by Justin Foxton | Jul 20, 2016 | Citizen Participation
Many of you will recall the 1989 movie classic Dead Poets Society. Set in 1959 at an elite and conservative prep school in England, the movie tells the story of John Keating – an English teacher who inspired his students through his unorthodox methods of teaching poetry. The central theme of the movie could be summed up in the teacher’s exhortation to the boys to “make your lives extraordinary” a sentiment he summarised with the Latin exhortation carpe diem – seize the day.
In 1989, this movie had deep resonance with me and a close group of good friends at our similarly elite and conservative high school in Johannesburg. At the time in an all-boys South African school, if you excelled at Rugby then you were assured a smooth passage through to matric with an assurance of being a prefect (and probably not a virgin) by the time you reached matric. But alas, my group of friends where no good at rugby and so you can probably guess that our leadership lives (and indeed our love lives) were less colourful than they might have been.
In 1989, we were in Standard 9 – or grade 11 as they call it today – and into our lives walked one Roger Lovett, our very own John Keating. He was a teacher of enormous passion whose English lessons were filled with drama and wildness. He was an eccentric chap; portly with a thick mop who wore tweed jackets and owned a Great Dane, inevitably named Hamlet.
He broke every rule in the book swearing, talking about sex in a way that mattered to 17-year-old boys and forcing us to reflect on the reality of life outside the safe confines of a mostly white South African private school. The video club he started would find us watching age restricted movies like the harrowing Burt Reynolds classic Deliverance. He started movie and theatre clubs and we would watch, discuss, argue and critique. He pushed us way beyond our 17-year-old selves. The only rule seemed to be that no subject was off limits. Friday evenings would find us at his home debating something-or-other most fiercely whilst eating food cooked by his wife and drinking wine that was most certainly not permitted. In all this, Roger Lovett caused us to believe we could live extraordinary lives. That is the power of great teachers and my friends and I owe a tremendous amount to this one man.
I have not kept up with all my pals from our very own Dead Poets Society, but of the ones I am still in touch with, one has become a top lawyer, another an award-winning broadcast journalist, another began a hugely successful chain of restaurants and the other has become an award-winning movie producer. None of these achievements – all so different – should be seen outside of the impact that Roger Lovett had on our lives.
You see this teacher gave us all a love for language, art, theatre, movies and reading. But most importantly he taught us how to think. He never allowed us accept the status quo; life as presented by the prevailing dialogue of our time. He never allowed us to regurgitate stock answers fed to us by our parents or the media. He forced us to engage critically with issues that matter. For me – in fact for us all – this is where it all began; in that classroom, round that dinner table, in those theatres and movie houses.
It was a member of this ‘elite group’ – film producer Barry Strick – that got me thinking about Roger Lovett and how desperately we need more of his ilk in our classrooms. Last weekend Strick’s significant and controversial movie “Twee Grade van Moord” (Two Degrees of Murder – subtitled in English) about the topical but thorny issue of assisted suicide, won Best Feature Film and the Audience Choice Award at the important Karoo Arts Festival. It is just the beginning for a much-needed movie that is tipped to go a long way both locally and abroad.
Now, I seriously doubt whether beautiful and necessary films like this would ever see the light of day if it weren’t for great teachers like Roger Lovett challenging their learners to push the envelope of extra-ordinary in their chosen fields. We may grow up and move on but their legacy remains throughout lifetimes.
I am not sure where Roger Lovett is today but two things I know for sure; the first is that we desperately need more of our teachers to become John Keatings and Roger Lovetts if South Africa is to reach her full potential. Yes, we need our teachers to teach but perhaps more importantly, we need them to inspire our children to extraordinary lives.
The other thing I know is that if Roger Lovett was anywhere near Barry Strick at this point, he would grab him by the shoulders and bellow at him: “Well bloody done Strick!”
Twee Grade van Moord opens at cinemas nationwide on 22 July.
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 | 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 | May 5, 2014 | Citizen Participation, Orphans & Vulnerable Children
Last week I had a fascinating exchange with a 5 year old. Now in my experience 5 year olds generally provide one with amusing dinner party material as they are unencumbered by social graces or political correctness. They say what they mean and they mean what they say. Like the little girl who looked at her Mum examining her dressed-and-ready-for-work self in the mirror and asked; “why does your bum look so big Mum?” Or when the Grade R class was asked what their Daddy’s did and one child shouted out proudly; “he watches TV all day”.
Now this particular exchange happened whilst I was out shopping for a birthday present for my wife with our 3 year old daughter. We were browsing around a mall when in walked said 5 year old with his Mum. Without missing a beat he headed straight for Lolly and I and blurted out loudly; “why are you peach and she’s brown?”
