by Justin Foxton | Apr 16, 2016 | Democracy, Leadership
In August 2014 highly respected ANC veteran Pallo Jordan found himself in hot water over lies regarding his academic qualifications. He had claimed to have a PhD going by the title of Doctor for years.
Via an article in the Mail & Guardian, ANC secretary general Gwede Mantashe explained that Jordan had written to the party’s leadership taking full responsibility for what Jordan termed as “deceit over a long time”. Jordan apologised to the ANC, its members and all South Africans and resigned.
There are moments in all of our lives that come to define us as men and women. For leaders with position and power, these moments may go down in the annals of history. For leaders like you and I they may simply become part of the history of our own small lives, or be forever etched in the minds of our children: “My Dad was always someone who did the right thing”; “My Mum played fast and loose with the law.”
The story of Pallo Jordan’s deceit did not end with an apology to South Africans. That is because Pallo Jordan is a man of integrity. How can we possibly say that about a man who lied and cheated his way through decades of his life, receiving benefits that he should never have been entitled to? Well, we can say that because when confronted with that dreadful moment of truth about his lie (a variation of a lie that many of us have spoken in our lives to make ourselves or our companies sound more impressive), he chose to admit his mistakes and resign. With only the evidence provided by his conscience and a Sunday Times expose; without any pronouncements of a court of law – he did the hardest thing possible; he took responsibility and action. His apology would have meant nothing had he not resigned; his apology would simply have been a request for us to let him off the hook: “You have been a naughty boy Pallo, but we forgive you. Just don’t do it again.”
My primary memory of Pallo Jordan is not that he lied about his qualifications. I remember him for the fact that he resigned as a result of being exposed. I remember how quickly, how decisively and how humbly he did it. I remember how he saw fit to respect South Africans and our democracy by doing what only the strongest of men and women and the best of leaders can ever do – kick themselves when they are down. Regardless of the fact that he would lose money, face and power he did what I have come to understand any true veteran of the struggle would do; he stood up bravely against anyone who dared to compromise the integrity of that struggle and the democracy that resulted – even when that person was him.
I do not need to spell things out and in any case, much has been written about the man who still insists on calling himself our President. Suffice to say that whether you love him or hate him, this man will now be relegated to the trash-heap of history occupied by corrupt leaders; those who lied, cheated, deceived, manipulated and put themselves before the people. But he will not simply idle away his final years in ignominy for Nkandla or the fact that he violated his oath of office or any of the other atrocities committed by him. Ultimately, this will happen because he apologised without resigning. Had he resigned on Saturday night he may in years to come have even been honoured for some of his not insignificant achievements as President of the Republic. But now, history will only ever remember him for being a man who – when presented with that moment – chose to apologise but not resign. He will be remembered for the fact that he not only placed his needs before the party or his people, but before the constitution of the Republic.
And this is what stalwarts, elders and civil society leaders are now protesting over. They have nothing to lose from standing against the systematic destruction of this mighty organisation. They know that a weak ANC is bad for everyone and they will not look on as Rome burns. What the man who insists on calling himself our President – and the entire ANC – has missed is that this has gone beyond politics and a scrutinising of the letter of the law. This now sets in motion the ANC’s slide downwards to the trash-heap occupied by corrupt liberation movements; those who lied, cheated, deceived, manipulated and put themselves before the people. What a tragic trajectory.
Is it too late for redemption for either him or the ANC? I do not believe so. Provided this once proud organisation is able to liberate itself from its own propaganda and make itself accountable to you and I by speaking truth to power, then anything is possible.
Pallo Jordan proved that people are very forgiving when the right thing is done.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17-year-old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Mar 2, 2016 | Democracy
Open letter to a friend and colleague:
Dear Akhona,
It has become fashionable to write open letters to public figures. These letters are usually vitriolic and self-serving. Come to think of it I have seldom read an open letter that is kind, affirming and hopeful. One of my objectives in writing an open letter to you, is to change that.
You may not be a public figure (yet) however you are very famous to your beautiful son, your brothers and Mama who are the very breath you breathe and your large network of friends and associates – me included.
Regrettably such fame doesn’t generally garner much interest. So why am I writing this? I am writing this to make public a simple truth that we exchanged via Whatsapp during the time of the Penny Sparrow scandal; black and white works.
This may seem like a somewhat fatuous statement at a time of such racial upheaval. But my association with you has demonstrated time-and-time again that this fact is true. Not only that, but black and white is necessary as we seek to find balance in this country of ours. Let me explain.
