equal in size to a modern-day standard bathroom. During the Victorian era, a story is told, it was custom for husband and wife to undress in separate rooms, so this small room was used by Mrs. Heys for that purpose.
Before completing my tour, I looked at the green gardens outside through a window from the first floor. It was a quiet place, far from free whisky-serving meeting place of the bygone era.
Cars and pedestrians walked past as if avoiding the place. No one would come here to re-enact the signing of the Treaty of Vereeniging, I said to myself. The blacks don’t associate themselves with that history. The whites are ashamed of it.
They probably thought the continuous display of Hendrick Verwoed’s statue in the town of Midvaal, Gauteng, was a harmless preservation of history.
With municipal elections around the corner, the powers-that-be in the DA-led town soon learned something else: Verwoed, the apartheid architect, remains an insult figure even in his lifeless, artistic depiction.
Amongst black people, the history of South Africa’s colonial and apartheid periods is being shunned for the loses that black people suffered. It is a reminder of the humiliation of the day.
Amongst whites, South Africa’s pre-1994 history serves as a reminder of the guilt of their forbearers. They are too ashamed to take pride in the story of South Africa before Nelson Mandela walked out of jail a free man.
Between the two races, there is an attempt not to remember the past, and one had observed with great discomfort how this plays itself out in real life.
When I visited the Melrose House museum in Pretoria recently for a tour, I saw South Africa’s past being neglected. I was the lone visitor, only to be joined later by two young white males, probably in their 20s.
My fellow tourists, though, were not interested in the extraordinary stories told at the museum.
The tour normally starts at a room next to the reception, but my fellow tourists, upon paying their entrance fee, immediately ran upstairs.
No sooner had they arrived there that the purpose of their visit was revealed. Sweet melodies emanated from their direction, and the security guard knew exactly what they were doing.
“These boys, they are playing the [preserved] piano,” he moaned as he quickly ran upstairs, and I could hear him saying: “It’s enough; it’s enough, guys”.
After their admonishment, my fellow tourists asked a few questions about the age of the piano before departing the museum, with one of them still raving about it as the pair stepped out. “It’s so old but the sound is great”.
Built in 1886 and owned by entrepreneur George Jesse Heys, the Melrose House is the scene of great historical significance, having served (between 1889 and 1902) as the headquarters of the British army during the Anglo-Boer War.
Befittingly, the Treaty of Vereeniging, which signaled the end of the war on 31 May 1902, was signed at the dining room of the Melrose House.
The British government was so grateful to the Heys family they even sent them cash. And, perhaps because of their wealth, the Heys family did not spend the cash but rather used it to decorate their dining room wall.
Heys, son of English immigrants, (his farther, George, was born in North Langashire, England) was born in Durban in 1852, later moving to Machadodorp to start cattle farming.
Later, in 1879, he moved to Pretoria and started several companies, including Heys and Co. General Dealers as well as Geo Heys & Co’s Express Saloon and Coach Service.
Building of the Melrose House started in 1886 at the corner of Minaar and Andries Streets, Pretoria, where it still lies quietly today, facing the Burgers Park.
The house was popular amongst local folk, and there’s no guessing why. “Tea and cake were served at four o’clock (pm) and whisky and soda at five o’clock. The men played billiards when it rained,” says a note.
The Heys family had a huge staff compliment, amongst them a cook, a fulltime housekeeper, ironing servants, chamber maids, gardeners and a coachman.
Inside the house, which had mostly imported interiors and which has been restored to its original form, the black staff members were not allowed upstairs as per Victorian and Edwardian era standards.
Each of the three big bedrooms, all upstairs, had, in addition to the usual stuff, a fire place, a reading table, a bible and a door leading to a balcony.
Next to the main bedroom of Heys and his wife lies a small room equal in size to a modern-day standard bathroom. During the Victorian era, a story is told, it was custom for husband and wife to undress in separate rooms, so this small room was used by Mrs. Heys for that purpose.
