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.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
'History repeats itself'
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 15 December 2010
Karl Marx observed memorably that “history repeats itself; first as tragedy, second as a farce”. This is no truer than in some events in South Africa’s history.
Exactly 172 years ago tomorrow, Zulu King Dingaan and his troops killed Voortrekker leader Piet Retief in a confrontation that would later culminate in what became known as the Battle of Blood River.
Dingaan is reported to have invited Retief to a ceremony to celebrate the signing of their land sale agreement. The ceremony, as it turned out, was a set up, organised by Dingaan to capture Retief and his troops.
After they were captured, Retief and his troops are said to have been led to kwa-Matiwane, where they were killed, with Retief being the last to be executed after watching his men as they were slaughtered one by one.
The Afrikaners designated the day of the massacre as a public holiday known as the Day of the Vow. The day, which remains a public holiday in post-apartheid South Africa, was also known as Dingaan Day.
Of great historical irony is that 123 years after Retief's killing (in 1962) the African National Congress, led by radicals such as Nelson Mandela, formed its military wing, Umkhondo We Sizwe (the spear of the nation), popularly known as the MK.
ANC President Oliver Tambo said of the MK that its formation marked the resumption of an "armed struggle under modern conditions for the restoration of our land to its rightful owners."
In a 1969 broadcast to mark the eighth anniversary of the MK, Tambo said the anti-apartheid rebel army would wage a fierce "armed guerilla struggle throughout southern Africa" that would result in the apartheid government suffering "ignominious defeat".
Up until 1990 when it suspended its operations in the face of negotiations for a peaceful settlement, the MK never faced apartheid forces in the type of struggle envisaged by Tambo. Instead, it launched targeted campaigns at apartheid operatives and strategic sites.
As a result of the integration in 1994 of the MK into the South African National Defence Force, today many former MK operatives work hand-in-hand with their former enemies.
Karl Marx observed memorably that “history repeats itself; first as tragedy, second as a farce”. This is no truer than in some events in South Africa’s history.
Exactly 172 years ago tomorrow, Zulu King Dingaan and his troops killed Voortrekker leader Piet Retief in a confrontation that would later culminate in what became known as the Battle of Blood River.
Dingaan is reported to have invited Retief to a ceremony to celebrate the signing of their land sale agreement. The ceremony, as it turned out, was a set up, organised by Dingaan to capture Retief and his troops.
After they were captured, Retief and his troops are said to have been led to kwa-Matiwane, where they were killed, with Retief being the last to be executed after watching his men as they were slaughtered one by one.
The Afrikaners designated the day of the massacre as a public holiday known as the Day of the Vow. The day, which remains a public holiday in post-apartheid South Africa, was also known as Dingaan Day.
Of great historical irony is that 123 years after Retief's killing (in 1962) the African National Congress, led by radicals such as Nelson Mandela, formed its military wing, Umkhondo We Sizwe (the spear of the nation), popularly known as the MK.
ANC President Oliver Tambo said of the MK that its formation marked the resumption of an "armed struggle under modern conditions for the restoration of our land to its rightful owners."
In a 1969 broadcast to mark the eighth anniversary of the MK, Tambo said the anti-apartheid rebel army would wage a fierce "armed guerilla struggle throughout southern Africa" that would result in the apartheid government suffering "ignominious defeat".
Up until 1990 when it suspended its operations in the face of negotiations for a peaceful settlement, the MK never faced apartheid forces in the type of struggle envisaged by Tambo. Instead, it launched targeted campaigns at apartheid operatives and strategic sites.
As a result of the integration in 1994 of the MK into the South African National Defence Force, today many former MK operatives work hand-in-hand with their former enemies.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Still no answer to South Africa's "National Question"
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 07 December 2010
There is honesty, and there is plain bigotry; and there is DF Malan; HF Verwoed; PW Botha. To that list, you can also add a few contemporaries, amongst them Annelie Botes and Steve Hofmeyer.
Despite their varied backgrounds, ranging from politician to writer to musician, these names share a few common traits.
They all come from privileged backgrounds. They are all generally ignorant. Most significantly, they all have a sense of racial superiority over black people.
In all fairness to the individuals named above, their sense of racial superiority is a heritage from the past. They have internalised the bigotry with which black people all over the world have been treated over centuries.
It is a matter of historical record that the relationship between colonial master Europe and colonial subject Africa resulted in the pillaging and plundering of Africa’s riches.
It is also a matter of historical record that the apartheid system, which sought to protect white privileges at the expense of blacks, was declared by the United Nations as “the supreme crime against humanity.”
At the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), apartheid leaders and their agents were made to apologise for the atrocities committed against black people.
As it turns out, the apologies were mostly superficial, meant primarily to help criminals avoid prosecution for the atrocities committed against black people.
As a result, many a white apartheid agent still walks free today, owing to the generosity of spirit and civility of black leaders such as Nelson Mandela.
Yet, black people in South Africa today are still derided as a lowly bunch, unequal and undeserving of the social and economic status of their white fellows.
Sixteen years after the first democratic elections, a silent but vicious faction of the white community is still stirring up racist rhetoric.
The idea is to keep the black man down “where he belongs”.
So, on a day when members of a white family appeared in a Pretoria court on allegations of producing pornographic material featuring children, singer Hofmeyr reportedly suggested on his Facebook page that blacks are inherently criminal.
With no sense of irony, Hofmeyr is reported to have wrote: “Blacks (God knows, probably not all of them, but most of those I observe) feel justified and 'entitled' in everything, from quotas/low matric marks to land rights/brutality.
"Sorry to emphasise the colour, but I'm struggling to spot the terrible whites who climb over blacks' walls to do that to their children."
Just a week earlier, award-winning Afrikaans author Botes told the Mail & Guardian newspaper that she does not like black men because they are criminals.
Thousands of other white people probably echo similar sentiments in private.
Botes herself claimed to have received more than a thousand emails supporting her statement.
The saddest part, though, is not that these people publicise their racist views. What saddens me is that South Africans are pretending that there are no racial tensions in the country.
In the various sectors of the South African society, apartheid is alive and well. And this occasionally manifests itself in our national discourse, with a few bigots from both sides of the race divide occasionally coming out to throw a slur.
What is evident is that South Africans still do not trust each other. We haven’t cracked the apartheid psychological infrastructure – and we’re not even attempting to.
Former president Thabo Mbeki was admonished and effectively censored for saying during a parliamentary debate on reconciliation and nation building that South Africa had two nations.
To wide derision, Mbeki said: “One of these nations is white, relatively prosperous, regardless of gender or geographic dispersal. It has ready access to a developed economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure.
“The second and larger nation of South Africa is black and poor, with the worst affected being women in the rural areas, the black rural population in general and the disabled.
“This nation lives under conditions of a grossly underdeveloped economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure.
“It has virtually no possibility to exercise what in reality amounts to a theoretical right to equal opportunity, with that right being equal within this black nation only to the extent that it is equally incapable of realisation.”
We now seem to have a choice between the honest truth as told by Mbeki – or the honest truth as told by Hofmeyr and the like. Neutrality on this matter is completely undesirable.
As Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”
There is honesty, and there is plain bigotry; and there is DF Malan; HF Verwoed; PW Botha. To that list, you can also add a few contemporaries, amongst them Annelie Botes and Steve Hofmeyer.
Despite their varied backgrounds, ranging from politician to writer to musician, these names share a few common traits.
They all come from privileged backgrounds. They are all generally ignorant. Most significantly, they all have a sense of racial superiority over black people.
In all fairness to the individuals named above, their sense of racial superiority is a heritage from the past. They have internalised the bigotry with which black people all over the world have been treated over centuries.
It is a matter of historical record that the relationship between colonial master Europe and colonial subject Africa resulted in the pillaging and plundering of Africa’s riches.
It is also a matter of historical record that the apartheid system, which sought to protect white privileges at the expense of blacks, was declared by the United Nations as “the supreme crime against humanity.”
At the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), apartheid leaders and their agents were made to apologise for the atrocities committed against black people.
As it turns out, the apologies were mostly superficial, meant primarily to help criminals avoid prosecution for the atrocities committed against black people.
As a result, many a white apartheid agent still walks free today, owing to the generosity of spirit and civility of black leaders such as Nelson Mandela.
Yet, black people in South Africa today are still derided as a lowly bunch, unequal and undeserving of the social and economic status of their white fellows.
Sixteen years after the first democratic elections, a silent but vicious faction of the white community is still stirring up racist rhetoric.
The idea is to keep the black man down “where he belongs”.
So, on a day when members of a white family appeared in a Pretoria court on allegations of producing pornographic material featuring children, singer Hofmeyr reportedly suggested on his Facebook page that blacks are inherently criminal.
With no sense of irony, Hofmeyr is reported to have wrote: “Blacks (God knows, probably not all of them, but most of those I observe) feel justified and 'entitled' in everything, from quotas/low matric marks to land rights/brutality.
"Sorry to emphasise the colour, but I'm struggling to spot the terrible whites who climb over blacks' walls to do that to their children."
Just a week earlier, award-winning Afrikaans author Botes told the Mail & Guardian newspaper that she does not like black men because they are criminals.
Thousands of other white people probably echo similar sentiments in private.
Botes herself claimed to have received more than a thousand emails supporting her statement.
The saddest part, though, is not that these people publicise their racist views. What saddens me is that South Africans are pretending that there are no racial tensions in the country.
In the various sectors of the South African society, apartheid is alive and well. And this occasionally manifests itself in our national discourse, with a few bigots from both sides of the race divide occasionally coming out to throw a slur.
What is evident is that South Africans still do not trust each other. We haven’t cracked the apartheid psychological infrastructure – and we’re not even attempting to.
