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25 November 2020 | Story Prof Francis Petersen | Photo Sonia Small
Prof Francis Peterse, Rector and Vice-Chancellor of the UFS.

Opinion article by Prof Francis Petersen, Rector and Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Free State

We are currently witnessing a time of the year that has become associated with intense campaigning against gender-based violence.

In the same way, it is also the season for school and university examinations and the annual holiday season. We also seem to have adopted a season for activism.

The 16 Days of Activism period, initiated by the first Women’s Global Leadership Institute in 1991, sees countries around the globe staging anti-abuse campaigns from 25 November (International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women) to 10 December (Human Rights Day). 

And while every effort to focus attention on our country’s disturbing problem of gender-based violence remains important, we also run the risk of not only restricting our efforts to a certain period of time, but of ‘normalising’ the phenomenon of abuse. 

It is as if we are simply accepting that abuse is as unavoidable as end-of-year examinations or the upcoming holiday season. 

A second pandemic

In the light of President Cyril Ramaphosa’s acknowledgment earlier this year that gender-based violence (GBV) is as much of a pandemic as COVID-19, it would make sense to evaluate the response to our GBV scourge against the standard reaction to a pandemic of any nature. 

There has certainly been criticism of the way governments around the world have handled the threats posed by COVID-19. 

But I believe there are important lessons we can learn from the way leadership around the globe has dealt with this pandemic.    

Lesson 1: The Power of Priorities

It has become clear that once a threat is identified that is deemed serious enough, it takes prevalence above most other priorities. Action to address this is normally immediate and far-reaching. There is also general buy-in from the vast majority of citizens, accepting that all this is necessary and in everyone’s best interest. Only after this all-important first step has been made, subsequent issues such as legislation, funding, communication, and a plan of action can fall into place.

Lesson 2: The Power of Interruption

Once a pandemic is clearly prioritised, it is normally followed by an immediate break from the status quo. This break is sometimes partial, sometimes absolute, but almost always immediate.

It is born out of a general realisation that things cannot continue the way they are. That new ways of thinking about and doing things need to be adopted – and adopted at once.  Practices and habits that allow the threat to fester and grow are summarily changed or abandoned altogether.  

When one looks at the painfully slow progress that we are making in addressing gender-based violence in our country, it seems clear that we fall dismally short of the appropriate reaction to a pandemic.

Policy Framework a step in the right direction

Encouraging progress has, however, been made in the pre-lockdown period. 

In May last year, then Education minister Naledi Pandor appointed a ministerial task team to look into sexual harassment and violence at universities. One of the areas they assisted in, was to advise the department on the introduction and implementation of a policy framework to help institutions deal with gender-based violence. This policy framework was released by the Department of Higher Education, Science and Innovation in early August 2020.
Another positive development was the call last year by our 26 heads of public universities under the banner of the university vice-chancellors’ body, Universities South Africa (USAf), to act decisively in addressing violence against women amid escalating incidents of violence against women on university campuses in the country. 

USAf CEO, Prof Ahmed Bawa, reiterated the need for the kind of ‘interruption’ I referred to earlier, when he said: “If we want our society to change for the better, we need to respond differently to the decay that we’re increasingly witnessing in our society. Universities need to lead South Africa towards that change.”

Redefining education 

But just how do we do that? 

There are no simple solutions. But I believe a key factor is to focus on prevention and not only on reaction. We need to concentrate our efforts on creating the kind of citizens for whom abuse is simply not an option.

Our school and tertiary curriculums are sometimes criticised for not containing enough practical life skills. And although a lot of headway has been made to address this in recent years, I believe we need to critically look at the value we attach to these learning areas, and re-energise our efforts to communicate them effectively to learners and students. 
In the end, ‘education’ entails so much more than just teaching facts, figures, and concepts. We need to transfer a deep understanding of respect, equality, and tolerance along with our academic programmes.

At the University of the Free State, we implemented our unique UFSS module a few years ago. It is a compulsory module for all study fields and a prerequisite for completion of a degree, aimed at not only ensuring that students are successful in the world of work, but also that they form part of the next generation of responsible citizens in various ways. Initiatives like these need to be copied, continued, and intensified. 

Lesson 3: The Power to Adapt

At a recent protest against gender-based violence outside Parliament in Cape Town, one of the posters caught my eye.
“Being a woman in South Africa is to already have one foot in the grave,” it stated. It saddened and upset me greatly.
In a society that relies heavily on women in a social, professional, and leadership context, we simply cannot afford to have our women exposed to this kind of fearful reality.

And here lies another lesson from the COVID-19 pandemic: how quickly societies around the world could adapt to a new way of doing things. 

A vital pre-requisite though, is general buy-in from everyone involved. 

Women are vital for South Africa’s future

Judging by the pronouncements made by some of the most influential voices in government, education, and civil society, plus the unabated vigour of anti-abuse activists, we seem to have taken the first lesson of priorities to heart. 
 
What we now need is an interruption of the status quo, a significant and deliberate break away from condoning toxic masculinity and twisted paternalism; from turning a blind eye to even the smallest instance of abuse; from accepting bullying and an imbalance of power; from shirking our duty as educators, simply because it is safer to focus on purely academic learning content.  

And then we need to adapt – systematically and swiftly implementing a culture of human rights, respect, and equality in every sphere of society.

We need to do this, because we realise that there is a pressing urgency that comes with a pandemic. We need to move to a ‘new normal’ where women don’t feel that they are living with one foot in the grave. A ‘new normal’ where both their feet are firmly on solid ground, supported on either side by government and civil society – leading balanced lives as caregivers, business and industry leaders, and agents for change. 

We must do what is needed to rescue our women from the clutches of a pandemic. 

Because South Africa needs them.

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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