Before completing my tour, I looked at the green gardens outside through a window from the first floor. It was a quiet place, far from free whisky-serving meeting place of the bygone era.
Cars and pedestrians walked past as if avoiding the place. No one would come here to re-enact the signing of the Treaty of Vereeniging, I said to myself. The blacks don’t associate themselves with that history. The whites are ashamed of it.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
My encounter with Julius Malema
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 20 April 2011
Depending on which side of South Africa’s colourful history you most associate with and what your views are on contemporary socio-economic realities, Julius Malema, president of the ANC Youth League, could be described in completely opposing terms at the same time: a populist demagogue, a racist, a charismatic leader, a fearless truth-teller.
As it is now alleged in the hate speech trial brought against him by Afri Forum and the Transvaal Agricultural Union (TAU) for his singing of the anti-apartheid struggle song dubul’ ibhunu (or shoot the Boer), Malema can sometimes also be a menace to some. He also allegedly incites his supporters to carry out racial attacks.
Counsel for AfriForum and TAU have argued in court that their clients are worried about Malema’s singing of the song in post-apartheid South Africa because the song (or chant as it's been called by a "music expert") incites violence against a particular grouping of the white population, the Boer.
Testifying in the case, AfriForum’s deputy CEO, Ernst Roets, said Malema uses violent language and threatening gestures and has even threatened a delegation of Afrikaners at a meeting that if they marched to the ANC’s headquarters in Johannesburg, “what happened to IFP members outside Shell House in 1994” would happen to them.
“I’m not a struggle expert,” said Roets, “so I asked what he meant.” At this point leaning forward in his chair, Malema allegedly told the Afrikaner delegation: “Come protest and you will see.”
Quite why many people fear Malema is a matter that goes far beyond the young man himself. The Malema I have known from a young age (and whom I had a chat with following a meeting in 2010) is anything but threatening.
In real life, he is not even what he appears to be on television, radio or newspapers – both in terms of physical stature and in tone. In real life, Malema is shorter than what he appears like on TV. Also, he is more youthful in appearance.
When I met him at a gathering where he addressed a group of foreign journalists in Johannesburg one evening in 2010, Malema never seemed to value his own presence. He listens very attentively to every word spoken to him (even greetings).
It may very well be a psychological issue: that Malema has been told many times that he’s a half-literate idiot who barely passed matric. When you speak to him, he listens as if saying: “I don’t know anything. Please educate me.”
At the gathering with international journalists, the room was packed with between 80 and 100 people, but there were only about six or seven black people amongst them – Malema and his spokespesperson Floyd Shivambu included.
When I went to speak to him after his address (during which he likened his frequent controversial outbursts to those of young Nelson Mandela), he asked me as one of the few black people in the audience: “Do you work with these people?”
“No,” I responded. “I work for the GCIS”. I didn’t think he’d care to ask any further question – or even to know what the GCIS stands for. And he responded: “Oh, Government Communications! I see.”
And he wasn’t finished asking me questions: “So where do you come from?” When I told him I’m from the Sekhukhune area in Limpopo, he smiled and said: “You see, when I speak about mines, I think you’ll relate with the situation I am talking about.”
Then he said in Sepedi: “These people (referring to white mine bosses) are eating our resources. The whole Sekhukhune is poor. There is dust all over, and they are busy grabbing away from us in broad daylight.”
The menacing Malema that is being referred to in many public platforms – and now in the on-going hate speech trial – seems, to a black person, like an invention. But to whites, the fear that they get when they listen to Malema is in fact fear of the kind of radical change that they believe they had put behind their backs through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC).
The TRC served its purpose in as far as bringing erstwhile political adversaries closer is concerned, but it also served another purpose: to assure the white man that the possessions he acquired, either legally or illegally, during apartheid were protected from any form of violent dispossession in a post-apartheid dispensation.
A common theme amongst many conservative South Africans is that their country is on the way of becoming another Zimbabwe, and this point was also made in the hate speech case. Reference was made to the fear amongst Afrikaners of South Africa veering towards “a failed state.”