Former president Thabo Mbeki was admonished and effectively censored for saying during a parliamentary debate on reconciliation and nation building that South Africa had two nations.
To wide derision, Mbeki said: “One of these nations is white, relatively prosperous, regardless of gender or geographic dispersal. It has ready access to a developed economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure.
“The second and larger nation of South Africa is black and poor, with the worst affected being women in the rural areas, the black rural population in general and the disabled.
“This nation lives under conditions of a grossly underdeveloped economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure.
“It has virtually no possibility to exercise what in reality amounts to a theoretical right to equal opportunity, with that right being equal within this black nation only to the extent that it is equally incapable of realisation.”
We now seem to have a choice between the honest truth as told by Mbeki – or the honest truth as told by Hofmeyr and the like. Neutrality on this matter is completely undesirable.
As Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Report calls for reintroduction of apartheid-era practice
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 10 November 2010
Two critical issues curiously escaped the media’s reporting following the release by the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (CSVR) of a study into causes of violent crime in South Africa.
Firstly, the report explicitly fingered three groups of African nationalities as being responsible for some of the violence in the country.
The report cited “substantial evidence” implicating Zimbabweans and Mozambicans in criminal networks, including, very specifically, “cash-in-transit heists and other aggravated robberies.”
“Zimbabwean groups include some gangs that are believed to consist mainly of former policemen and soldiers, and these are believed to be linked to some of the major cash-in-transit heists,” the report says.
Nigerian nationals, on the other hand, “reportedly control approximately 80% of the cocaine trade inside South Africa, and they service most of the country except Western Cape,” according to the report.
The second critical matter that is not being mentioned in the media was a controversial call for the reintroduction of the apartheid-era practice of profiling criminal suspects according to their race.
Crime statistics released by the South African Police Service do not make reference to the race of both victims and perpetrators, apparently to avoid the use of crime statistics to reinforce racial prejudices.
The CSVR report nevertheless records “significant differences between different groups in relation to patterns of victimisation and offending”.
The CSVR concept paper, under the sub-topic, “Race crime and violent crime”, argues that it is “meaningless” to maintain that there are no significant differences in levels of offending between different communities in South Africa.
Two critical issues curiously escaped the media’s reporting following the release by the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (CSVR) of a study into causes of violent crime in South Africa.
Firstly, the report explicitly fingered three groups of African nationalities as being responsible for some of the violence in the country.
The report cited “substantial evidence” implicating Zimbabweans and Mozambicans in criminal networks, including, very specifically, “cash-in-transit heists and other aggravated robberies.”
“Zimbabwean groups include some gangs that are believed to consist mainly of former policemen and soldiers, and these are believed to be linked to some of the major cash-in-transit heists,” the report says.
Nigerian nationals, on the other hand, “reportedly control approximately 80% of the cocaine trade inside South Africa, and they service most of the country except Western Cape,” according to the report.
The second critical matter that is not being mentioned in the media was a controversial call for the reintroduction of the apartheid-era practice of profiling criminal suspects according to their race.
Crime statistics released by the South African Police Service do not make reference to the race of both victims and perpetrators, apparently to avoid the use of crime statistics to reinforce racial prejudices.
The CSVR report nevertheless records “significant differences between different groups in relation to patterns of victimisation and offending”.
The CSVR concept paper, under the sub-topic, “Race crime and violent crime”, argues that it is “meaningless” to maintain that there are no significant differences in levels of offending between different communities in South Africa.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Bakwena, it seems, put down roots long before Tshwane
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 01 November 2010
The FF+ even borrowed from Marxist theory to substantiate their opposition to the Pretoria name-change
Any explorer seeking to trace the founders of modern-day Pretoria, the capital city of South Africa, would eventually arrive at one place, Church Square, and meet one particular group of migrants, the Voortrekkers.
And any search for Chief Tshwane, after whom the City of Tshwane Metropolitan Municipality is named, will lead any explorer either astray (as I was initially) or out of the city.
My initial expedition to trace the footsteps of the enigmatic chief was based on a widely-held presupposition, that Chief Tshwane was the founder of the modern-day city of Pretoria.
Following a futile three-day search for the chief in mid-September, I found myself immersed in Afrikaner history. I abandoned my search for Tshwane, whom even the municipal tourism authorities do not say much about.
Tshwane, the son of early Nguni migrants from the Natal, has now had his name immortalised in history, given to the municipality governing the historic capital city of South Africa.
Initial attempts to rename the entire city, including the central business district, after Tshwane have stalled, owing to vigorous opposition mainly from Afrikaners.
The predominantly Afrikaner political party, the Freedom Front Plus (FF+), has been so unrelenting in its opposition to the renaming of Pretoria to Tshwane it once even commissioned two Afrikaner academics to prepare a solid case against the name change.
The academics, Prof Pieter Labuschagne of the Department of Political Science at Unisa and Mr. Dirk Hermann, director of the Research Institute of the trade union Solidarity, concluded that the chief was never based on the site of modern-day Pretoria.
“The area south of the Magalies Mountains was up to 1825 Tswana area and not inhabited by the Ndebele,” wrote Labuschagne and Hermann. The two credited Tswana tribes as the rightful indigenous inhabitants of the area.
“The Bakwena tribe moved into the area and existed peacefully up to approximately 1825 when they were assimilated by force into a bigger unit as a result of the migration of the Matebeles under [the] leadership of Mzilikazi.”
Relying heavily on historical accounts of early 17th century English explorers, the two academics concluded in their report that “the location of the main kraal of Mzilikazi is indicated to be in the area of Pretoria North, even though smaller temporary rural settlements appeared to be more widespread.”
Hermann and Labuschagne credit Gerhardus Bronkhorst and his brother Lukas Bronkhorst as the first whites that settled in the Apies River area. The two brothers are said to have laid the farm Elandspoort.
Martinus Wessel Pretorius, the son of Voortrekker leader Andries Pretorius, bought the farm Elandspoort in 1835 from the Bronkhorst brothers. It was on this very farm, in 1855, that Pretorius founded the city of Pretoria.
Interestingly, by this time, Chief Tshwane’s royal family was most probably long disbanded – not by Voortrekker invaders, though, but as a result of infighting amongst his six sons.
According to a book published in 1965 (to which I was referred by a reader of the Sunday Independent after my initial article), Tshwane’s farther, Musi, was amongst the first group of Ngunis that trekked from Natal around year 1651.
The book by T.V. Bulpin, Lost Trails of the Transvaal (available at the municipal library), contains a brief narration of the story of Chief Tshwane. And the story corroborates with the contents of the report that Hermann and Labuschagne wrote for the FF+.
These early Zulu migrants – who later became known as Ndebeles – were not the first inhabitants of the areas around Pretoria. Various Tswana tribes were here long before them. And Musi’s base was in the Pretoria North region, in what is now the small town of Wonderboompoort, which is also known as Mayville.
It is not clear when Tshwane died; but, after his death, according to Bulpin, his six sons fought amongst themselves for chieftainship. “The whole tribe, accordingly, was split up into six groups: each independent, but all acknowledging a common origin.”
One group, under Manala, is said to have remained at the original tribal home. A second section, under Ndzundza, reportedly detached to the Olifants River. Another son, Dhlomo, is said to have gone back to Zululand.
Another one of the sons, Mthombeni, is reported to have “wandered up northwards and eventually settled in the bush along the southern slopes of Strydpoort Mountains.” The author does not say what happened to the rest of the two brothers.
It is important to note that the destruction of the Tshwane royal family happened before the arrival in the Transvaal of the second grouping of Ngunis, this time led by the warrior king, Mzilikazi.
A noteworthy conqueror, Mzilikazi led this second grouping of Ngunis from the mouth of the Olifants River. Towards the end of 1823, according to Bulpin, Mzilikazi operated a “robber band” from what is now the town of Bethal.
Mzilikazi’s alleged loot was not limited to livestock, for he is accused of having “won” even the wives of conquered clans and enrolled their sons as warriors.
It is important also to note that, even at this time – when Tshwane’s royal family had disintegrated – MW Pretorius had not even bought the farm, Elandspoort, upon which he later founded the city of Pretoria.
In their determination to keep the name Pretoria, the FF+ have gone to courts, organised protests and, at one point, even borrowed from Carl Marx’s theory of alienation.
The socialist theory revolved around workers losing their sense of identification with their own work. As explained in German, the word “alienation”, as applied in Marxist theory, means separation of things that naturally belong to each other.
The FF+ has argued that the dangers of alienation are also “extremely relevant” in name change processes. “In a majority democracy, it means that the majority in practice possess all the power,” the party lamented.
Earlier this year, in February, the storm around the name-change nearly erupted again after the Department of Arts and Culture listed Pretoria in a Government Gazette as one of the names to be changed permanently.
A predictable outcry immediately ensued, and the registration of the name was retracted within days of the gazette’s publication.
Still unresolved, the Pretoria name-change saga may soon come up again, and some unavoidable questions will have to be answered: could Tshwane himself have identified his name with the city as founded by Afrikaners? If names are being changed as tribute to ancient African leaders, won’t the Tswana tribe, Bakwena, claim more right to Pretoria?
An edited version of this article was published in the Sunday Independent on 31 October 2010, page 16.
The FF+ even borrowed from Marxist theory to substantiate their opposition to the Pretoria name-change
Any explorer seeking to trace the founders of modern-day Pretoria, the capital city of South Africa, would eventually arrive at one place, Church Square, and meet one particular group of migrants, the Voortrekkers.
And any search for Chief Tshwane, after whom the City of Tshwane Metropolitan Municipality is named, will lead any explorer either astray (as I was initially) or out of the city.
My initial expedition to trace the footsteps of the enigmatic chief was based on a widely-held presupposition, that Chief Tshwane was the founder of the modern-day city of Pretoria.
