1.
The first event I attended was a Saturday workshop organized by the South African New Economics network (SANE). According to its mission statement, SANE strives for "dialogue on alternative economic theories and practices which are more purposefully designed to promote social equity and justice." The basic idea is to stimulate thought on alternative economic systems for South Africa as the conventional system is no longer socially and ecologically viable.
It was my understanding that the event would include a presentation of current challenges, but focus primarily on solutions drawn from group discussion. The symposium was held in a big classroom at the University of Cape Town. The leader launched into a long and involved PowerPoint presentation on the biggest PowerPoint screen I have ever seen. The presentation was so laden with theoretical language I thought I might pass out. There was not one concrete example in the whole deal. It felt more like a parade of big intellectual words than anything. I could understand the concepts, but I had no idea how they applied to the specific problems in South Africa that the group was convened to address.
When the floor was opened for questions, they proceeded in this particularly South African way that is sort of irritating. The moderator would take four questions without answering them, and then give a long response that touched on each one. When a person was called on to ask a question, he or she would invariably stand up and give a little speech that may or may not contain a question or have anything to do with the specific issues under discussion. The moderator did nothing to keep people on topic. It was incredibly laborious.
At one point, one of the only black people in the room was called on to speak. I had been introduced to him earlier as Commander Zet. He began talking about the effects of the economic system in his community in one of the townships outlying Cape Town. While it wasn't explicitly stated, it seemed that the conference was really trying to address economic challenges facing black communities in the townships. The man spoke passionately about problems of poverty and unemployment. He seems to be a bit famous around here because he is a big social mover in the Khayelitsha township and founder of Youth for Change,
After Commander Zet spoke animatedly for about ten minutes, a woman broke in from the back of the room. "This man's comments are completely inappropriate," she said. "He is too angry." She talked more than this, and then some other person appealed to the moderator that she was out of order. The moderator didn't do anything. When it all died down, he just smiled and took another question. It was really disturbing, and such a shame because here was an opportunity really to engage the problems and open a way to thinking about solutions. I decided to leave at the mid-point of the conference because the topic wasn't of interest to me, and I was bristled by the paternalistic language and attitude that seemed to pervade the group. Later Ginn told me that the rude woman and Commander Zet actually spoke and reached some common ground and conciliation. It's too bad this couldn't have happened in the context of the group discussion.
The uncomfortable moment in the conference seemed to crystallize the phenomenon I am here to think about. The group was gathered to talk about solutions for economic change, but when the lone voice from the actual economic crisis in the townships spoke out, he was immediately silenced because he was "too angry." The message seemed to me that if he wanted to participate, he needed to get over his anger and be forgiving. But really, why shouldn't this man be angry? Thirteen years after apartheid ended, life is still a struggle for many South Africans. Why should the burden be on him to be forgiving? It seemed like an implicit bargain was on the table: we smart, white academic types will come together to try to solve your problems, but you need to be quiet and appreciative and keep your anger to yourself. Of course nothing was so baldly stated as that, but as an outside observer, this seemed to be the underlying message.
I appreciated that one man raised his hand to point out that intellectualism isn't meaningful or valuable on its own, and that we needed to speak in practical language and extend the conversation to everyone. He stopped short of words like condescending or paternalistic, but his point was clear and I was glad he said what he did.
2.
Yesterday, I went with Ginn to a conference hosted by the Center for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (CVRC). It was held in a bed and breakfast in Mowbray, a suburb a bit closer in to Cape Town. One thing that South Africans get right about these academic conferences are the refreshments. Breakfast and lunch were completely delicious. The title was "Ex-Combatant Reintegration Policy Dialogue." In attendance were a number of attorneys from Pretoria and Johannesburg, a few social activists interested in restorative justice concerns, and representatives from military veteran groups who were themselves ex-combatants in the struggle against apartheid. It was actually really interesting to hear the various presentations about the legal technicalities surrounding the issues of prosecution of ex-combatants, many of whom did not participate in the TRC due to missed deadlines or disinterest in the process and now live under the continued threat of prosecution for their actions during the struggle.
Ginn has a particular interest in this issue, and has been trying for several years to raise money to establish a farm where ex-combatants could live for a period time and receiving counseling for chemical dependency, post-traumatic stress, and depression, as well as learning practical skills and job training. The situation seems to be that post-1994, many of these ex-combatants were left in the wind, with some still in prison awaiting hearings for pardons, and others reverting to lives of violence. There is a surge to do something to help these ex-combatants reintegrate into society, but as with the economic symposium, the discussion was short on solutions.
After every presentation, there was the requisite question-and-answer period. The same thing happened at this conference as with the Saturday session: a few questions were taken, and then there would be a long and winding answer from the presenter. Only the people were not asking questions; they were giving speeches. And no one was stopping them. We had been given an agenda at the start of the conference, but after a couple of hours we were wildly off-schedule. We were like ninety minutes behind where we were supposed to be, and still they were taking questions/speeches. This drives me crazy anywhere on earth. I said something to Ginn about it, and she said simply that people need to be heard. I understand this, because stories are very important, but I think there is also a time and a place. In this context, it was the ex-combatants who would drone on and on about their personal situations, their anger at the system, and difficulties getting what they needed. Of course this is important. But we were gathered for contemplating solutions, and no solutions were being offered. There seemed to be a general and sweeping reluctance among any of the non-ex-combatants (mostly white) to interrupt or in any way curb the testimony of the men who were talking. This isn't the first time I have felt this. It's like an over-correction of sorts, a wave of collective guilt that is debilitating within these social action groups and keeps them from having genuinely productive discussions around issues that demand attention and action. Because of the huge overage in time, we had to leave out the items on the agenda in which we would discuss restorative justice, my primary interest in this gathering, and also divide into small groups and brainstorm practical ideas for change.
At the CSVR conference in Mowbray.
An ex-combatant states his position at the CSVR discussion.
3.
On Monday night, we drove into downtown Cape Town for a joint presentation by the CSVR, the Institute for Justice and Reconciliation (IJR), and the International Center for Transitional Justice (ICTJ). This was by far one of the best academic talks I have ever attended. The speaker was Dr. Rama Mani, executive director of the International Center for Ethnic Studies (ICES) in Colombo, Sri Lanka, and author of Beyond Retribution: Seeking Justice in the Shadows of War. She was beautiful and elegant and articulate and completely mesmerizing. Her talk, which was entitled, "The Responsibility to Protect and the Pursuit of Just Peace," she gracefully balanced a discussion of the issues at hand (when and how the international community and UN ought to intervene in humanitarian crises) with practical examples and solutions.
Of course there was the question-and-answer period. The moderator acknowledged four people at a time, and then one by one, four people stood up and made speeches and/or asked questions. One man talked for twelve minutes. Apparently this is how things go in South Africa. Dr. Mani did an excellent job responding succinctly and completely to the questions. During the second round, I raised my hand. When it was my turn, I said, "What role do you think the Church or religion might play toward mobilization in transitional justice periods?" That was it. Nobody said anything for a minute. What is the deal here? Is every question-and-answer period expected to be a fiesta of stump speeches? In her answer to my question, I learned that our interests have significant overlap, and after the talk we exchanged e-mail addresses.
Dr. Rama Mani at the Centre for the Book, Cape Town.
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