Many white South Africans are still afraid of blacks in general; and Malema, as the self-styled leader of angry, jobless and poor black youth, must not be allowed to provoke this potentially dangerous group of people who would have little to lose even if the country plunges into another Zimbabwe.
Depending on which side of South Africa’s colourful history you most associate with and what your views are on contemporary socio-economic realities, Julius Malema, president of the ANC Youth League, could be described in completely opposing terms at the same time: a populist demagogue, a racist, a charismatic leader, a fearless truth-teller.
As it is now alleged in the hate speech trial brought against him by Afri Forum and the Transvaal Agricultural Union (TAU) for his singing of the anti-apartheid struggle song dubul’ ibhunu (or shoot the Boer), Malema can sometimes also be a menace to some. He also allegedly incites his supporters to carry out racial attacks.
Counsel for AfriForum and TAU have argued in court that their clients are worried about Malema’s singing of the song in post-apartheid South Africa because the song (or chant as it's been called by a "music expert") incites violence against a particular grouping of the white population, the Boer.
Testifying in the case, AfriForum’s deputy CEO, Ernst Roets, said Malema uses violent language and threatening gestures and has even threatened a delegation of Afrikaners at a meeting that if they marched to the ANC’s headquarters in Johannesburg, “what happened to IFP members outside Shell House in 1994” would happen to them.
“I’m not a struggle expert,” said Roets, “so I asked what he meant.” At this point leaning forward in his chair, Malema allegedly told the Afrikaner delegation: “Come protest and you will see.”
Quite why many people fear Malema is a matter that goes far beyond the young man himself. The Malema I have known from a young age (and whom I had a chat with following a meeting in 2010) is anything but threatening.
In real life, he is not even what he appears to be on television, radio or newspapers – both in terms of physical stature and in tone. In real life, Malema is shorter than what he appears like on TV. Also, he is more youthful in appearance.
When I met him at a gathering where he addressed a group of foreign journalists in Johannesburg one evening in 2010, Malema never seemed to value his own presence. He listens very attentively to every word spoken to him (even greetings).
It may very well be a psychological issue: that Malema has been told many times that he’s a half-literate idiot who barely passed matric. When you speak to him, he listens as if saying: “I don’t know anything. Please educate me.”
At the gathering with international journalists, the room was packed with between 80 and 100 people, but there were only about six or seven black people amongst them – Malema and his spokespesperson Floyd Shivambu included.
When I went to speak to him after his address (during which he likened his frequent controversial outbursts to those of young Nelson Mandela), he asked me as one of the few black people in the audience: “Do you work with these people?”
“No,” I responded. “I work for the GCIS”. I didn’t think he’d care to ask any further question – or even to know what the GCIS stands for. And he responded: “Oh, Government Communications! I see.”
And he wasn’t finished asking me questions: “So where do you come from?” When I told him I’m from the Sekhukhune area in Limpopo, he smiled and said: “You see, when I speak about mines, I think you’ll relate with the situation I am talking about.”
Then he said in Sepedi: “These people (referring to white mine bosses) are eating our resources. The whole Sekhukhune is poor. There is dust all over, and they are busy grabbing away from us in broad daylight.”
The menacing Malema that is being referred to in many public platforms – and now in the on-going hate speech trial – seems, to a black person, like an invention. But to whites, the fear that they get when they listen to Malema is in fact fear of the kind of radical change that they believe they had put behind their backs through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC).
The TRC served its purpose in as far as bringing erstwhile political adversaries closer is concerned, but it also served another purpose: to assure the white man that the possessions he acquired, either legally or illegally, during apartheid were protected from any form of violent dispossession in a post-apartheid dispensation.
A common theme amongst many conservative South Africans is that their country is on the way of becoming another Zimbabwe, and this point was also made in the hate speech case. Reference was made to the fear amongst Afrikaners of South Africa veering towards “a failed state.”