Following a futile three-day search for the chief in mid-September, I found myself immersed in Afrikaner history. I abandoned my search for Tshwane, whom even the municipal tourism authorities do not say much about.
Tshwane, the son of early Nguni migrants from the Natal, has now had his name immortalised in history, given to the municipality governing the historic capital city of South Africa.
Initial attempts to rename the entire city, including the central business district, after Tshwane have stalled, owing to vigorous opposition mainly from Afrikaners.
The predominantly Afrikaner political party, the Freedom Front Plus (FF+), has been so unrelenting in its opposition to the renaming of Pretoria to Tshwane it once even commissioned two Afrikaner academics to prepare a solid case against the name change.
The academics, Prof Pieter Labuschagne of the Department of Political Science at Unisa and Mr. Dirk Hermann, director of the Research Institute of the trade union Solidarity, concluded that the chief was never based on the site of modern-day Pretoria.
“The area south of the Magalies Mountains was up to 1825 Tswana area and not inhabited by the Ndebele,” wrote Labuschagne and Hermann. The two credited Tswana tribes as the rightful indigenous inhabitants of the area.
“The Bakwena tribe moved into the area and existed peacefully up to approximately 1825 when they were assimilated by force into a bigger unit as a result of the migration of the Matebeles under [the] leadership of Mzilikazi.”
Relying heavily on historical accounts of early 17th century English explorers, the two academics concluded in their report that “the location of the main kraal of Mzilikazi is indicated to be in the area of Pretoria North, even though smaller temporary rural settlements appeared to be more widespread.”
Hermann and Labuschagne credit Gerhardus Bronkhorst and his brother Lukas Bronkhorst as the first whites that settled in the Apies River area. The two brothers are said to have laid the farm Elandspoort.
Martinus Wessel Pretorius, the son of Voortrekker leader Andries Pretorius, bought the farm Elandspoort in 1835 from the Bronkhorst brothers. It was on this very farm, in 1855, that Pretorius founded the city of Pretoria.
Interestingly, by this time, Chief Tshwane’s royal family was most probably long disbanded – not by Voortrekker invaders, though, but as a result of infighting amongst his six sons.
According to a book published in 1965 (to which I was referred by a reader of the Sunday Independent after my initial article), Tshwane’s farther, Musi, was amongst the first group of Ngunis that trekked from Natal around year 1651.
The book by T.V. Bulpin, Lost Trails of the Transvaal (available at the municipal library), contains a brief narration of the story of Chief Tshwane. And the story corroborates with the contents of the report that Hermann and Labuschagne wrote for the FF+.
These early Zulu migrants – who later became known as Ndebeles – were not the first inhabitants of the areas around Pretoria. Various Tswana tribes were here long before them. And Musi’s base was in the Pretoria North region, in what is now the small town of Wonderboompoort, which is also known as Mayville.
It is not clear when Tshwane died; but, after his death, according to Bulpin, his six sons fought amongst themselves for chieftainship. “The whole tribe, accordingly, was split up into six groups: each independent, but all acknowledging a common origin.”
One group, under Manala, is said to have remained at the original tribal home. A second section, under Ndzundza, reportedly detached to the Olifants River. Another son, Dhlomo, is said to have gone back to Zululand.
Another one of the sons, Mthombeni, is reported to have “wandered up northwards and eventually settled in the bush along the southern slopes of Strydpoort Mountains.” The author does not say what happened to the rest of the two brothers.
It is important to note that the destruction of the Tshwane royal family happened before the arrival in the Transvaal of the second grouping of Ngunis, this time led by the warrior king, Mzilikazi.
A noteworthy conqueror, Mzilikazi led this second grouping of Ngunis from the mouth of the Olifants River. Towards the end of 1823, according to Bulpin, Mzilikazi operated a “robber band” from what is now the town of Bethal.
Mzilikazi’s alleged loot was not limited to livestock, for he is accused of having “won” even the wives of conquered clans and enrolled their sons as warriors.
It is important also to note that, even at this time – when Tshwane’s royal family had disintegrated – MW Pretorius had not even bought the farm, Elandspoort, upon which he later founded the city of Pretoria.
In their determination to keep the name Pretoria, the FF+ have gone to courts, organised protests and, at one point, even borrowed from Carl Marx’s theory of alienation.
The socialist theory revolved around workers losing their sense of identification with their own work. As explained in German, the word “alienation”, as applied in Marxist theory, means separation of things that naturally belong to each other.
The FF+ has argued that the dangers of alienation are also “extremely relevant” in name change processes. “In a majority democracy, it means that the majority in practice possess all the power,” the party lamented.
Earlier this year, in February, the storm around the name-change nearly erupted again after the Department of Arts and Culture listed Pretoria in a Government Gazette as one of the names to be changed permanently.
A predictable outcry immediately ensued, and the registration of the name was retracted within days of the gazette’s publication.
Still unresolved, the Pretoria name-change saga may soon come up again, and some unavoidable questions will have to be answered: could Tshwane himself have identified his name with the city as founded by Afrikaners? If names are being changed as tribute to ancient African leaders, won’t the Tswana tribe, Bakwena, claim more right to Pretoria?
An edited version of this article was published in the Sunday Independent on 31 October 2010, page 16.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
New York City, a 'concrete jungle' indeed
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 27 October 2010
In their song, Empire State of Mind, American musicians Jay Z and Alicia Keys portray a picture of New York City that radiates optimism.
The singers refer to the city as a “concrete jungle where dreams are made of;” where, once you’re in, “there is nothing you can’t do.”
But there is also a warning: “For foreigners”, the lyrics go, “it ain’t fitted they forgot how to act; eight million stories out there and their naked; cities is a pity half of y’all won’t make it.”
The contrast, even in artistic form, is stark – a concrete jungle where even the big lights are enough to inspire one is the same place where “half of y’all (foreigners) won’t make it.”
In reality, even New York City’s own children – born and bred there – can be foreigners right at home. And it doesn’t take a tourist too long to meet some of these native “foreigners”.
My meeting with the underdogs of New York City, the ones you seldom see in movies set in this “empire state”, was coincidental.
We were sitting comfortably in a train, headed for a high profile reception at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City on the sidelines of the 2004 National Republican Convention. The guest of honour: George W.H. Bush.
The passengers in the train were of mixed classes. The rich and the poor ride together. Businessmen in suits and pinstriped shirts and ties as well as ordinary folk in hip-hop wear, ears covered in headphones.
Then, just before the doors slam close, three teenage African-American boys jump in.
Unlike the rest of the passengers in the train, the trio isn’t going anywhere. They are beggars, and no sooner had the train started moving that they make their intentions clear.
“I ain’t got no parents; I ain’t got no home; I ain’t got no food,” pleads one of them, stretching his little hands for some coins.
Even before he finished his rhythmic plea, my fellow passengers were reaching for their pockets and handbags.
By this time, the speed of the train has gained momentum, down the famous New York City subway system. And the boy beggars gain a momentum of their own, moving from one carriage to the next, begging.
To Be Continued
In their song, Empire State of Mind, American musicians Jay Z and Alicia Keys portray a picture of New York City that radiates optimism.
The singers refer to the city as a “concrete jungle where dreams are made of;” where, once you’re in, “there is nothing you can’t do.”
But there is also a warning: “For foreigners”, the lyrics go, “it ain’t fitted they forgot how to act; eight million stories out there and their naked; cities is a pity half of y’all won’t make it.”
The contrast, even in artistic form, is stark – a concrete jungle where even the big lights are enough to inspire one is the same place where “half of y’all (foreigners) won’t make it.”
In reality, even New York City’s own children – born and bred there – can be foreigners right at home. And it doesn’t take a tourist too long to meet some of these native “foreigners”.
My meeting with the underdogs of New York City, the ones you seldom see in movies set in this “empire state”, was coincidental.
We were sitting comfortably in a train, headed for a high profile reception at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City on the sidelines of the 2004 National Republican Convention. The guest of honour: George W.H. Bush.
The passengers in the train were of mixed classes. The rich and the poor ride together. Businessmen in suits and pinstriped shirts and ties as well as ordinary folk in hip-hop wear, ears covered in headphones.
Then, just before the doors slam close, three teenage African-American boys jump in.
Unlike the rest of the passengers in the train, the trio isn’t going anywhere. They are beggars, and no sooner had the train started moving that they make their intentions clear.
“I ain’t got no parents; I ain’t got no home; I ain’t got no food,” pleads one of them, stretching his little hands for some coins.
Even before he finished his rhythmic plea, my fellow passengers were reaching for their pockets and handbags.
By this time, the speed of the train has gained momentum, down the famous New York City subway system. And the boy beggars gain a momentum of their own, moving from one carriage to the next, begging.
To Be Continued
Monday, October 25, 2010
Open Letter to SABC Operations Manager
Dear Frank Awuah, Manager for Operations at the SABC
Re: It is time to renew your television license
Thanks for your letter, dated 07 October 2010.
In the letter, you remind me that I must pay my yearly television license of R250, 00 by 30 November 2010, failing which I may “incur (unspecified) penalties.”
As a responsible citizen, I have no desire to face any of those “penalties” – so I will pay the amount as expected.
However, I should take this opportunity to remind you, as a representative of the SABC, that you should also take responsibility for the service you are supposed to render.
Just in case you need to be reminded, a couple of weeks ago the SABC was supposed to televise a game between the national football team, Bafana Bafana, and Sierra Leone. Not surprisingly, you failed to televise the game.
I am not sure what you do with the money that I pay into your accounts every year for my television license, and you don’t even bother to explain this. The only time I hear from you is when you remind me to pay up – which I always do.
I hope part of my money does not go to purchasing the many old American television shows that get repeated on your channels. Just the other day, in mid-September, Oprah Winfrey wished me a happy New Year (three months before the end of the year).