In the time that I have worked with you, we – that is Cathy and I and our respective kids – have become close friends. By virtue of spending long hours in planes and cars together, we have learnt a great deal about one another. We have challenged one another’s stereotypes – including our racial stereotypes, we have grown in our understanding of our respective cultures and we have made those new understandings work powerfully in some extremely challenging and even hostile work situations. I can confidently say that neither of us working independently in our field of conflict resolution and peace creation would have the success that you and I have had, working together. The one without the other would simply be less effective. Black and white works.
Through this process of time spent and conversations held (the only way that different people ever found one another), I have learnt a tremendous amount about your incredible culture. This has allowed me to bring a more rounded, balanced, integrated me to the uniquely African work we have been doing. My whiteness with all its strengths and weaknesses has been balanced by your blackness with such different strengths and weaknesses. And I have learnt that black and white is not the same – thankfully! Of course, we are human and equal – but we are also extraordinarily, beautifully different. This combination of our differences; different skills, customs, ways of doing things; different ways of speaking, relating, forgiving, inviting, negotiating and yes, even fighting – is powerful to heal and restore dignity when used in combination. It is an elixir not a poison. And then of course, we have many similarities. What fun that has been!
And you have deepened my understanding of what it means to be African. Through your kindness and jokeful acceptance of my often awkward attempts at being culturally sensitive, I think I have been allowed to call myself that; an African. Not that sterile classification that so polarises; white South African. No, through you and our dear friend Mr Walter Malepe, I have been affirmed and accepted as an African. I thank you for this.
And as I have listened to hours and hours of languages being spoken that I don’t understand, feeling every inch of my inadequacy, you have demonstrated the power of patient engagement. Before, this impatient white boy might have disengaged from such meetings or conversations with an air of arrogant irritation: “Why don’t they just speak English?” But because we have worked in non-Zulu speaking areas you too have been lost. We have been lost together! But you have shown me that it doesn’t matter whether we understand or not. What matters is that we respect the speaker by being present and engaged with every word he or she speaks. It matters not whether we understand the words. We work to hear the heart. It is all about dignity. Respect. Honour. This is the African way. I have developed – slowly but surely – these subtle but necessary skills, and as a result I have the ear – and perhaps even the heart – of many people who by rights should have little or no time for this mlungu. I could not have developed in these areas on my own. The thin strands of trust; the hands shaken and held for long enough to say; “you are my brother”, the ever-so-subtle but terribly warm smile from a tribal elder as I speak. That would not have happened if black and white did not work.
We have done battle together in corporate boardrooms and under trees. Many are the fights we have fought and many are the battles we have lost and won. They have been hard fought and taxing but I believe we can say that in some small way our country – room by room – person-by-person – is a better place because we have worked side-by-side. That is for no other reason than the fact that black and white works.
So thank you Akhona. Thank you for being willing to challenge me and for allowing me to challenge you; thank you for allowing your mind to be changed and for seeing the brother in me. As fires burn and as battles rage let you and I and our families affirm in word and deed what I have known to be true for all my life.
That black and white works.
Take care sisi.
Justin
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Feb 10, 2016 | Democracy
Writer, justice and reconciliation ambassador and Pastor Alexander Venter speaks of four kinds of racists in post-apartheid South Africa. Following on from my last column – and adding to the continuing national dialogue on racism – I believe that these are very useful definitions in terms of helping us to name our prejudice and hence bring it under control. They are not specific to any one race; they apply to all South Africans regardless of colour or ethnicity. Which one are you?
Confirmed racists are prejudiced and open about it. They resent or even hate people of other races. This includes the phenomenon of xenophobia, where people fear, reject and even victimise those of other races. Some believe more than ever that blacks and whites – and indeed all differing races – should be kept apart. In the case of black and white, white confirmed racists believe black people are inferior. They will say things like: “Things were better under apartheid.” They will express open glee when a black person articulates such a misguided view as for them this is a slam-dunk in terms of confirming their own prejudicial belief systems. For black confirmed racists, white people are still imperialistic settlers and their retort might be along the lines of: “They must go back to Europe.” Confirmed racists are upfront and ‘honest’ about their racism. The attitudes of this group are hardening and they can often be heard dumping their hateful and offensive opinions and actions on those around them.