Many white South Africans are still afraid of blacks in general; and Malema, as the self-styled leader of angry, jobless and poor black youth, must not be allowed to provoke this potentially dangerous group of people who would have little to lose even if the country plunges into another Zimbabwe.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
UK Prime Minister to foreign students: go back home
British Prime Minister David Cameron has called on immigrants in his country to embrace British values, learn the language and urged foreign students to return home after completing their studies.
In a speech prepared for delivery today at a Conservative Party conference, Cameron said his government was implementing a variety of measures to control immigration in line with election promises he made last year.
The 44-year-old Cameron said immigrants’ inability and unwillingness to learn the English language “has created a kind of discomfort and disjointedness in some neighbourhoods.”
Between 1997 and 2009, 2.2 million more people migrated to Britain than left the country to live abroad, and Cameron is aiming to reduce the figures to the 1980s levels when Margaret Thatcher’s administration implemented strict controls.
Cameron blamed foreign students for the current surge in British-bound migration, saying “a lot of those students bring people with them to this country … husbands, wives, children. Indeed, last year, 32,000 visas were issued to the dependents of students.”
From now onwards, he said, only post-graduate students can bring dependants. “And we're making sure that if people come over here to study, they should be studying not working … and that when they've finished their studies, they go home unless they are offered a graduate-level skilled job, with a minimum salary.”
Whilst answering to the concerns of anti-immigration groupings within the Conservative Party and the broader right-wing movement, the speech has predictably been slammed as being “very unwise” by the Liberal Democrats, who are in a power-sharing government with Cameron’s Conservative Party.
Speaking to the BBC, Liberal Democrats' Vincent Cable, who serves as the coalition government’s Business Secretary, said the prime minister’s speech contained aims that were not part of the coalition agreement between the Conservative Party and the Liberal Democrats.
The speech also “risked inflaming extremism" and is “very unwise”, said Cable, adding that immigration from outside Europe “is crucial to British recovery and growth".
In a speech prepared for delivery today at a Conservative Party conference, Cameron said his government was implementing a variety of measures to control immigration in line with election promises he made last year.
The 44-year-old Cameron said immigrants’ inability and unwillingness to learn the English language “has created a kind of discomfort and disjointedness in some neighbourhoods.”
Between 1997 and 2009, 2.2 million more people migrated to Britain than left the country to live abroad, and Cameron is aiming to reduce the figures to the 1980s levels when Margaret Thatcher’s administration implemented strict controls.
Cameron blamed foreign students for the current surge in British-bound migration, saying “a lot of those students bring people with them to this country … husbands, wives, children. Indeed, last year, 32,000 visas were issued to the dependents of students.”
From now onwards, he said, only post-graduate students can bring dependants. “And we're making sure that if people come over here to study, they should be studying not working … and that when they've finished their studies, they go home unless they are offered a graduate-level skilled job, with a minimum salary.”
Whilst answering to the concerns of anti-immigration groupings within the Conservative Party and the broader right-wing movement, the speech has predictably been slammed as being “very unwise” by the Liberal Democrats, who are in a power-sharing government with Cameron’s Conservative Party.
Speaking to the BBC, Liberal Democrats' Vincent Cable, who serves as the coalition government’s Business Secretary, said the prime minister’s speech contained aims that were not part of the coalition agreement between the Conservative Party and the Liberal Democrats.
The speech also “risked inflaming extremism" and is “very unwise”, said Cable, adding that immigration from outside Europe “is crucial to British recovery and growth".
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Don't ban "kill the boer" song
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 12 April 2011
The ongoing hate speech trial of ANC Youth League President Julius Malema at the Equality Court in Johannesburg is likely to introduce new boundaries within which freedom of speech and freedom of expression can be applied.
According to Section 16 (2) (b) and (c) of the Constitution, the right to freedom of expression does not include “incitement of imminent violence” or “advocacy of hatred that is based on race, ethnicity, gender or religion, and that constitutes incitement to cause harm.”
Malema’s legal representatives argue in court papers that liberation songs such as "Shoot the Boer" are not sung with the intention to incite violence, harm, degrade or humiliate any person or group of persons.
