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21 May 2020 | Story Prof Karin van Marle | Photo Anja Aucamp
Prof Karin van Marle

In the build-up to Africa Day, I noticed – among others – the slogan ‘I love Africa’ flashing in neon colours that reminded me of music videos seen on MTV in the 1980s. The idea of Africa being loved not only by those living on the continent, but also by the rest of the world, had some moments in the same decade – with pop stars coming together, for example in USA for Africa and the UK version, Band Aid. Although these attempts might have warmed some hearts, it exposed the failure of this kind of sentimentality to contribute much to the continent. Can we think of how to love and engage with the continent in a different way?

Hannah Arendt, in her Thinking journal, contemplated the question, ‘why is it so difficult to love the world.' In response to a letter from her friend and mentor, Karl Jaspers in 1955, in which he wrote to her, “You bring with you shared memories of a lost past. You bring the wide world as it is today,” she wrote “Yes, I would like to bring the wide world to you this time. I’ve begun so late, really only in recent years, to truly love the world that I shall be able to do that now. Out of gratitude I want to call my book on political theories Amor Mundi” (1985: 264). Linked to the idea of loving the world in Arendt’s work, is also that of sharing the world with each other. Arendt famously accused Nazi Adolf Eichmann of refusing to share the world with others. For the purpose of Africa Day on 25 May, I revisited these notions of loving and sharing as reflected by Arendt. I raised the question – what does it mean to love Africa and to share the continent with others?

 For Arendt, the love of the world, and linked to it – the idea of solidarity – is something quite different from equality, care, and sentiment. Love of the world, for her, entails a critical engagement with the world. What could such a love mean in relation to Africa? 

In the prologue to The human condition (1958: 5), she underscores the importance of thought and her concern about thoughtlessness, which she describes as “the heedless recklessness or hopeless confusion or complacent repetition of ‘truths’ that have become trivial and empty”. She sets out that the central theme of the book is to focus on ‘what we are doing’ and that ‘the activity of thinking’ is left out of this work. In other works, Arendt turns to the importance of thinking and, in fact, commentators have noted an ongoing tension in her work between the life of action and the life of the mind. To love the world seems to include both a thorough engagement with what we are doing and a deep contemplation of what it is that we are doing. What has always struck me in her work, is the insistence on thinking and thinking anew each time, instead of merely following what is regarded as ‘truths’. Part of what it could mean to love Africa, is not to accept or repeat trivialities and not to become complacent, but to continuously search for new ways to understand and to respond.

A tension that accompanies the tension between a life of action and a life of thinking, is that between being with others and being alone. Human plurality is for Arendt ‘the basic condition of both action and speech’ (1958:175). Becoming part of the world is like ‘a second birth’ which takes place neither by ‘necessity’ nor by ‘utility’, but by taking ‘initiative’ (177). This birth or new beginning brings forth an ‘unexpectedness’ and ‘happens against the overwhelming odds of statistical laws and their probability’. Where the latter always ‘amounts to a certainty’, new beginnings ‘always appear in the guise of a miracle’ (178). It is by way of action that we become part of the world, share the world with others, and become entangled in the ‘web of relationships’ (181). Of course, for Arendt we always begin again, and the possibility for new ways of doing and forging new relationships is always there. 

Antjie Krog (2015:219) remembers Thabo Mbeki’s speech on the day the Constitution was adopted. “On an occasion such as this, we should, perhaps, start from the beginning. So, let me begin. I am an African. I owe my being to the hills and the valleys, the mountains and the glades, the rivers, the deserts, the trees, the flowers, the seas and the ever-changing seasons that define the face of our native land.” She praises Mbeki for considering the idea of ‘being ruled’ rather than ‘being a ruler’. She finds in his speech a “kind of radical relational enfoldedness with the land” that is vastly different from most discussions from all sides of the spectrum on land. To what extent are those of us living in Africa thinking differently and innovatively, for example about land, and about how we share it with others. How can we think anew about current discourses on the African Renaissance and also decolonisation?

Arendt is clear on the importance of solitude. She underscores the importance of thinking, and slow thinking, and obtaining distance from others, and from the world of action in order to do that. In her way, she was very wary of a certain kind of solidarity based on sentimentality. Engaged citizenship, for her, is always accompanied by a critical self-reflection. Arendt (2003) warned against the urge to act in haste without thinking; she warned against withering ‘under the weight of immediacy’. In a world and a continent with so many dire needs demanding attention and action, this does not mean that we should not act with urgency, but it underscores the importance of well-thought-out responses, of not falling back on old answers.

In short, loving Africa demands of us to engage critically, not to fall back on recipes and formulas, and not to follow rules blindly; it asks us to always begin again; to seek not only for new answers, but also for new questions.

 

This article was written by Prof Karin van Marle, Department of Public Law, Faculty of Law

News Archive

Media: Sunday Times
2006-05-20

Sunday Times, 4 June 2006

True leadership may mean admitting disunity
 

In this edited extract from the inaugural King Moshoeshoe Memorial Lecture at the University of the Free State, Professor Njabulo S Ndebele explores the leadership challenges facing South Africa

RECENT events have created a sense that we are undergoing a serious crisis of leadership in our new democracy. An increasing number of highly intelligent, sensitive and committed South Africans, across class, racial and cultural spectrums, confess to feeling uncertain and vulnerable as never before since 1994.