The question was utterly disarming but not in the way you might imagine. It came across not as being impolite, rude or even racist but as being honest, genuine and brave. What I knew as I responded to this little boy was that – even at his tender age (or perhaps because of it) – he was someone who lives with his hands wide open to the world.
The lad’s mother was mortified: “I am so sorry – that certainly does not come from us!” she said turning crimson.
I bent down next to the young boy whose lip had started to quiver a little and told him that I thought it was an excellent question. I explained that Lolly was our daughter and that she was adopted; that was why her skin was a different colour to mine. I assured his Mum she had no reason to be upset; that her son had been brave to ask the question.
As I reflected on the interaction, I wondered why it had delighted rather than offended me. I am still not totally sure I have the answer to that – such is the profoundness of 5 year olds – but here are some thoughts:
As I mentioned earlier, the question and the innocent way in which it was asked, conjured up an image of ‘open-handedness’ in my mind. Usually open-handedness is associated with generosity, but there are a number of other associations that this little boy brought to the concept:
Firstly, he was not asking the question with any kind of racist edge; he was asking it out of genuine curiosity. Open-handedness suggests an eagerness to learn; to receive understanding; to be ‘shared with’. The question was so disarming because – in general – we do not live like this at all. An eagerness to learn and to understand is often associated with weakness; we wouldn’t have to ask the question if we weren’t so stupid as to not know the answer. In addition to this, we perceive that asking seemingly difficult questions places us in a position of vulnerability – and we generally do all we can to avoid that. So, whilst I know that people look at my family and ask a similar question to; “why are you peach and she’s brown” in their minds, they seldom give voice to that question because to do so would be way too vulnerable. The truth however is that society will not heal on any deep level here in South Africa until we are prepared to become vulnerable with one another; to ask and be asked the uncomfortable questions about one another’s race, culture, religion – whatever.
Secondly, this little boy was not constrained by political correctness which is – by its very nature – the antithesis of open-handedness. It is a stifling and claustrophobic practice that ensures that interactions with people who are different to us are kept skin deep. This young lad cut right to the marrow and in doing so, enabled a real conversation to take place – right there in the middle of a shopping mall. Political correctness is another major barrier to deep healing here in South Africa.
And thirdly that little boy acknowledged difference. This is perhaps the most profound lesson to learn from his question. Unaffected by the improbable and frankly unnecessary notion of ‘colour blindness’, he saw difference and he acknowledged it. You see difference is not to be ignored, it is to be embraced, and we can only embrace difference – or perhaps better put, embrace those different to us – if we live with open hands. And until we do this – learn to understand and enjoy rather than merely tolerate one another’s differences – there is a limit to the depth of the healing that can take place.
When I grow up I want to be just like that little boy – and live with my hands wide open.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysen: gang raped, mutilated and murdered.
by Justin Foxton | Apr 10, 2014 | Citizen Participation
This piece first appeared in The Mercury on 3 March 2014
On the surface of it, crime has no benefit to communities whatsoever. When areas go through what is commonly referred to as a crime spate all that seems to result is fear and trauma; there is surely nothing good about that.
Well yes and no. If communities respond smartly to crime – harness the fear if you like – very tangible benefits can result making the area a better place to live. Let me explain.
We have all witnessed scenes either first hand or in movies when – after a run of attacks on farms or homes in a particular area – residents get together in a local hall, vent their anger and discuss possible solutions.
United by a common bond of fear they join hands – perhaps for the first time – to safeguard their families and homes. Community is often the result of crime.
And I would go as far as to say that community is not only a potential upside of crime but that effective community is the opposite of crime; that where community works well crime rates will drop. That first meeting in a local hall is powerful simply because it is a first step towards community.
Of course the clever clogs out there will reason that if crime leads to community then South Africa should have the best communities this side of the Ho Chi Minh trail and that – by extension – we should have no crime at all. This is of course not the case because of what happens next:
When we get together in that hall for the first time two things happen: we kick off by recounting our crime horror stories. Then the soon-to-be-elected chairman of the soon-to-be-constituted board of trustees says we need to “fight back”/”wage war against the criminals” or words to that effect. This in itself suggests a battle in which there will be a winner – hopefully us – and a loser – hopefully the bad guys. It implies that the war will be quick, it will be easy – shock and awe style – and we will be free of crime within a matter of months. Everyone leaves feeling positive.
Because we think a ‘battle’ will win the day, we kick off our plans by employing soldiers. Our modern day soldiers are R4000 per month employees of security companies. Now I know from talking to dozens of these guys that they could not get work doing anything else and turned to security as an absolute last resort. Very few if any grew up with a dream to sit in a wooden hut all night long and possibly take a bullet for a rich family that does not even bother to find out their name.
So what happens is that the community gets excited about being safe and secure again and they pay money each month to fund a bunch of guards on the street; maybe a camera or two. This is usually the end of the good ideas because, well, what else is there other than security companies?