The songs are "simply part of the heritage of the struggle and must be understood in the historical context of the role of song in liberation struggles all over the world,” Malema’s lawyer, Vincent Maleka, argues.
Meanwhile, a study by TNS Research Surveys has revealed that 74% of metro adults feel that the phrases "Kill the boer" or "Kill the farmer" constitute hate speech.
If the court bans the song or certain parts of its lyrics, that may narrow the space within which freedom of expression can be applied.
If the court grants Malema the right to continue singing the song anywhere anytime, that may also be interpreted as advocating racial hatred.
Now, what should the court do? Allow the song to be sung by (or in the presence of) anyone except Malema? Ban it completely?
Any of the two extremes (permission or ban) appears undesirable at the moment, and the court may need to explore a neutral and innovative solution.
The court should not be so heavy-handed as to force South Africans to forget the past, all because of Malema's actions.
In the same vein, young political leaders should be taught – through court decisions if need be – to realise the power that they have to polirise society through irresponsible public utterances/behaviour.
Under the circumstances, the most appropriate ruling, it appears, would be to prescribe circumstances and conditions under which the song may be sung.
For example, when a public event is held to commemorate the life and times of Peter Mokaba, him who made the song popular, why should “kill the boer” not be sung on such an occasion as part of tributes to the man?
To introduce an outright ban on the singing of the song by Malema or anyone would be extreme, particularly given the fact that no evidence exists to prove that the killing of white Afrikaner farmers (boere) can be linked to the song.
The ongoing hate speech trial of ANC Youth League President Julius Malema at the Equality Court in Johannesburg is likely to introduce new boundaries within which freedom of speech and freedom of expression can be applied.
According to Section 16 (2) (b) and (c) of the Constitution, the right to freedom of expression does not include “incitement of imminent violence” or “advocacy of hatred that is based on race, ethnicity, gender or religion, and that constitutes incitement to cause harm.”
Malema’s legal representatives argue in court papers that liberation songs such as "Shoot the Boer" are not sung with the intention to incite violence, harm, degrade or humiliate any person or group of persons.
The songs are "simply part of the heritage of the struggle and must be understood in the historical context of the role of song in liberation struggles all over the world,” Malema’s lawyer, Vincent Maleka, argues.
Meanwhile, a study by TNS Research Surveys has revealed that 74% of metro adults feel that the phrases "Kill the boer" or "Kill the farmer" constitute hate speech.
If the court bans the song or certain parts of its lyrics, that may narrow the space within which freedom of expression can be applied.
If the court grants Malema the right to continue singing the song anywhere anytime, that may also be interpreted as advocating racial hatred.
Now, what should the court do? Allow the song to be sung by (or in the presence of) anyone except Malema? Ban it completely?
Any of the two extremes (permission or ban) appears undesirable at the moment, and the court may need to explore a neutral and innovative solution.
The court should not be so heavy-handed as to force South Africans to forget the past, all because of Malema's actions.
In the same vein, young political leaders should be taught – through court decisions if need be – to realise the power that they have to polirise society through irresponsible public utterances/behaviour.
Under the circumstances, the most appropriate ruling, it appears, would be to prescribe circumstances and conditions under which the song may be sung.
For example, when a public event is held to commemorate the life and times of Peter Mokaba, him who made the song popular, why should “kill the boer” not be sung on such an occasion as part of tributes to the man?
To introduce an outright ban on the singing of the song by Malema or anyone would be extreme, particularly given the fact that no evidence exists to prove that the killing of white Afrikaner farmers (boere) can be linked to the song.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Where are the DA's blacks when you need them?
The picture is the same across the country: whites for mayoral candidature where victory is probable; blacks for subordinate positions.
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 30 March 2011
According to the Democratic Alliance (DA), the upcoming local government elections, to be held on May 18, are about service delivery. Nothing else matters more.
But wait: something else does matters to me (and possibly to a large number of others).
