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
Monday, October 4, 2010
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.
Monday, April 26, 2010
No looming race war in South Africa
Posted by Madibeng Kgwete: 26 April 2010
Attempts to link Terre’blanche’s death to a looming “machete war” were part of a scare-mongering campaign aimed at discrediting South Africa ahead of the 2010 FIFA World Cup
Fears that a race war would erupt in South Africa following the death in April of South Africa’s notorious white supremacist, Eugene Terre’blanche, sought to sow mistrust amongst the country’s various racial groupings whilst at the same scaring off visitors coming for the 2010 FIFA World Cup, which takes place from 11 June to 11 July 2010.
Following Terre’blanche’s murder, various media houses concluded, prematurely and with little familiarity regarding contemporary politics in post-apartheid South Africa, that there would be a violent backlash from the white South African farming community. The warnings were far-fetched, of course.
The United Kingdom’s Daily Star tabloid led the charge with a false story, warning England football fans not to travel to South Africa for the 2010 FIFA World Cup – the first to be hosted in Africa – because of a looming “machete war” expected to be sparked by Terre’blanche’s death.
An opinion article in The Guardian said Terre’blanche’s murder signaled the death of “the era of Nelson Mandela”, adding that South Africa’s constitution – described as “arguably the most liberal document in the world” – allowed “political space for dissidents and dinosaurs” alike.
What the newspapers omitted to mention, though, is the unity of South Africans across all racial groupings in their condemnation of crime, irrespective of who the perpetrators are. It is therefore not surprising that various attempts to link Terre’blanche’s death to racial tensions were unsuccessful.
What many people outside South Africa do not realise is the speed with which the country has moved in overcoming racial tensions of the apartheid era. Political efforts to bury the apartheid ghost have been followed up, concretely, by the crafting and implementation of various pieces of progressive legislations aimed at consolidating South Africa’s democratic dispensation.
South Africa’s legal establishment has matured considerably over the last 16 years of freedom. And political maturity and tolerance, even in the midst of the most divisive of topics, has been the hallmark of the country’s new democratic order. It’s not all perfect, but general adherence to (and equality before) the law cuts across race, politics and class.
South Africa is a nation, as former President Nelson Mandela put it, “at peace within itself”. There are no fundamental disagreements amongst the various racial groupings. We face common challenges: crime, unemployment, corruption, poverty, the spread of diseases and many other social ills. And we share common aspirations as well: peace, justice and prosperity.
The insistence by many critics in the West that South Africans, particularly the black majority, should keep to Mandela’s reconciliatory tone is divorced from the realities under which the previously oppressed population still lives. Demands for faster and genuine economic transformation are often wrongly and unfairly dismissed as attempts to dispossess whites of their material assets.
The critics in the West are amplifying the fears of some white South Africans in what is unmistakably more a case of racial solidarity than a demand for social justice and equality for all. They keep reminding the black population not to deviate from Mandela’s dream of racial unity only for selfish reasons – to keep the status quo in as far as the economy is concerned.
Racial harmony is good for peaceful coexistence, yes; but you can’t eat reconciliation. Even after you’ve forgiven and forgotten, you still need to survive – to feed yourself and your family. The media-driven scare-mongering that followed Terre’blanche’s murder does not reflect fairly the feelings of black and white South Africans towards each other.
It’s all just a campaign to discredit South Africa ahead of its historic hosting of the first FIFA World Cup on the African continent. There are continuing attempts to perpetuate the myth that nothing good can ever come out of Africa. It’s a colonial-era mentality that all Africans, at home and in the diaspora, must unite to dismiss.
Attempts to link Terre’blanche’s death to a looming “machete war” were part of a scare-mongering campaign aimed at discrediting South Africa ahead of the 2010 FIFA World Cup
Fears that a race war would erupt in South Africa following the death in April of South Africa’s notorious white supremacist, Eugene Terre’blanche, sought to sow mistrust amongst the country’s various racial groupings whilst at the same scaring off visitors coming for the 2010 FIFA World Cup, which takes place from 11 June to 11 July 2010.
Following Terre’blanche’s murder, various media houses concluded, prematurely and with little familiarity regarding contemporary politics in post-apartheid South Africa, that there would be a violent backlash from the white South African farming community. The warnings were far-fetched, of course.
The United Kingdom’s Daily Star tabloid led the charge with a false story, warning England football fans not to travel to South Africa for the 2010 FIFA World Cup – the first to be hosted in Africa – because of a looming “machete war” expected to be sparked by Terre’blanche’s death.
An opinion article in The Guardian said Terre’blanche’s murder signaled the death of “the era of Nelson Mandela”, adding that South Africa’s constitution – described as “arguably the most liberal document in the world” – allowed “political space for dissidents and dinosaurs” alike.
What the newspapers omitted to mention, though, is the unity of South Africans across all racial groupings in their condemnation of crime, irrespective of who the perpetrators are. It is therefore not surprising that various attempts to link Terre’blanche’s death to racial tensions were unsuccessful.
What many people outside South Africa do not realise is the speed with which the country has moved in overcoming racial tensions of the apartheid era. Political efforts to bury the apartheid ghost have been followed up, concretely, by the crafting and implementation of various pieces of progressive legislations aimed at consolidating South Africa’s democratic dispensation.
South Africa’s legal establishment has matured considerably over the last 16 years of freedom. And political maturity and tolerance, even in the midst of the most divisive of topics, has been the hallmark of the country’s new democratic order. It’s not all perfect, but general adherence to (and equality before) the law cuts across race, politics and class.
South Africa is a nation, as former President Nelson Mandela put it, “at peace within itself”. There are no fundamental disagreements amongst the various racial groupings. We face common challenges: crime, unemployment, corruption, poverty, the spread of diseases and many other social ills. And we share common aspirations as well: peace, justice and prosperity.
The insistence by many critics in the West that South Africans, particularly the black majority, should keep to Mandela’s reconciliatory tone is divorced from the realities under which the previously oppressed population still lives. Demands for faster and genuine economic transformation are often wrongly and unfairly dismissed as attempts to dispossess whites of their material assets.
The critics in the West are amplifying the fears of some white South Africans in what is unmistakably more a case of racial solidarity than a demand for social justice and equality for all. They keep reminding the black population not to deviate from Mandela’s dream of racial unity only for selfish reasons – to keep the status quo in as far as the economy is concerned.
Racial harmony is good for peaceful coexistence, yes; but you can’t eat reconciliation. Even after you’ve forgiven and forgotten, you still need to survive – to feed yourself and your family. The media-driven scare-mongering that followed Terre’blanche’s murder does not reflect fairly the feelings of black and white South Africans towards each other.
It’s all just a campaign to discredit South Africa ahead of its historic hosting of the first FIFA World Cup on the African continent. There are continuing attempts to perpetuate the myth that nothing good can ever come out of Africa. It’s a colonial-era mentality that all Africans, at home and in the diaspora, must unite to dismiss.
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