I also read in the newspapers that the chairman of the parliamentary committee on communications, Ishamail Vadi, criticised you, the SABC, for breach of relevant procurement processes.
The committee also reportedly said the financial position of the corporation “remains precarious” and that the board has not been able to hammer out a turnaround strategy.
So, does that mean I must just keep paying my annual R250,00 (for fear of those unspecified “penalties”) without knowing where it goes? Exactly what do you do with my money?
I hope you’ll respond to my questions.
Regards,
Madibeng Kgwete
TV license payer
Re: It is time to renew your television license
Thanks for your letter, dated 07 October 2010.
In the letter, you remind me that I must pay my yearly television license of R250, 00 by 30 November 2010, failing which I may “incur (unspecified) penalties.”
As a responsible citizen, I have no desire to face any of those “penalties” – so I will pay the amount as expected.
However, I should take this opportunity to remind you, as a representative of the SABC, that you should also take responsibility for the service you are supposed to render.
Just in case you need to be reminded, a couple of weeks ago the SABC was supposed to televise a game between the national football team, Bafana Bafana, and Sierra Leone. Not surprisingly, you failed to televise the game.
I am not sure what you do with the money that I pay into your accounts every year for my television license, and you don’t even bother to explain this. The only time I hear from you is when you remind me to pay up – which I always do.
I hope part of my money does not go to purchasing the many old American television shows that get repeated on your channels. Just the other day, in mid-September, Oprah Winfrey wished me a happy New Year (three months before the end of the year).
I also read in the newspapers that the chairman of the parliamentary committee on communications, Ishamail Vadi, criticised you, the SABC, for breach of relevant procurement processes.
The committee also reportedly said the financial position of the corporation “remains precarious” and that the board has not been able to hammer out a turnaround strategy.
So, does that mean I must just keep paying my annual R250,00 (for fear of those unspecified “penalties”) without knowing where it goes? Exactly what do you do with my money?
I hope you’ll respond to my questions.
Regards,
Madibeng Kgwete
TV license payer
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
An insult to the poor
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 06 October 2010
Meshack Mabogoane ignores all established knowledge in a bid to insult the poor, “Teenage girls the victims of the new Nongqawuse” (Business Day, 06 October 2010).
Mabogwane claims that unmarried teenagers “are having more children to access more grants” and proposes the formulation of a “commission of inquiry to investigate why there has been an exponential increase in child grant dependants.”
So, in essence, Mabogoane is proposing that a commission be set up to confirm his conviction that teenagers fall pregnant in order to receive grants.
He ignores the fact that the incidence of teenage pregnancy is not unique to South Africa. And some of the countries where teenage pregnancy is as prevalent do not even have a social grant system similar to South Africa’s.
Various academic studies – and some by organisations such as the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) – have attributed the prevalence of teenage pregnancy to several factors, amongst them dysfunctional families and various negative societal influences.
Currently, the monthly child support grant is R240, not enough to buy me breakfast, lunch and dinner in one day.
It is ridiculous to suggest that the many teenagers falling pregnant do so with the sole purpose of receiving this pittance.
See Mabogoane's article here: http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=122902
Meshack Mabogoane ignores all established knowledge in a bid to insult the poor, “Teenage girls the victims of the new Nongqawuse” (Business Day, 06 October 2010).
Mabogwane claims that unmarried teenagers “are having more children to access more grants” and proposes the formulation of a “commission of inquiry to investigate why there has been an exponential increase in child grant dependants.”
So, in essence, Mabogoane is proposing that a commission be set up to confirm his conviction that teenagers fall pregnant in order to receive grants.
He ignores the fact that the incidence of teenage pregnancy is not unique to South Africa. And some of the countries where teenage pregnancy is as prevalent do not even have a social grant system similar to South Africa’s.
Various academic studies – and some by organisations such as the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) – have attributed the prevalence of teenage pregnancy to several factors, amongst them dysfunctional families and various negative societal influences.
Currently, the monthly child support grant is R240, not enough to buy me breakfast, lunch and dinner in one day.
It is ridiculous to suggest that the many teenagers falling pregnant do so with the sole purpose of receiving this pittance.
See Mabogoane's article here: http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=122902
Monday, October 4, 2010
What independence?
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 04 October 2010
Had South Africa continued marking its freedom from colonialism, in just over two months’ time – on December 11 – we would be celebrating 76 years of independence from Britain.
This year, 27 African countries celebrate 50 years of independence from various western colonial masters.
Notably absent from the itinerary of celebrations are certain countries in the Southern African region, amongst them South Africa.
So, why don’t South Africans celebrate their independence?
The reasons are as political as colonialism and apartheid were. Ours, in fact, was the first southern African country to gain independence in 1934.
Yet, because the independence was followed by apartheid – often referred to as “colonialism of a special kind” – South Africa does not celebrate its independence day.
When Harold Mcmillian used his historic speech, delivered to the South African parliament in February 1960 to officially acknowledge the “growth of national consciousness [across Africa as] a political fact”, independent South Africa was already 25 years old.
Apart from his acknowledgement that colonialism had no future, the British Prime Minister also used the speech to brag about Britain’s contribution to South Africa’s relatively strong economy.
“We in Britain are proud of the contribution we have made to this remarkable achievement. Much of it has been financed by British capital,” he said.
In the same year of Mcmillian’s historic speech, 27 African countries became free from colonial rule, and those countries mark 50 years of independence this year.
Ironically, at the time of Mcmillian’s speech, South Africa was a colonial master itself, having occupied Namibia – then known as German West Africa – during the First World War.
Britain was at war with Germany, and South Africa had to invade the neighbouring German territory as part of its “imperial duty.” Even in the wake of the collapse of the colonial system, the apartheid government hung on to Namibia until 1990.
Nevertheless, political organisations fighting for the liberation of blacks did not recognise South Africa’s status as an independent state, accusing the government of playing a puppet role to Britain.
The secretary-general of the ANC, Alfred Nzo, writing in June 1971, derided the apartheid regime as an extension of colonialism.
“The indigenous people who compose the overwhelming majority of the population were completely excluded from both the negotiations and the benefit of so-called ‘independence’,” wrote Nzo
“For the Africans there is no independence and no sovereignty. They are subjected like all colonial peoples by an alien white minority to subjugation, domination and exploitation. They suffer national oppression like any other colonial people,” Nzo continued.
Despite having been won through years diplomacy and war, South Africa’s independence from Britain is not being celebrated because the independence was for a small section of the population – and the historic date has been wiped off our national calendar, not to be remembered again.
Madibeng Kgwete
Pretoria
Had South Africa continued marking its freedom from colonialism, in just over two months’ time – on December 11 – we would be celebrating 76 years of independence from Britain.
This year, 27 African countries celebrate 50 years of independence from various western colonial masters.
Notably absent from the itinerary of celebrations are certain countries in the Southern African region, amongst them South Africa.
So, why don’t South Africans celebrate their independence?
The reasons are as political as colonialism and apartheid were. Ours, in fact, was the first southern African country to gain independence in 1934.
Yet, because the independence was followed by apartheid – often referred to as “colonialism of a special kind” – South Africa does not celebrate its independence day.
When Harold Mcmillian used his historic speech, delivered to the South African parliament in February 1960 to officially acknowledge the “growth of national consciousness [across Africa as] a political fact”, independent South Africa was already 25 years old.
Apart from his acknowledgement that colonialism had no future, the British Prime Minister also used the speech to brag about Britain’s contribution to South Africa’s relatively strong economy.
“We in Britain are proud of the contribution we have made to this remarkable achievement. Much of it has been financed by British capital,” he said.
In the same year of Mcmillian’s historic speech, 27 African countries became free from colonial rule, and those countries mark 50 years of independence this year.
Ironically, at the time of Mcmillian’s speech, South Africa was a colonial master itself, having occupied Namibia – then known as German West Africa – during the First World War.
Britain was at war with Germany, and South Africa had to invade the neighbouring German territory as part of its “imperial duty.” Even in the wake of the collapse of the colonial system, the apartheid government hung on to Namibia until 1990.
Nevertheless, political organisations fighting for the liberation of blacks did not recognise South Africa’s status as an independent state, accusing the government of playing a puppet role to Britain.
The secretary-general of the ANC, Alfred Nzo, writing in June 1971, derided the apartheid regime as an extension of colonialism.
“The indigenous people who compose the overwhelming majority of the population were completely excluded from both the negotiations and the benefit of so-called ‘independence’,” wrote Nzo
“For the Africans there is no independence and no sovereignty. They are subjected like all colonial peoples by an alien white minority to subjugation, domination and exploitation. They suffer national oppression like any other colonial people,” Nzo continued.
Despite having been won through years diplomacy and war, South Africa’s independence from Britain is not being celebrated because the independence was for a small section of the population – and the historic date has been wiped off our national calendar, not to be remembered again.
Madibeng Kgwete
Pretoria
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Meeting Afrikaner leaders whilst searching for Chief Tshwane
The story of President Kruger’s overthrow is recited grudgingly by Afrikaner historians.
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 08 September 2010
It is not a smooth expedition trying to trace down the footsteps of Chief Tshwane, after whom the City of Tshwane Metropolitan Municipality is named. And if you’re particularly interested in unearthing physical evidence of the chief’s rein in what is now South Africa’s capital city, you’re guaranteed one thing: futility.
Little is recorded of the man, and even the city’s tourism authorities refer to him only in passing. The City of Tshwane’s tourism office say in leaflets handed out to tourists that Chief Tshwane was the son of Chief Mushi, who moved from Zululand and settled in the area before the arrival in the 1830s of the Voortrekkers.