Why does does it appear that a good “service delivery” record in Cape Town is being used to justify (or excuse) the racist notion that blacks cannot run a government?
Where they stand a chance to win a municipality, the DA leadership is very consistent with their choices of mayoral candidates. They are non-blacks.
In Johannesburg, where it is almost certain that they will get a clobbering, Helen Zille’s party has found young Mmusi Maimane to run as their mayoral candidate.
In Cape Town, where victory is near-certain – thanks in part to the combination of a good track record, a weak opposition and, yes, the race factor – DA newcomer Patricia De Lille is leading the pack.
In the Midvaal in Gauteng, where the DA has been in office for more than 10 years and where victory is highly likely, current executive mayor Timothy Nast is running for re-election.
The picture is the same across the country: whites for mayoral candidature where victory is probable; blacks for subordinate positions.
Speaking at a media briefing On 28 March in Johannesburg, Zille came close to admitting that blacks are tokens in the DA.
She was quoted by a newspaper the following day saying: “Of course it is an enormous plus that [DA national spokesperson Lindiwe Mazibuko] is black. It is a huge advantage.”
One’s blackness is seen as an advantage in an election which, we are told, is not about race! Actions, ultimately, speak louder than words – and the posters speak louder too.
In Pretoria, where the DA has a white man as their mayoral candidate, huge DA billboards are already up. But guess whose face is there? Zille, Mazibuko and Cape Town mayoral candidate Patricia De Lille.
It won’t be to the DA’s advantage to put Brandon Topham’s face on the billboards and posters, especially in and around the city centre and in townships such as Mamelodi, Atteridgeville, Soshanguve, Mabopane and Hammanskraal.
Where are the bright black DA leaders that Zille talks about when victory is likely? It’s really hard not to conclude that blacks are set up to fail.
It’s even harder not to conclude that so-called good service delivery record in Cape Town is being used to condone the racist notion that blacks cannot run a government.
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 30 March 2011
According to the Democratic Alliance (DA), the upcoming local government elections, to be held on May 18, are about service delivery. Nothing else matters more.
But wait: something else does matters to me (and possibly to a large number of others).
Why does does it appear that a good “service delivery” record in Cape Town is being used to justify (or excuse) the racist notion that blacks cannot run a government?
Where they stand a chance to win a municipality, the DA leadership is very consistent with their choices of mayoral candidates. They are non-blacks.
In Johannesburg, where it is almost certain that they will get a clobbering, Helen Zille’s party has found young Mmusi Maimane to run as their mayoral candidate.
In Cape Town, where victory is near-certain – thanks in part to the combination of a good track record, a weak opposition and, yes, the race factor – DA newcomer Patricia De Lille is leading the pack.
In the Midvaal in Gauteng, where the DA has been in office for more than 10 years and where victory is highly likely, current executive mayor Timothy Nast is running for re-election.
The picture is the same across the country: whites for mayoral candidature where victory is probable; blacks for subordinate positions.
Speaking at a media briefing On 28 March in Johannesburg, Zille came close to admitting that blacks are tokens in the DA.
She was quoted by a newspaper the following day saying: “Of course it is an enormous plus that [DA national spokesperson Lindiwe Mazibuko] is black. It is a huge advantage.”
One’s blackness is seen as an advantage in an election which, we are told, is not about race! Actions, ultimately, speak louder than words – and the posters speak louder too.
In Pretoria, where the DA has a white man as their mayoral candidate, huge DA billboards are already up. But guess whose face is there? Zille, Mazibuko and Cape Town mayoral candidate Patricia De Lille.
It won’t be to the DA’s advantage to put Brandon Topham’s face on the billboards and posters, especially in and around the city centre and in townships such as Mamelodi, Atteridgeville, Soshanguve, Mabopane and Hammanskraal.
Where are the bright black DA leaders that Zille talks about when victory is likely? It’s really hard not to conclude that blacks are set up to fail.