When indomitable optimists confess to having a sense of things unhinging, the misery of anxiety spreads. We have the sense that events are spiralling out of control and that no one among the leadership of the country seems to have a definitive handle on things.

There can be nothing more debilitating than a generalised and undefined sense of anxiety in the body politic. It breeds conspiracies and fear.

There is an impression that a very complex society has developed, in the last few years, a rather simple, centralised governance mechanism in the hope that delivery can be better and more quickly driven. The complexity of governance then gets located within a single structure of authority rather than in the devolved structures envisaged in the Constitution, which should interact with one another continuously, and in response to their specific settings, to achieve defined goals. Collapse in a single structure of authority, because there is no robust backup, can be catastrophic.

The autonomy of devolved structures presents itself as an impediment only when visionary cohesion collapses. Where such cohesion is strong, the impediment is only illusory, particularly when it encourages healthy competition, for example, among the provinces, or where a province develops a character that is not necessarily autonomous politically but rather distinctive and a special source of regional pride. Such competition brings vibrancy to the country. It does not necessarily challenge the centre.

Devolved autonomy is vital in the interests of sustainable governance. The failure of various structures to actualise their constitutionally defined roles should not be attributed to the failure of the prescribed governance mechanism. It is too early to say that what we have has not worked. The only viable corrective will be in our ability to be robust in identifying the problems and dealing with them concertedly.

We have never had social cohesion in South Africa — certainly not since the Natives’ Land Act of 1913. What we definitely have had over the decades is a mobilising vision. Could it be that the mobilising vision, mistaken for social cohesion, is cracking under the weight of the reality and extent of social reconstruction, and that the legitimate framework for debating these problems is collapsing? If that is so, are we witnessing a cumulative failure of leadership?

I am making a descriptive rather than an evaluative inquiry. I do not believe that there is any single entity to be blamed. It is simply that we may be a country in search of another line of approach. What will it be?

I would like to suggest two avenues of approach — an inclusive model and a counter-intuitive model of leadership.

In an inclusive approach, leadership is exercised not only by those who have been put in some position of power to steer an organisation or institution. Leadership is what all of us do when we express, sincerely, our deepest feelings and thoughts; when we do our work, whatever it is, with passion and integrity.

Counter-intuitive leadership lies in the ability of leaders to read a problematic situation, assess probable outcomes and then recognise that those outcomes will only compound the problem. Genuine leadership, in this sense, requires going against probability in seeking unexpected outcomes. That’s what happened when we avoided a civil war and ended up with an “unexpected” democracy.

Right now, we may very well hear desperate calls for unity, when the counter-intuitive imperative would be to acknowledge disunity. A declaration of unity where it manifestly does not appear to exist will fail to reassure.

Many within the “broad alliance” might have the view that the mobilising vision of old may have transformed into a strategy of executive steering with a disposition towards an expectation of compliance. No matter how compelling the reasons for that tendency, it may be seen as part of a cumulative process in which popular notions of democratic governance are apparently undermined and devalued; and where public uncertainty in the midst of seeming crisis induces fear which could freeze public thinking at a time when more voices ought to be heard.

Could it be that part of the problem is that we are unable to deal with the notion of opposition? We are horrified that any of us could be seen to have become “the opposition”. The word has been demonised. In reality, it is time we began to anticipate the arrival of a moment when there is no longer a single, overwhelmingly dominant political force as is currently the case. Such is the course of history. The measure of the maturity of the current political environment will be in how it can create conditions that anticipate that moment rather than seek to prevent it. We see here once more the essential creativity of the counter-intuitive imperative.

This is the formidable challenge of a popular post-apartheid political movement. Can it conceptually anticipate a future when it is no longer overwhelmingly in control, in the form in which it is currently, and resist, counter-intuitively, the temptation to prevent such an eventuality? Successfully resisting such an option would enable its current vision and its ultimate legacy to our country to manifest in different articulations, which then contend for social influence. In this way, the vision never really dies; it simply evolves into higher, more complex forms of itself. Consider the metaphor of flying ants replicating the ant community by establishing new ones.

We may certainly experience the meaning of comradeship differently, where we will now have “comrades on the other side”.

Any political movement that imagines itself as a perpetual entity should look at the compelling evidence of history. Few movements have survived those defining moments when they should have been more elastic, and that because they were not, did not live to see the next day.

I believe we may have reached a moment not fundamentally different from the sobering, yet uplifting and vision-making, nation-building realities that led to Kempton Park in the early ’90s. The difference between then and now is that the black majority is not facing white compatriots across the negotiating table. Rather, it is facing itself: perhaps really for the first time since 1994. Could we apply to ourselves the same degree of inventiveness and rigorous negotiation we displayed leading up to the adoption or our Constitution?

This is not a time for repeating old platitudes. It is the time, once more, for vision.

In the total scheme of things, the outcome could be as disastrous as it could be formative and uplifting, setting in place the conditions for a true renaissance that could be sustained for generations to come.

Ndebele is Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cape Town and author of the novel The Cry of Winnie Mandela

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