Little else is said of the chief, whose name has now been eternalised in history, given to the capital city of the biggest economy on African soil – a capital city that carries immense political and historic weight not only in Africa, but the world, housing the second-largest number of foreign diplomatic missions after Washington, D.C.
So my three-day mission to find physical evidence of Chief Tshwane eventually went off course, leading me to two important figures in the history of South Africa: President Paul Kruger and Prime Minister Jan Smuts. The houses of these two important South African statesmen still stand in their original form and have been turned into museums.
My first stop is at Paul Kruger House along Church Street, half a kilometer or so west of Church Square in Pretoria. From the outside, without the posters and the distinctly white paint, the house could be any other building. But wait until you explore the house inside, you’d be fascinated – or, in my case, even get frightened.
Elected Commandant-General of the Zuid-Afrikaanche Republiek (ZAR) in 1891 during the presidency of Marthinus Wesssel Pretorius, Paul Kruger remains a towering figure in the history of South Africa. President Kruger’s enthusiastic loathing of British colonialism tested his courage as a leader and a fighter, but it was also the same loathing of Her Majesty’s rule that would later lead to his exit from power.
President Kruger’s belief in Afrikaner nationalism and his determination for self-governance made him deeply suspicious of “outsiders” – particularly the English – and/or any other “outside” influence. He is even said to have suspected that the woman depicted at the roof of the Old Raadsaal building (the seat of government during his time, situated at Church Square) was Queen Victoria of England.
It was only after assurances that the figure depicted the Greek goddess Athena and after she was named “Die Beeld Van Vryheid” (The Statue of Freedom) that President Kruger and fellow Afrikaner diehards accepted the statue’s presence at the roof of the seat of their government. If it were indeed Queen Victoria in the depiction, President Kruger’s reaction would have been predictable: “Bring her down,” he would have bawled in Afrikaans.
Throughout his tenure as President, Kruger established strong relations with many countries across the world. During the Anglo-Boer War, messages of support, often accompanied by an assortment of tokens of honour, poured in from governments, organizations and individuals from all over the world, including Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Russia, the United States, Australia, France and other countries.
A message of support from a committee of Australians that sympathised with the Boers, containing 12 900 signatures of Australians and addressed to “the hero nation and the leaders” of the Afrikaner people, never reached its destination. Contained in a large case, the message by the Australians was acquired by the South African government only in 1989.
The Russians, on the other hand, did manage to get their token of sympathy (a one-and-half metre tall depiction of a mountain with soldiers on horsebacks) delivered to President Kruger in the year 1900, just in time before Lord Roberts of England and his forces, under the command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, advanced on the ZAR’s capital.
The story of President Kruger’s overthrow is recited grudgingly by Afrikaner historians, and when I asked one old woman at Prime Minister Jan Smuts house if this occasion signified a coup, the answer was a straight no. “Coup is not the word,” she said. “It wasn’t a coup. The government was intact even in President Kruger’s absence.” And, to a certain degree, the Boers, never the type to admit defeat, were still indeed in charge.
When British forces hoisted the Union Jack at the Old Raadsaal on 05 June 1900 to officially mark the overthrow of President Kruger’s rule (and, with it, the end of Afrikaner political dominance and purity), the old man was on his way out of the country through Mozambique in a luxurious railway carriage designed specifically for him by the French.
So reluctant were President Kruger and his men to admit defeat that upon their arrival at Machadodorp in what is now Mpumalanga, they declared the small town the new capital city of the ZAR. Even on their way there, they referred to the luxury railway carriage in which they were travelling as “the government on wheels.”
Before crossing the border at Komatipoort into Mozambique on 11 September 1900 to board a ship destined for Marsailles in France, President Kruger is said to have shed tears in front of his most trusted aides, in particular General Louis Botha. This must have been a deeply emotional moment for the Boer hero, compounded by the fact that he left home an ailing wife, Gezina Suzanna du Plessis, with whom he had 16 children.
As I leave the museum with mixed feelings (sad that the story of the man is not being told to a wider audience, but sadder that my own people, Chief Tshwane amongst them, were not only defeated but totally obliterated as well, and sadder still that no one seems to care), I glance at the visitors’ book to see what others who came before me had to say about the museum and the man it is dedicated to.
The overwhelming response from visitors, from far and near, is that they were fascinated and very impressed. They write of their experience of the museum: “Very interesting,” “mooi,” “pragtig”, “uitstekend”. But not everybody leaves congratulatory notes. “Ek hoor spoke (I hear ghosts)”, says one.
The Kruger ghost tale is also briefly narrated in journalist G.H Wilson’s memoir, available at the house of Jan Smuts – now also a museum, situated at the suburb of Irene in Pretoria. When he visited The Big House in Middelburg, which belonged to British officers, Wilson claims to have woken up one morning to see “a benign old gentleman, rather like President Kruger in appearance.” When he stretched his hand to touch him, Wilson says the man disappeared.
Walking through the farm where General Smuts’ house remains, you’d be forgiven for overlooking it. I first walked past the house before seeking directions from a woman standing at its door. “This is the house; welcome,” she said, pointing to the big tin house under the shades of plantation trees.
From the outside, the house looks like a temporary structure, let alone an historic home of what should be one of South Africa’s most illustrious families.
Having served as South Africa’s Prime Minister twice (1919 – 1924 and 1939 – 1948), General Jan Smuts remains, to this day, a vital historical figure in the life of South Africa and in global politics.
Apart from his down-to-earth personality (he is said to have detested luxury whilst living an “unpretentious lifestyle”), General Smuts, a Cambridge graduate, was also a distinguished intellectual, an outstanding lawyer, writer and an internationalist.
Smuts was appointed Attorney-General by President Kruger at the age of 28. He became a founder member of the League of Nations, which later developed into the United Nations. The wooden table from which he single-handedly drafted the constitution of the Union of South Africa remains at his house.
During his time as Prime Minister, Smuts was entitled to stay at a classy official residence, but he chose to remain at his tin house, which was criticised by a family friend as a “tin hovel” that was “crawling with screaming children.”
Apart from being an accomplished scholar, Smuts was also a brave military leader whose role in President Kruger’s government directly precipitated the Anglo-Boer War.
The war broke out in 1899 after the British failed to respond satisfactorily to an ultimatum, written by Smuts as the Attorney-General of the ZAR, demanding the withdrawal of British troops from the Cape and Natal colonies.
The ultimatum proposed “friendly arbitration” to the dispute over territories, but Her Majesty’s government ignored it, and so the war ensued. General Smuts’ military regalia is still available at the house, including pictures of him greeting Boer troops in the Vry Staad (the Free State).
So highly regarded within military ranks was General Smith’s family that his wife, Mrs. J.C. Smuts (fondly referred to by Afrikaners as the “Ouma of Our People”) got a song dedicated to her by the soldiers. The military used the song in their recruitment drive, and one line out of its lyrics declares: “Now’s the time to right the wrongs (meaning British occupation and colonialism).”
As I left General Smuts’ house, now thoroughly enticed by Afrikaner history, somehow I didn’t regret abandoning my search for Chief Tshwane. Someone – or, rather, black historians and academics – must trace him down. Otherwise even my children and their children will only know of Paul Kruger and Jan Smuts.
Madibeng Kgwete
Pretoria
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 08 September 2010
It is not a smooth expedition trying to trace down the footsteps of Chief Tshwane, after whom the City of Tshwane Metropolitan Municipality is named. And if you’re particularly interested in unearthing physical evidence of the chief’s rein in what is now South Africa’s capital city, you’re guaranteed one thing: futility.
Little is recorded of the man, and even the city’s tourism authorities refer to him only in passing. The City of Tshwane’s tourism office say in leaflets handed out to tourists that Chief Tshwane was the son of Chief Mushi, who moved from Zululand and settled in the area before the arrival in the 1830s of the Voortrekkers.
Little else is said of the chief, whose name has now been eternalised in history, given to the capital city of the biggest economy on African soil – a capital city that carries immense political and historic weight not only in Africa, but the world, housing the second-largest number of foreign diplomatic missions after Washington, D.C.
So my three-day mission to find physical evidence of Chief Tshwane eventually went off course, leading me to two important figures in the history of South Africa: President Paul Kruger and Prime Minister Jan Smuts. The houses of these two important South African statesmen still stand in their original form and have been turned into museums.
My first stop is at Paul Kruger House along Church Street, half a kilometer or so west of Church Square in Pretoria. From the outside, without the posters and the distinctly white paint, the house could be any other building. But wait until you explore the house inside, you’d be fascinated – or, in my case, even get frightened.
Elected Commandant-General of the Zuid-Afrikaanche Republiek (ZAR) in 1891 during the presidency of Marthinus Wesssel Pretorius, Paul Kruger remains a towering figure in the history of South Africa. President Kruger’s enthusiastic loathing of British colonialism tested his courage as a leader and a fighter, but it was also the same loathing of Her Majesty’s rule that would later lead to his exit from power.
President Kruger’s belief in Afrikaner nationalism and his determination for self-governance made him deeply suspicious of “outsiders” – particularly the English – and/or any other “outside” influence. He is even said to have suspected that the woman depicted at the roof of the Old Raadsaal building (the seat of government during his time, situated at Church Square) was Queen Victoria of England.
It was only after assurances that the figure depicted the Greek goddess Athena and after she was named “Die Beeld Van Vryheid” (The Statue of Freedom) that President Kruger and fellow Afrikaner diehards accepted the statue’s presence at the roof of the seat of their government. If it were indeed Queen Victoria in the depiction, President Kruger’s reaction would have been predictable: “Bring her down,” he would have bawled in Afrikaans.
Throughout his tenure as President, Kruger established strong relations with many countries across the world. During the Anglo-Boer War, messages of support, often accompanied by an assortment of tokens of honour, poured in from governments, organizations and individuals from all over the world, including Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Russia, the United States, Australia, France and other countries.