Then someone gets broken into. Why? Because the R4000 per month solider did not turn up for work or he was out patrolling at point B when a house near point A was hit. Then the community loses faith in the initiative and stops funding it and this is usually where the thing, sadly, derails.
Now guarding and cameras are part of the solution but they alone won’t solve an area’s crime problem. If all we do when crime brings us together is outsource our security to a security company then we have missed the big opportunity. A neighborhood’s employment of security guards and cameras is just a tangible, visible means by which to get everyone’s buy-in. Then the work of the community needs to begin.
And what does this work entail? Well if the opposite of crime is community, then security initiatives need to analyze what well-functioning, healthy communities look like and mirror that. Amongst other things, healthy, crime-free neighborhoods have:
- Neighbors who know each other and look out for one another
- Regular meetings to discuss community issues
- Good communication via a variety of digital media platforms
- Residents who work together and with local authorities to fix what is broken (lights, roads, drains, walls, signs)
- Residents who keep their area clean and tidy
- Residents who assist security companies and the police by being the eyes and ears on the street
- Residents who support their local police and report crime
- Residents who obey the law
If your area has a neighborhood security initiative, get involved and give of both your time and money. If not – consider starting one. They are integral to the creation of a safe, crime-free South Africa.
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.
by Justin Foxton | Apr 1, 2014 | Citizen Participation, Crime & Corruption
This blog first appeared in The Mercury on Monday 31st March 2014
Six years ago almost to the day, I was out on a dusty farm road in my other favorite province – Mpumalanga – training for the Comrades Marathon. As is my custom, I acknowledged people as I ran passed them; looking them in the eyes, smiling and saying hello. These were poor folk; farm laborers shuffling home from work; women carrying great buckets of water; old men with heavy loads of firewood on their shoulders. They all looked exhausted; worn down by the grind of life.
And from amongst these brief interactions emerged one that would completely change my life and the way I view how we ‘do country’ here in South Africa.
I looked into the eyes of an old black man who was trudging home carrying wood and greeted him. He stopped dead in front of me, his eyes darting this way and that; confused; quizzical. I too stopped not knowing what might come next. He looked at me for a few seconds and then his tired, crevassed old face softened and broke out into the warmest smile I believe I have ever seen.
In that moment I had what some might call a Damascus Road experience. I realized that the violence and hatred that seeps out of the very pores of this nation does so because – for hundreds of years – we have simply not seen one another; we have not looked into one another’s eyes; we have not taken the time to greet one another; we have withheld respect and dignity; we have ignored one another; we have turned a blind eye to suffering and pain, poverty and injustice; we have called one another hateful names; we have laughed at each other’s expense; we have elevated ourselves above one another.
As I have spoken and written on this theory of mine, many have testified that – in practical terms alone – simple acts of respect and dignity have yielded profound results; one Midlands woman saved herself and her family from certain death at the hands of a gang of violent robbers simply by showing them kindness and respect; a Johannesburg woman spoke a man and his cohorts out of raping her.
These and many other examples have poured in from actual crime scenes. However what interests me more is this: what can we citizens do to create an environment of peace and tolerance; an environment in which rates of crime and violence drop organically? What can we do to alter the atmosphere of violence and discord that we currently live in?
Back to my Damascus Road experience, I believe it is easier than we make it: an atmosphere of discord is altered by sowing harmony; an atmosphere of violence is altered by sowing peace; an atmosphere of disorder is altered by sowing order; an atmosphere of lawlessness is altered by sowing lawfulness. It really is as simple as that.
Think of it in farming terms; for decades, even centuries we have sowed intolerance, hatred, division and inequality. Now we are reaping the fruits of that which include violence, crime and corruption.
And this is why my experience on that farm road gave me such hope; it reminded me that whilst the human heart takes years of abuse to become hardened and calloused – perhaps even violent – it can become tender again in a single moment of acknowledgement or through a simple act of respect.
Once I had experienced connectedness with that old man – a connectedness that transcended language, age and race – I wanted to experience it with others. I went out of my way to converse with people on the street; car guards; tellers; packers; laborers; students – anyone I could. I began to experience the power inherent in active reconciliation and I loved it. I loved it so much I began a campaign called Stop Crime Say Hello which encourages all of us to reach out across the gaping chasms that separate us.
And as people began to experience the power of connection a fascinating thing began to happen; they wanted to do more to help create a safe, healed and thriving nation. One woman summed it up beautifully when she blurted out; “Justin, I greet everyone I can but I want to do more – what else can I do?”
The influential African American author, theologian, educator and civil rights leader Howard Thurman provided a fascinating answer to this when he said: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go out and do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysen: gang raped, mutilated and murdered.