Suppressed racists are those who have buried their prejudices in the name of political correctness, keeping-the-peace, or fear of being judged. This will come with a decent measure of self-deception and denial. “I am not racist!” they protest (or perhaps even “I am not a racist but….”) and they may even resort to the old: “I have friends/colleagues who are black!” It doesn’t often take much – a particular event, issue, person or glass of wine – to bring out the racist comments and attitudes. The reality is that we can only supress things for so long before they pop out. This type of racism is no less destructive than Confirmed Racism because it pays lip service to principles of equality while opposing its implementation. This is particularly applicable when it comes to any form of redress particularly policies like BBBEE. It would appear that many South Africans are currently stuck at this level of racism. We haven’t engaged deeply and meaningfully with the hard and often painful process of facing our race demons and we certainly haven’t acknowledged just how vital it is that we do. This will take courage and hard, uncomfortable work – and many of us simply haven’t begun that journey. However, until we do South Africa will be caught in the twilight zone between two eras. This will impact on social cohesion, crime levels, economic growth and the strength of our democracy. Moving beyond this stage of racism is fundamental now to our progress as a nation.
Recovering racists are those who have acknowledged and faced their racial conditioning and the fact that if you were raised in South Africa then racism is intertwined in your very being. They are taking responsibility for this and they are consciously working on their thought processes, beliefs, attitudes and actions. They have dealt with their guilt and are free of this, but freedom is relative. Like people recovering from any addiction, they will always be in recovery and this is a daily journey. They are unlearning old ways of thinking and relating and are adopting new attitudes, behaviours and even speech patterns. They are working at inner and outer transformation of their lives and hence society at large. This is the stage we all need to get to. It takes us beyond denial by harnessing the power of vulnerability to admit our weaknesses and our struggles. Only when we do this can we heal – individually and hence collectively.
Pre-racists or Innocents are those who are in the pre-prejudice stage; they are our children. They are racially innocent provided of course their parents, extended family or other influential adults haven’t already polluted them with their prejudice. The post-apartheid generation has a wonderful opportunity to be racism-free in a way all other South Africans could never be. It will depend on our guidance and modelling – or lack thereof – as to whether this generation is lost to racism.
I would suggest that these definitions are very useful starting points but perhaps not as clear cut as 4 neat categories. For example I am a Recovering Racist but I sometimes catch myself suppressing racist thoughts because “that’s not what a recovering racist should think”. But again I ask – and I would urge personal honesty – which type/types of racist are you? Perhaps even more importantly, are you prepared to go on a journey to the next level of recovery?
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
My sincere thanks to Alexander Venter for giving me permission to quote extensively from his book “Doing Reconciliation – Racism, Reconciliation and Transformation in Church and World.”
by Justin Foxton | Jan 18, 2016 | Citizen Participation, Democracy
I have been writing about issues of racism for years now, but I have seldom felt so winded; so physically nauseated – as I did when I read those hateful words written by now infamous people.
The irony is that at the time the story broke I was enjoying our annual family holiday in the Kruger National Park. All the way around that beautiful place my wife and I were marvelling at how diverse it has become. Not so long ago – I’m talking 4 or 5 years back – it was practically all white and very conservative, to its great shame. Not anymore. All races, ages, adoptive families like ours, gay, straight you name it, we all swam together; our children made friends; we shared drinks on New Year’s Eve; we stopped and pointed out animal sightings. It was the first year in many that we felt that things had really turned and that the place was now moving towards being truly inclusive and representative.
When you are in Kruger you don’t usually stop for a Sparrow. But we did this time. She stopped us in our tracks. What we were reading on social media and in the news was just so utterly contradictory to the South Africa that we were relishing. Over the days that followed we spoke a great deal about the issues at stake. I read all the angry articles, Tweets and Facebook posts. I joined the majority of right-thinking people from South Africa and the world in my condemnation of what had been said. But a piece of the puzzle was missing; a big piece.
The discourse surrounding the whole affair began to change slightly and this is when it dawned on me; the issue is not simply the racist ravings of people like Penny Sparrow, Velaphi Khumalo or Justin van Vuuren.
Now please let me reiterate; I – like millions of other South Africans – deplore and reject all words and actions that hurt or demean others in any way. However isn’t this response a little too easy; perhaps a touch convenient given the enormity of what has been said? As sane, rational people of all races, we get to talk about the Penny Sparrows of this world. We get to write columns and blogs and Facebook posts voicing our disgust and in some cases our deep shame. This is all well, good and necessary. But does our indignation not become a spotlight that we turn on ‘those racists’ and away from ourselves?
And here is the big issue for me personally: I fight every day for equality. I write and I talk and I argue against racism constantly. I have a black child. I have beautiful, amazing black and Indian friends and colleagues whom I adore. I often publically share my frustrations with my own white self; my stuck-up, self-important, over-hasty, too direct self.