It’s even harder not to conclude that so-called good service delivery record in Cape Town is being used to condone the racist notion that blacks cannot run a government.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Shikota: the party's over
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 10 February 2011
When Mbhazima Shilowa came to my township one Saturday morning during the 2009 election campaign, I joined scores of other Soshanguve residents at a local church from where the former Gauteng premier was expected to deliver an important address.
Shilowa was scheduled to start his address at 10h00, but when I arrived at the church an hour early, a group of ANC members was already toyi-toying outside, looking threatened by Shilowa’s potential to woo traditional ANC supporters in the township towards the new party that he co-founded with Mosioua Lekota.
By the time Shilowa arrived, the church was packed. Dignitaries at the main table facing the crowd had already taken their seats.
As Shilowa made a boisterous entrance from the front door of the church, walking towards the pulpit, the dignitaries joined the crowd in a standing ovation for Shilowa, accompanied by the chanting of a struggle song.
Not for him, on this day, the pin-striped suits that he used to wear whilst Premier of the Gauteng Province. Not even the usual sight of bodyguards in black suits surrounding him as he entered the church.
The picture that Shilowa painted of himself that day – and for most of the election campaign – was of a man who had given up the comfort of high office to rescue his country from what was painted to look like the brink of political and administrative chaos.
Shilowa, at least on this day, didn’t seem remotely capable of politicking for power’s sake. He was, after all, the man who voluntarily vacated the lucrative position of premier of South Africa’s richest province, venturing into an era of uncertainty.
That was in 2009.
Today Cope no longer survives on the back of either popular support or a just cause. It is sustained by pride.
None of the party's two co-founders is willing to be led by another, which leaves the few remaining supporters on both sides of the divide looking vulnerable and confused.
If he were to return to Soshanguve today, those toyi-toying ANC members will simply ignore him – or, at the very least, turn up only to deliver a simple message: “We told you so.”
I doubt if Shilowa would have the courage (or even the reason) to return to my township.
And since neither of the co-founders seems prepared to declare the end of the party (or at least make way for another to lead), the voters in the upcoming local government elections have a duty to send a message to Shikota via the ballot: the party’s over.
When Mbhazima Shilowa came to my township one Saturday morning during the 2009 election campaign, I joined scores of other Soshanguve residents at a local church from where the former Gauteng premier was expected to deliver an important address.
Shilowa was scheduled to start his address at 10h00, but when I arrived at the church an hour early, a group of ANC members was already toyi-toying outside, looking threatened by Shilowa’s potential to woo traditional ANC supporters in the township towards the new party that he co-founded with Mosioua Lekota.
By the time Shilowa arrived, the church was packed. Dignitaries at the main table facing the crowd had already taken their seats.
As Shilowa made a boisterous entrance from the front door of the church, walking towards the pulpit, the dignitaries joined the crowd in a standing ovation for Shilowa, accompanied by the chanting of a struggle song.
Not for him, on this day, the pin-striped suits that he used to wear whilst Premier of the Gauteng Province. Not even the usual sight of bodyguards in black suits surrounding him as he entered the church.
The picture that Shilowa painted of himself that day – and for most of the election campaign – was of a man who had given up the comfort of high office to rescue his country from what was painted to look like the brink of political and administrative chaos.
Shilowa, at least on this day, didn’t seem remotely capable of politicking for power’s sake. He was, after all, the man who voluntarily vacated the lucrative position of premier of South Africa’s richest province, venturing into an era of uncertainty.
That was in 2009.
Today Cope no longer survives on the back of either popular support or a just cause. It is sustained by pride.
None of the party's two co-founders is willing to be led by another, which leaves the few remaining supporters on both sides of the divide looking vulnerable and confused.
If he were to return to Soshanguve today, those toyi-toying ANC members will simply ignore him – or, at the very least, turn up only to deliver a simple message: “We told you so.”
I doubt if Shilowa would have the courage (or even the reason) to return to my township.
And since neither of the co-founders seems prepared to declare the end of the party (or at least make way for another to lead), the voters in the upcoming local government elections have a duty to send a message to Shikota via the ballot: the party’s over.
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