Latest News Archive

Please select Category, Year, and then Month to display items
Previous Archive
18 February 2022 | Story Leonie Bolleurs | Photo Leonie Bolleurs
Faculty of Theology and Religion opening
Present at the Faculty of Theology and Religion’s Theology Day were from the left: Dr Eugene Fortein, Dr Siphiwe Dube, Prof Rantoa Letšosa, and Prof Charlene van der Walt.

This year, the Faculty of Theology and Religion at the University of the Free State (UFS) resumed its annual tradition of celebrating the new academic year, after being halted by the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020.

The focus was on a theology of vulnerability for our times, with the theme supported by the text verse from 2 Corinthians 4:7: “We have this treasure in clay jars.” 

God embodies vulnerability

Dean of the faculty, Prof Rantoa Letšosa, left delegates with the inspiring message that one of the treasures in these clay jars is the power of God; power that enables us to stand strong and move forward in trying circumstances, such as the COVID-19 pandemic. He wished all attendees, both in person and online, to experience this extraordinary strength and power of God in the new year. 

Prof Rian Venter from the Department of Historical and Constructive Theology, who led the worship service, talked about humanity that has achieved so much – in the areas of health, space, communication, transport, etc. “Despite all these achievements, we are more insecure, with an intensified sense of vulnerability,” he said. 

“However, the One in whom we believe as our Saviour and Lord is a vulnerable God; he embodied vulnerability. We cannot talk about God as if he is not affected by our vulnerability. He is love. He is affected by us,” he said. 

Depriving people of humanity 

But to be vulnerable can also be seen as to be weak, defenceless, open to harm, in need of care, and deprived of one’s humanity. 

Dr Siphiwe Dube from the University of the Witwatersrand integrated the topic of vulnerability into the paper he delivered, speaking from a decolonialism point of view on the research topic: Towards a Decolonial Political Theology of Vulnerability: Reflections from the Margins. In one of his statements, he said that black people are living in the reality constructed for them and have not discovered what blackness is. He urged the young attendees to make use of spaces created for discussion of this matter. 

Bringing to the table another perspective on this topic, was Prof Charlene van der Walt from the School of Religion, Philosophy and Classics at the University of KwaZulu-Natal. Her paper was on the othering, stigmatisation, and exclusion experienced by the LGBTIQA+ people in the African context in general and the African faith communities in particular. She connected the shame experienced by queer people in a family setting to the story of Joseph in the book of Genesis in the Bible. In her paper: Reflecting on Joseph in the context of Izitabane vulnerability, violence, identity erasure and the imperative of recognition and accompaniment, she stated that Joseph’s otherness informed the vulnerability, exclusion, violence, and identity erasure that happens within the confines of family. 

According to Prof Van der Walt, she wished to not argue for LGBTIQA+/ Izitabane people to be seen or that they somehow ‘pass’ and slip below the radar, but that the recognition called for implied a different kind of seeing: it implied a compassionate witnessing and a humanising recognition. “It implies process, interrogation of power, empathy and imagination, weeping and a commitment to community,” she said. 

Another interesting perspective on the theology of vulnerability was that of Dr Eugene Fortein from the Department of Historical and Constructive Theology at the UFS. In his paper on Vulnerability by Design: On a Theology of Prophetic Solidarity, he asked why the vulnerable is vulnerable? What led to them being vulnerable?
 
“The presence of the vulnerable in South Africa is not an accident. It is not because of fate, but because of a design that is 370 years in the making; deliberately to keep people poor for generations to come.” 

He said it started with Jan van Riebeeck. Legislation such as the Natives Land Act of 1913, the Group Areas Act of 1950, and the Bantu Education Act of 1953 also played a key role. “These were designed to oppress one group and enabling the other to thrive.”

“The scars of this legislation are still haunting us today,” he said. 

The One in whom we believe as our Saviour and Lord is a vulnerable God; he embodied vulnerability. We cannot talk about God as if he is not affected by our vulnerability. He is love. He is affected by us. – Prof Rian Venter

“The vulnerable have names and faces. They are experiencing the effects of being vulnerable on their bodies and that is not to be taken lightly.”

“Do not only pray for the poor and the vulnerable, but work actively to bring restitution,” he said. The church now has the opportunity to be a true servant of Christ,” Dr Fortein added. 

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

We use cookies to make interactions with our websites and services easy and meaningful. To better understand how they are used, read more about the UFS cookie policy. By continuing to use this site you are giving us your consent to do this.

Accept