A message of support from a committee of Australians that sympathised with the Boers, containing 12 900 signatures of Australians and addressed to “the hero nation and the leaders” of the Afrikaner people, never reached its destination. Contained in a large case, the message by the Australians was acquired by the South African government only in 1989.
The Russians, on the other hand, did manage to get their token of sympathy (a one-and-half metre tall depiction of a mountain with soldiers on horsebacks) delivered to President Kruger in the year 1900, just in time before Lord Roberts of England and his forces, under the command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, advanced on the ZAR’s capital.
The story of President Kruger’s overthrow is recited grudgingly by Afrikaner historians, and when I asked one old woman at Prime Minister Jan Smuts house if this occasion signified a coup, the answer was a straight no. “Coup is not the word,” she said. “It wasn’t a coup. The government was intact even in President Kruger’s absence.” And, to a certain degree, the Boers, never the type to admit defeat, were still indeed in charge.
When British forces hoisted the Union Jack at the Old Raadsaal on 05 June 1900 to officially mark the overthrow of President Kruger’s rule (and, with it, the end of Afrikaner political dominance and purity), the old man was on his way out of the country through Mozambique in a luxurious railway carriage designed specifically for him by the French.
So reluctant were President Kruger and his men to admit defeat that upon their arrival at Machadodorp in what is now Mpumalanga, they declared the small town the new capital city of the ZAR. Even on their way there, they referred to the luxury railway carriage in which they were travelling as “the government on wheels.”
Before crossing the border at Komatipoort into Mozambique on 11 September 1900 to board a ship destined for Marsailles in France, President Kruger is said to have shed tears in front of his most trusted aides, in particular General Louis Botha. This must have been a deeply emotional moment for the Boer hero, compounded by the fact that he left home an ailing wife, Gezina Suzanna du Plessis, with whom he had 16 children.
As I leave the museum with mixed feelings (sad that the story of the man is not being told to a wider audience, but sadder that my own people, Chief Tshwane amongst them, were not only defeated but totally obliterated as well, and sadder still that no one seems to care), I glance at the visitors’ book to see what others who came before me had to say about the museum and the man it is dedicated to.
The overwhelming response from visitors, from far and near, is that they were fascinated and very impressed. They write of their experience of the museum: “Very interesting,” “mooi,” “pragtig”, “uitstekend”. But not everybody leaves congratulatory notes. “Ek hoor spoke (I hear ghosts)”, says one.
The Kruger ghost tale is also briefly narrated in journalist G.H Wilson’s memoir, available at the house of Jan Smuts – now also a museum, situated at the suburb of Irene in Pretoria. When he visited The Big House in Middelburg, which belonged to British officers, Wilson claims to have woken up one morning to see “a benign old gentleman, rather like President Kruger in appearance.” When he stretched his hand to touch him, Wilson says the man disappeared.
Walking through the farm where General Smuts’ house remains, you’d be forgiven for overlooking it. I first walked past the house before seeking directions from a woman standing at its door. “This is the house; welcome,” she said, pointing to the big tin house under the shades of plantation trees.
From the outside, the house looks like a temporary structure, let alone an historic home of what should be one of South Africa’s most illustrious families.
Having served as South Africa’s Prime Minister twice (1919 – 1924 and 1939 – 1948), General Jan Smuts remains, to this day, a vital historical figure in the life of South Africa and in global politics.
Apart from his down-to-earth personality (he is said to have detested luxury whilst living an “unpretentious lifestyle”), General Smuts, a Cambridge graduate, was also a distinguished intellectual, an outstanding lawyer, writer and an internationalist.
Smuts was appointed Attorney-General by President Kruger at the age of 28. He became a founder member of the League of Nations, which later developed into the United Nations. The wooden table from which he single-handedly drafted the constitution of the Union of South Africa remains at his house.
During his time as Prime Minister, Smuts was entitled to stay at a classy official residence, but he chose to remain at his tin house, which was criticised by a family friend as a “tin hovel” that was “crawling with screaming children.”
Apart from being an accomplished scholar, Smuts was also a brave military leader whose role in President Kruger’s government directly precipitated the Anglo-Boer War.
The war broke out in 1899 after the British failed to respond satisfactorily to an ultimatum, written by Smuts as the Attorney-General of the ZAR, demanding the withdrawal of British troops from the Cape and Natal colonies.
The ultimatum proposed “friendly arbitration” to the dispute over territories, but Her Majesty’s government ignored it, and so the war ensued. General Smuts’ military regalia is still available at the house, including pictures of him greeting Boer troops in the Vry Staad (the Free State).
So highly regarded within military ranks was General Smith’s family that his wife, Mrs. J.C. Smuts (fondly referred to by Afrikaners as the “Ouma of Our People”) got a song dedicated to her by the soldiers. The military used the song in their recruitment drive, and one line out of its lyrics declares: “Now’s the time to right the wrongs (meaning British occupation and colonialism).”
As I left General Smuts’ house, now thoroughly enticed by Afrikaner history, somehow I didn’t regret abandoning my search for Chief Tshwane. Someone – or, rather, black historians and academics – must trace him down. Otherwise even my children and their children will only know of Paul Kruger and Jan Smuts.
Madibeng Kgwete
Pretoria
Monday, August 16, 2010
Constitution Hill: from prejudice to justice
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 16 August 2010
Want to talk forgiveness, racial tolerance, social cohesion and justice? Okay, good – just don’t go on a tour of Constitution Hill. Go somewhere else.
Admittedly, though, the tour guides are good at calming down tempers. And the skill occasionally comes handy during a tour of this national heritage site.
Built on the site of a former prison complex, the Constitution Hill invokes painful memories of South Africa’s past and brings into sharp perspective the brutality of the apartheid system.
To have the Constitutional Court of a free and democratic South Africa based at the site of this apartheid prison complex seems almost paradoxical, for here you have prejudice and justice under one roof.
The tour guides have a line for it: “We’ve taken the bricks that used to imprison us to build a future for our country, to guard against the possibility of the injustices that happened here recurring.”
But that hardly makes up for the humiliation suffered here by black prisoners, some of whom were common law criminals, but many more of whom were political prisoners.
The crimes committed by inmates at this complex varied from shoplifting to one being a member of a banned political organisation, such as the ANC, PAC or the SACP. Some were arrested for not carrying “passes”, others for brewing traditional beer whilst black (a crime during apartheid).
The reasons for the hundreds imprisoned at the Number Four Prison varied, and the variation also extended to the way inmates were treated: if you were black, humiliation and torture awaited you; if you were white, relative luxury.
The intention seems to have been to break the spirit of black resistance to apartheid, but some mavericks within the black anti-apartheid movement upheld their opposition to the system, despite the harsh and unjust punishment.
Robert Sobukwe’s words of resistance are immortalised in the former prison: “We refuse to plead because our contention is that the law under which we are charged is a law made exclusively by the white man, specifically for the oppression of blacks.”
The story of the Number Four Prison, including the discrimination inside, is better told by the former inmates themselves. These include such famous political figures as Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Robert Sobukwe, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, Helen Joseph and more.
Others, like former inmate Cornelius Manoto, are not well known, but their stories are not less alarming: “To eat from rusted containers was terrible; not to speak of the treatment from warders. Every morning we would stand in the shade feeling cold not even seeing the sunshine. In the court we will be stripped naked and subjected to utter humiliation of the worst order.”
Barbara Hogan, another former inmate, explains the racial preferential treatment: “This cell (in the white section of the Women’s Jail) was like none other I had ever known. A Van Gogh interior, wooden floors, sash windows, three simple beds, a table and chairs. Freezing cold, certainly, but compared to police cells, absolute luxury.”
Those who envisaged the concept of a Constitutional Court at the site of an apartheid prison complex say the project symbolizes South Africa’s intricate and painful journey from apartheid to freedom.
The transition was unprecedented in its efficiency, but the wounds are still fresh, and a lamentation by a former inmate betrays the apparent peace that exists between our past and our present.
Writing in a book on the Constitution Hill project, Mapping Memory, former inmate John Moeketsi Mahapa says: “What we fought for all those years has not been achieved. Our people still live in appalling poverty, there are no jobs, people have no houses and worst of all, many of our people are landless.”
NB: Article written following a tour of the Constitutional Hill on Friday, 13 August 2010.
Want to talk forgiveness, racial tolerance, social cohesion and justice? Okay, good – just don’t go on a tour of Constitution Hill. Go somewhere else.
Admittedly, though, the tour guides are good at calming down tempers. And the skill occasionally comes handy during a tour of this national heritage site.
Built on the site of a former prison complex, the Constitution Hill invokes painful memories of South Africa’s past and brings into sharp perspective the brutality of the apartheid system.
To have the Constitutional Court of a free and democratic South Africa based at the site of this apartheid prison complex seems almost paradoxical, for here you have prejudice and justice under one roof.
The tour guides have a line for it: “We’ve taken the bricks that used to imprison us to build a future for our country, to guard against the possibility of the injustices that happened here recurring.”
But that hardly makes up for the humiliation suffered here by black prisoners, some of whom were common law criminals, but many more of whom were political prisoners.
The crimes committed by inmates at this complex varied from shoplifting to one being a member of a banned political organisation, such as the ANC, PAC or the SACP. Some were arrested for not carrying “passes”, others for brewing traditional beer whilst black (a crime during apartheid).
The reasons for the hundreds imprisoned at the Number Four Prison varied, and the variation also extended to the way inmates were treated: if you were black, humiliation and torture awaited you; if you were white, relative luxury.
The intention seems to have been to break the spirit of black resistance to apartheid, but some mavericks within the black anti-apartheid movement upheld their opposition to the system, despite the harsh and unjust punishment.