However, the question I must honestly and vulnerably ask myself, is if on a racism scale of 1 to 10 Penny Sparrow is a 12 – then where am I? I have written in this column before that ending racism begins with you and me; the painful, ongoing journey that each of us must embark on to face our prejudices head-on and get healed, and that if we are to be brutally honest with ourselves then we are all recovering racists who exist somewhere on that scale.
If these issues end with us simply venting our collective spleen against the blatant racists amongst us then surely we have missed an opportunity to turn the spotlight of those vile ramblings back onto ourselves in order that we might face up to our own prejudices and progress further down that racism scale towards zero. Imagine if we all did this? Now that would deal racism a proper blow.
Again let’s be clear; we must deal decisively with all hate speech and the people who speak it. They will undoubtedly face the full and legitimate anger of the citizenry and they must face the full might of the law. But then what? Where does that leave you and me; the racists in recovery? No further down the road of recovery than we were before Penny Sparrow.
For her the beach became the big issue. What is the issue – big or small – for you? I am not asking this question of whites only. I am asking this question of all South Africans. And if your answer is, “I am not a racist”, then I would humbly suggest that you have the furthest to go.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Jan 2, 2016 | Citizen Participation
The rain fell not in drops but in great sheets; sheets of water blown sideways by a wind that howled down the valley. It drenched the land and it drenched the people. It ran in riverbeds dry from months – years – of drought, and it made rivers where none had been before. It was like the heavens had opened in answer to the millions of prayers for relief. And it was good. 88mm in an hour good.
That same week the South African currency fell not in Cents but in Rands. It tumbled like the hailstones that accompanied the gushes of good falling from the open heavens. And it just kept falling as if it were on some kind of kid’s joyride. But no one was having any fun. We were bewildered and shell-shocked; struggling to make sense of what appeared to be a willful act of sabotage on our country.
But then – as if in answer to more prayers for relief – David van Rooyen fell. Like the rain the previous day this brought great whoops of joy; relief to the scorched earth. And immediately, the party was over for the free-falling currency. Some said the rise of Pravin Gordhan was a case of too-little-too-late. Most breathed a sigh of relief. Was it too early to say the drought was over?
Not for South African rugby. Most agreed that the fall of Heyneke Meyer preceded by the fans cries of #MeyerMustFall was long overdue especially after the Springbok’s humiliating downing by Japan at the Rugby World Cup in England. Many thought Meyer should have fallen much earlier – a case of too-little-too-late? Most breathed a sigh of relief. The dream of an end to the Springbok victory drought was born.
And they sat-in and they rose-up and they marched and waved banners and they bopped and weaved their way all the way to parliament and all the way to another successful student revolution. For those of us who remember it felt dangerous but necessary; like it could turn into another 1976 only this time with a hashtag and a more representative cohort of South African students. #feesmustfall was born. And our political leaders needed a collective change of underwear and the rain fell for the students and for democracy.
All races, religions and classes stood should-to-shoulder; in fact they sat for hours, days, weeks in protest against institutional racism at the University of Cape Town. They called for transformation and they made Rhodes the symbol of the movement. The #RhodesMustFall was born. This time the iconic statue of Cecil John Rhodes came down and in its place rose hope; hope for a future that would see racism fall and student leaders rise to challenge the system and the government of the day. Many asked where these youngsters had been for 21 years. Most applauded their campaign.
And #ZumaMustFall was born. The doubt had always been there but for many millions of South Africans the benefit had ended. Social media erupted and marches were organised. The stream that had begun to flow from UCT some 10 months earlier had grown into a river that was now rushing straight into the corridors of power. And of all the #campaigns in 2015 this is the one that is certain to succeed. It is simply a matter of time.
And in it all democracy rises and rises and rises yet again. That is what has made this a great year. It is not that we haven’t been battered, beaten and bruised. It is not that we haven’t been taken to breaking point. It has been a grinding year in which we have lost many battles. But as we approach its end we can say that every time the people have found their voice; every time citizens have rallied together, change has occurred; democracy has been victorious.
Once again we hear the voices of those who believe South Africa is doomed to ‘go the way of Zimbabwe’. This is utter bollocks! Democracy has never been healthier or more vibrant than it is currently. We only need to look at the few examples I have given above to realise that the people are more powerful than at any other time in the life of our young democracy.
We must remind ourselves that challenges to democracy do not constitute its failure. It is only when those challenges succeed that democracy is weakened. It is up to us citizens to ensure that this never happens. We must redouble our efforts and we must continue to use all means at our disposal to tackle every challenge that we are faced with; take to the streets, take to social media, write to the editor and whatever you do – vote in next year’s Local Government elections. It is up to us ensure that 2016 is another year in which the rain fell and democracy rose.
#DemocracyMustRise.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