Robert Sobukwe’s words of resistance are immortalised in the former prison: “We refuse to plead because our contention is that the law under which we are charged is a law made exclusively by the white man, specifically for the oppression of blacks.”
The story of the Number Four Prison, including the discrimination inside, is better told by the former inmates themselves. These include such famous political figures as Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, Robert Sobukwe, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, Helen Joseph and more.
Others, like former inmate Cornelius Manoto, are not well known, but their stories are not less alarming: “To eat from rusted containers was terrible; not to speak of the treatment from warders. Every morning we would stand in the shade feeling cold not even seeing the sunshine. In the court we will be stripped naked and subjected to utter humiliation of the worst order.”
Barbara Hogan, another former inmate, explains the racial preferential treatment: “This cell (in the white section of the Women’s Jail) was like none other I had ever known. A Van Gogh interior, wooden floors, sash windows, three simple beds, a table and chairs. Freezing cold, certainly, but compared to police cells, absolute luxury.”
Those who envisaged the concept of a Constitutional Court at the site of an apartheid prison complex say the project symbolizes South Africa’s intricate and painful journey from apartheid to freedom.
The transition was unprecedented in its efficiency, but the wounds are still fresh, and a lamentation by a former inmate betrays the apparent peace that exists between our past and our present.
Writing in a book on the Constitution Hill project, Mapping Memory, former inmate John Moeketsi Mahapa says: “What we fought for all those years has not been achieved. Our people still live in appalling poverty, there are no jobs, people have no houses and worst of all, many of our people are landless.”
NB: Article written following a tour of the Constitutional Hill on Friday, 13 August 2010.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Xenophobia is a global phenomenon
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 04 August 2010
Clampdown on illegal immigrants; foreign workers without work permits employed in hotels, golf estates, spas and restaurants; immigration reform.
You’d think that these words describe the situation in South Africa following the recent 2010 FIFA World Cup – but no. They describe an ongoing debate on illegal immigration and subsequent court battles in the state of Arizona, United States.
Earlier this year, in April, the state of Arizona passed a bill authorising police to detain people they reasonably suspect of being in the country illegally. The bill is being challenged through the courts following intervention by President Barack Obama’s federal government.
Elsewhere in the world, the situation is not much different.
In countries such as Italy, France, the United Kingdom and others, the issue of illegal immigration is also uppermost in national agendas, often used as points of contention amongst political rivals, especially during elections.
The United Nations has acknowledged that, whilst having the potential to improve human welfare and development, international migration can also provoke social tensions, drive political extremes and fan the flames of discrimination and hatred.
Significantly, and of great relevance to the plight of migrants in South Africa, the UN acknowledges that migrations cannot be addressed unilaterally. Countries of origin of migrants as well as destination countries have to take responsibility.
South Africa, as the economic powerhouse of Africa, is a magnet for migrants from other parts of the continent, including those fleeing conflict in areas such as Somalia, Chad and the Democratic Republic of Congo, to economic migrants from neighbouring countries such as Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Mozambique and Swaziland.
Given South Africa’s own socio-economic challenges (Statistics South Africa revealed recently that unemployment has gone up to 25.3%), the presence of a large number of migrants overstretches the country’s already limited resources and exposes the poor to competition for these limited resources.
The solution to this conundrum is not as easy as sending troops of military personnel and police officers to bring calm. The calm brought about in this manner is often temporary.
A long-term solution to resolve recurring rifts between native citizens and foreign nationals would require efforts internally (ie, by government and citizens alike) as well as externally (between government and its counterparts on the continent and the world).
South Africa, as a signatory to relevant international protocols governing migration – and in keeping with the letter and spirit of its own constitution – is bound to uphold the prescriptions of those protocols.
Our Bill of Rights says “everyone (not just South Africans, but everyone) has inherent dignity and the right to have their dignity respected and protected”.
Being the new democracy that we are, there are lessons we need to learn on managing migration, both administratively and in terms of broadening our knowledge of the phenomenon.
Every year government detains those deemed to be in the country illegally and deports them to their countries of origin. But the magnitude of the problem seems to overwhelm the deportations.
It is therefore appropriate that government employs a heavy-handed approach to those attempting extra-legal ways to deal with immigration through so-called street justice.
Those who take the law into their own hands and violently chase migrants out of communities are rightfully treated as criminals, hence the recent superficial debate on government’s reluctance to describe the latest tensions as “xenophobic”.
Everyone admits that there are illegal immigrants that exploit holes in our systems to elude justice; and some of them are aided by corrupt officials on the one hand and some bribe-prone South Africans on the other.
One of the allegations against illegal African immigrants is that they take “our houses”, but some of the houses are actually rented out or sold by South African citizens.
Whilst governments have their own roles to play in managing immigration, we also have our own part to play as ordinary South Africans to tackle the problem.
One of the things communities need to learn is the fact that the many immigrants making their way into South Africa do not do so out of choice.
The UN High Commission for Refugees captures the issue aptly, saying: “Behind the dramatic headlines and the striking images of people on the move, there are personal stories of courage, tragedy and compassion.”
Also published on News24: http://www.news24.com/MyNews24/YourStory/Illegal-immigration-battles-20100804
Clampdown on illegal immigrants; foreign workers without work permits employed in hotels, golf estates, spas and restaurants; immigration reform.
You’d think that these words describe the situation in South Africa following the recent 2010 FIFA World Cup – but no. They describe an ongoing debate on illegal immigration and subsequent court battles in the state of Arizona, United States.
Earlier this year, in April, the state of Arizona passed a bill authorising police to detain people they reasonably suspect of being in the country illegally. The bill is being challenged through the courts following intervention by President Barack Obama’s federal government.
Elsewhere in the world, the situation is not much different.
In countries such as Italy, France, the United Kingdom and others, the issue of illegal immigration is also uppermost in national agendas, often used as points of contention amongst political rivals, especially during elections.
The United Nations has acknowledged that, whilst having the potential to improve human welfare and development, international migration can also provoke social tensions, drive political extremes and fan the flames of discrimination and hatred.
Significantly, and of great relevance to the plight of migrants in South Africa, the UN acknowledges that migrations cannot be addressed unilaterally. Countries of origin of migrants as well as destination countries have to take responsibility.
South Africa, as the economic powerhouse of Africa, is a magnet for migrants from other parts of the continent, including those fleeing conflict in areas such as Somalia, Chad and the Democratic Republic of Congo, to economic migrants from neighbouring countries such as Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Mozambique and Swaziland.
Given South Africa’s own socio-economic challenges (Statistics South Africa revealed recently that unemployment has gone up to 25.3%), the presence of a large number of migrants overstretches the country’s already limited resources and exposes the poor to competition for these limited resources.
The solution to this conundrum is not as easy as sending troops of military personnel and police officers to bring calm. The calm brought about in this manner is often temporary.
A long-term solution to resolve recurring rifts between native citizens and foreign nationals would require efforts internally (ie, by government and citizens alike) as well as externally (between government and its counterparts on the continent and the world).
South Africa, as a signatory to relevant international protocols governing migration – and in keeping with the letter and spirit of its own constitution – is bound to uphold the prescriptions of those protocols.
Our Bill of Rights says “everyone (not just South Africans, but everyone) has inherent dignity and the right to have their dignity respected and protected”.
Being the new democracy that we are, there are lessons we need to learn on managing migration, both administratively and in terms of broadening our knowledge of the phenomenon.
Every year government detains those deemed to be in the country illegally and deports them to their countries of origin. But the magnitude of the problem seems to overwhelm the deportations.
It is therefore appropriate that government employs a heavy-handed approach to those attempting extra-legal ways to deal with immigration through so-called street justice.
Those who take the law into their own hands and violently chase migrants out of communities are rightfully treated as criminals, hence the recent superficial debate on government’s reluctance to describe the latest tensions as “xenophobic”.
Everyone admits that there are illegal immigrants that exploit holes in our systems to elude justice; and some of them are aided by corrupt officials on the one hand and some bribe-prone South Africans on the other.
One of the allegations against illegal African immigrants is that they take “our houses”, but some of the houses are actually rented out or sold by South African citizens.
Whilst governments have their own roles to play in managing immigration, we also have our own part to play as ordinary South Africans to tackle the problem.
One of the things communities need to learn is the fact that the many immigrants making their way into South Africa do not do so out of choice.
The UN High Commission for Refugees captures the issue aptly, saying: “Behind the dramatic headlines and the striking images of people on the move, there are personal stories of courage, tragedy and compassion.”
Also published on News24: http://www.news24.com/MyNews24/YourStory/Illegal-immigration-battles-20100804
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Mountain schools not just about circumcision
Traditional circumcision prepares the youth for adulthood; more specifically for marriage and reproduction.
By Madibeng Kgwete: published on 20 July 2010
Why am I not surprised that Percy Mabandu describes the traditional African passage from boyhood to manhood as merely going through “the hand of a blade-wielding old man in the bush”?
In his article, “A cut above the rest” (City Press, 19 July 2010), Mabandu, who claims to be living a “post-tribal and neo-ethnic” life, writes provocatively that circumcision is part of “mobile hybridities of earlier identities.”
He should tell that to the young men from my village in Sekhukhune, Limpopo, who just returned from the mountain on the Saturday of 17 July, 2010.
In my village – and I’m sure the same applies to other villages still practicing traditional circumcision – mashoboro (Pedi for men who’ve not been to the mountain) are not allowed to even talk about traditional circumcision.
The offence is comparable to a depiction of the prophet Muhammad.
So, why is one not surprised that Mabandu sneers at the tradition the way he does?
Well, by his own admission, he didn’t feel like more of a man after his return from the surgery. That, precisely, is because the surgery is not the place to turn boys into men.
People in urban areas and in other places where the institution of traditional leadership is weak or non-existent may never fully appreciate what a mountain school is and what it is meant to achieve.
A traditional circumcision school can only be run by a legitimate chief or someone designated by a legitimate chief, and its purpose is not merely to circumcise boys. It goes further than that.
Traditional circumcision (known in Sepedi as koma) is a preparatory school for the ultimate integration of the youth into adulthood; more specifically to prepare one for marriage and reproduction.
A proper and legitimate circumcision school has the blessings of ancestors and is conducted by experienced traditional surgeons, most of whom are recognised traditional doctors. Deaths of initiates at legitimate mountain schools are rare occurrences.
The mountain school teaches you various lessons, including that of man as head of family and the responsibilities that come with that role. Other lessons would be hard to comprehend (and impossible to live by) for dudes in the townships and suburbs.
By Madibeng Kgwete: published on 20 July 2010
Why am I not surprised that Percy Mabandu describes the traditional African passage from boyhood to manhood as merely going through “the hand of a blade-wielding old man in the bush”?
In his article, “A cut above the rest” (City Press, 19 July 2010), Mabandu, who claims to be living a “post-tribal and neo-ethnic” life, writes provocatively that circumcision is part of “mobile hybridities of earlier identities.”
He should tell that to the young men from my village in Sekhukhune, Limpopo, who just returned from the mountain on the Saturday of 17 July, 2010.
In my village – and I’m sure the same applies to other villages still practicing traditional circumcision – mashoboro (Pedi for men who’ve not been to the mountain) are not allowed to even talk about traditional circumcision.
The offence is comparable to a depiction of the prophet Muhammad.
So, why is one not surprised that Mabandu sneers at the tradition the way he does?
Well, by his own admission, he didn’t feel like more of a man after his return from the surgery. That, precisely, is because the surgery is not the place to turn boys into men.
People in urban areas and in other places where the institution of traditional leadership is weak or non-existent may never fully appreciate what a mountain school is and what it is meant to achieve.
A traditional circumcision school can only be run by a legitimate chief or someone designated by a legitimate chief, and its purpose is not merely to circumcise boys. It goes further than that.
Traditional circumcision (known in Sepedi as koma) is a preparatory school for the ultimate integration of the youth into adulthood; more specifically to prepare one for marriage and reproduction.
A proper and legitimate circumcision school has the blessings of ancestors and is conducted by experienced traditional surgeons, most of whom are recognised traditional doctors. Deaths of initiates at legitimate mountain schools are rare occurrences.
The mountain school teaches you various lessons, including that of man as head of family and the responsibilities that come with that role. Other lessons would be hard to comprehend (and impossible to live by) for dudes in the townships and suburbs.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Marabastaad: a sorry shadow of its past dynamic character
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 07 May 2010
The mother of black township life would shame its stylish and dignified residents of the 18th and early 19th century.
Just mere mention of the Marabastaad section of Pretoria and some things come to mind: filth, noise, chaos, hooting minibus taxis. The irony, though, is that Solomon Plaatjie, the iconic struggle veteran, shared similar frustrations about the same place more than a century ago.
This, and several other fascinating discoveries, formed part of the new knowledge acquired during my recent visit to the National Cultural History Museum, situated at the corner of Visagie and Bosman streets in Pretoria.
As the first area in Pretoria to house both blacks and coloureds in the year 1885, Marabastaad is one of the capital city’s most historic places – and probably even the precursor to township life as we have it today. But even its dynamic character did not escape the wrath of racial segregation.
The country’s then white administrators neglected the area in relation to the provision of services, in the process inviting vociferous protest from such famous figures as Plaatjie who lamented the living conditions of black people in the area.
Plaatjie described houses for black people in the area as “unhealthy and ramshackle hovels, lined along rocky and craggy apologies for streets”.
Instead of channeling more resources into the development of the area as per protests from the likes of Plaatjie, authorities had a different plan: to enact legislation, the Native Land Act, that legalised the forced removal of all of Marabastaad’s residents to areas further away from the city.
Blacks were taken to Attridgeville, Indians to Laudium and coloureds to Eersterust. By so doing, the authorities (by then operating the greater crime of apartheid) planted the early seeds of racial discord, under the guise of so-called “separate development.”
Before its disintegration, though, Marabastaad gave birth not only to several notable figures in South Africa’s public life, such as Eskia Mphahlele (1919) and Jay Naidoo (1941), but also heralded a sense of personal dignity, fashion and style atypical in today’s township life.
Original ladies’ high heel shoes, complete with gold and silver bling, provide a glimpse into the social life of the bygone era which, without doubt, will continue to inspire generations to come. Even though the residents in those days lived under the yoke of racial segregation, they still had a deep sense of personal dignity.
I wonder if they also had hobos then, if they had men, women and children calling bridges and abandoned buildings their homes. I wonder if people cooked food out on the streets, right next to stinking piles of rubbish. I wonder if they also had pick-pocketing.
The museum keeps some original pieces of life in the old Marabastaad, including a black-and-white aerial picture of the residential section for natives. Other items include original window frames, cutlery, beds and a large wooden radio.
Marabastaad in those days, as described by the museum, was “cosmopolitan in character”, consisting of “an urban mixture of shops, dealers, cafes, dry cleaners” which were owned by local residents, generating revenue and employment, injecting life into the area, giving a sense of purpose and accomplishment to the locals.
Even the forceful removals of non-whites further away from the city – and, in particular, out of Marabastaad – revealed other courageous traits about the people of the area: unity, determination, discipline and, very importantly, peaceful and organised protest in pursuit of justice.
One of Marabastaad’s notable protesters against the Native Land Act was Nana Sita, born in Indian in 1894. Sita came to South Africa at the age of 14 and became a resident of (and an activist in) Marabastaad, even drawing the attention of the police and the media.
In 1952, Nana was convicted for his role in the Defiance Campaign, and the Weekly Mail published his last picture (in which he appeared with Nelson Mandela) before incarceration in one of its December 1952 editions.
By then, Nana was president of the Transvaal Indian Congress, an anti-apartheid organisation that drew much inspiration and support from Mahatma Gandhi.
The great irony, though, is that if Plaatjie were to wake up from the dead today, his description of Marabastaad would most probably be harsher than his take on the same place more than a century ago.
The mother of black township life would shame its stylish and dignified residents of the 18th and early 19th century.
Just mere mention of the Marabastaad section of Pretoria and some things come to mind: filth, noise, chaos, hooting minibus taxis. The irony, though, is that Solomon Plaatjie, the iconic struggle veteran, shared similar frustrations about the same place more than a century ago.
This, and several other fascinating discoveries, formed part of the new knowledge acquired during my recent visit to the National Cultural History Museum, situated at the corner of Visagie and Bosman streets in Pretoria.
As the first area in Pretoria to house both blacks and coloureds in the year 1885, Marabastaad is one of the capital city’s most historic places – and probably even the precursor to township life as we have it today. But even its dynamic character did not escape the wrath of racial segregation.
The country’s then white administrators neglected the area in relation to the provision of services, in the process inviting vociferous protest from such famous figures as Plaatjie who lamented the living conditions of black people in the area.
Plaatjie described houses for black people in the area as “unhealthy and ramshackle hovels, lined along rocky and craggy apologies for streets”.
Instead of channeling more resources into the development of the area as per protests from the likes of Plaatjie, authorities had a different plan: to enact legislation, the Native Land Act, that legalised the forced removal of all of Marabastaad’s residents to areas further away from the city.
Blacks were taken to Attridgeville, Indians to Laudium and coloureds to Eersterust. By so doing, the authorities (by then operating the greater crime of apartheid) planted the early seeds of racial discord, under the guise of so-called “separate development.”
Before its disintegration, though, Marabastaad gave birth not only to several notable figures in South Africa’s public life, such as Eskia Mphahlele (1919) and Jay Naidoo (1941), but also heralded a sense of personal dignity, fashion and style atypical in today’s township life.
Original ladies’ high heel shoes, complete with gold and silver bling, provide a glimpse into the social life of the bygone era which, without doubt, will continue to inspire generations to come. Even though the residents in those days lived under the yoke of racial segregation, they still had a deep sense of personal dignity.
I wonder if they also had hobos then, if they had men, women and children calling bridges and abandoned buildings their homes. I wonder if people cooked food out on the streets, right next to stinking piles of rubbish. I wonder if they also had pick-pocketing.
The museum keeps some original pieces of life in the old Marabastaad, including a black-and-white aerial picture of the residential section for natives. Other items include original window frames, cutlery, beds and a large wooden radio.
Marabastaad in those days, as described by the museum, was “cosmopolitan in character”, consisting of “an urban mixture of shops, dealers, cafes, dry cleaners” which were owned by local residents, generating revenue and employment, injecting life into the area, giving a sense of purpose and accomplishment to the locals.
Even the forceful removals of non-whites further away from the city – and, in particular, out of Marabastaad – revealed other courageous traits about the people of the area: unity, determination, discipline and, very importantly, peaceful and organised protest in pursuit of justice.
One of Marabastaad’s notable protesters against the Native Land Act was Nana Sita, born in Indian in 1894. Sita came to South Africa at the age of 14 and became a resident of (and an activist in) Marabastaad, even drawing the attention of the police and the media.
In 1952, Nana was convicted for his role in the Defiance Campaign, and the Weekly Mail published his last picture (in which he appeared with Nelson Mandela) before incarceration in one of its December 1952 editions.
By then, Nana was president of the Transvaal Indian Congress, an anti-apartheid organisation that drew much inspiration and support from Mahatma Gandhi.
The great irony, though, is that if Plaatjie were to wake up from the dead today, his description of Marabastaad would most probably be harsher than his take on the same place more than a century ago.
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