Читать книгу The Origins of Non-Racialism - David Everatt - Страница 9

Introduction

We, the people of South Africa, declare for all our country and the world to know:

That South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white, and that no government can justly claim authority unless it is based on the will of the people ¹

We, the people of South Africa … Believe that South Africa belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity.²

Among the most consistent threads in the discourse of liberation in South Africa was a commitment to non-racialism. How strong that thread was – unbreakable³ according to some, distinctly fragile according to others⁴ – can be debated. But from the 1955 Freedom Charter to the 1996 Constitution non-racialism has featured significantly in the canon of all anti-apartheid organisations. The same applies internationally.

But it has also become clear since democracy was ushered in, in 1994, that a critical weakness was the failure to define non-racialism, to give it content beyond that of a slogan or a self-evident ‘good thing’.⁵ It made intuitive sense, uniting races where apartheid divided them. But beyond that, what was the meaning of non-racialism? The 1996 Constitution implicitly defined it as a democratic state where the rights of every citizen are equally protected by the law. But is non-racialism the same as formal equality? Is there no more to it than that, nothing to do with the actions or moral base of individuals? Is it a passive or an active state? Are there specific types of action required of a non-racialist, or is it all left to the state or political parties or courts to resolve? For example, should the erstwhile non-racialist follow the advice of Warren Beatty (in Bulworth) when he suggested that non-racial democrats should pursue ‘… a programme of voluntary, free-spirited, open-ended procreative racial deconstruction’, by which was meant, he explained, ‘… everybody just gotta keep fuckin’ everybody till we’re all the same color’⁶?

If for some reason this fails to appeal, does non-racialism require (some other types of) pro-action on the part of the would-be non-racialist? And if so, what form should this take? Is equity or redress involved, whereby the non-racialist can or should make amends for the racialism of the past? How, and to whom, and for how long? Who decides when enough is enough? And most importantly, how can this be done at an ethical level? How do we move beyond repentance and redress – the latter currently the focus of much state activity – and look to building new citizens and a new society on a new moral basis, where individuals are not immediately pigeonholed socially, economically, psychologically, intellectually or morally, by their race? How do we create spaces where citizens can leave behind the trappings of race and engage as fellow South Africans? There are no guidelines for being a genuinely non-racial citizen of the new South Africa.

Worryingly, no one – including the African National Congress (ANC)-led government – seems to know what a ‘normal’ post-apartheid state looks like, or how we will know when we reach it. South Africa has been in a transition or undergoing transformation since 1994 – overwhelmingly, and appropriately, based on racial redress. But how will we know when South Africa has stopped becoming and has arrived?

There is a more compelling philosophical question underpinning the issue, namely is it possible for non-racialism to be realised under a nationalist government? Is non-racialism compatible with nationalism at all? Non-racialism was crafted by the African nationalist resistance movement in response to apartheid, itself a nationalist-fuelled ideology; but it remains questionable whether that same African National Congress is able to throw off the constraints and racial blinkers of nationalism and truly embrace non-racialism. Much of this book analyses the warnings – of radical Marxists, liberals, socialists, humanists and others from the 1950s – that nationalists, in the words of Moeletsi Mbeki (brother of the more famous Thabo), were not militant democrats:

African nationalism was a movement of the small, Westernised black elite that emerged under colonialism. Its fight was always for inclusion in the colonial system so that it, too, could benefit from the spoils of colonialism.⁷

Ever since the African and Indian congresses formed an alliance, the approach has been ‘equality under African leadership’. Post-apartheid experience to date suggests that this is incompatible with non-racialism.

We live in an official non-racial democracy that insists on using the same racial classification system as apartheid in order to measure how far we have travelled from our shared, racist past. This is reasonable: disadvantage was created by race, and differentiated by race (Africans had fewer rights than coloureds, who had fewer than Indians, who had fewer than whites) and we need to measure whether previously disadvantaged people are receiving the democracy dividend. But we lack any pointers showing us where we are going, or when – if ever – the need for racial classification will fall away. And with it, when racial pigeonholing (ideologically, socially, inter-personally, discursively) will be sloughed off so that, as Walt Whitman (in The Mystic Trumpeter) would have it, it will be ‘enough to merely be! Enough to breathe!’

Initially, repentance and forgiveness – symbolised by Archbishop Tutu and President Mandela – dominated the post-apartheid moral and political terrain. But once the Truth and Reconciliation Commission wound up its work, and Mandela stepped down after five years as president, these took a backseat to the aggressive work of developing a national bourgeoisie, the historic task (in the view of many) of the national democratic revolution. Redress is primarily exercised through state-sponsored vehicles such as affirmative action and broad-based black economic empowerment, which seek to ensure that state and some private sector resources are channelled to the emergent black bourgeoisie. The failure to generate sustainable pro-poor growth has resulted in some thirteen million citizens receiving social grants. The predictable white (and Indian and coloured) resentment over ‘reverse discrimination’ is endemic. The result is that non-racialism has retreated to the realm of the individual and the private, rather than being societal and, by definition, public. Non-racialism has no common pro-active moral content in post-apartheid South Africa.

In his Preface to Humanity: A Moral History of the Twentieth Century, Jonathan Glover wrote:

… much English-language writing on ethics is limited by relative insulation from some of the twentieth century’s man-made disasters. There must be lessons for ethics in the events of this violent century … thinking about ethics is likely to be enriched by learning what we can about the causes of events we have been lucky to avoid.⁸

This is not a book on philosophy. Nor is it a book about contemporary South Africa. It is a history book. It seeks to help us understand how non-racialism emerged and the various forms it took in doing so in the 1950s, the decade that forged the ANC in its current form. It is primarily concerned with the impact of white participation on the struggle against apartheid. This impact, overwhelmingly, was on the ideologies and discourses of struggle. There were too few anti-apartheid whites to make any numeric impact; but they did have a powerful influence on the nature of the struggle, including ideology as well as the strategies and tactics used – and were visible testament to the non-racialism that all espoused, albeit in different ways and taking different forms.

Like Glover, we too can think about disastrous man-made events such as apartheid – which many of us were unlucky enough to live through – in order to better understand critical issues in contemporary South Africa. The history analysed here leads to questions about fundamental ethical issues that need to be considered by all South Africans living in the post-apartheid state. The intention is not to answer them, but to raise them, and hope that others will take them up.

The ideological associations of non-racialism

Part of the problem is that non-racialism was as undefined in the 1950s as it is now. The language of the time changed during the decade as non-racialism and the issues associated with it – what it meant, as well as how it should be reflected organisationally, the place and function of African nationalism, and so on – were fought out within and beyond the Congress movement.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s multiracial, non-racial, interracial and similar terms were used interchangeably. ‘Race relations’ was the core focus of white liberals associated with the South African Institute of Race Relations (SAIRR) in particular, but the term was widely used in progressive circles. All these terms, at that time, referred to formal equality between the races – very similar to the way the 1996 South African Constitution resolved the issue – although not necessarily substantive equality.

There was a common goal of equality under the law, but many paths to achieving it, as well as different ways of defining it. By the time the Second World War ended the African National Congress was campaigning unequivocally for full equality and increasingly used extra-parliamentary methods such as passive resistance campaigns in support of their struggle. White liberals – academics and professionals linked to the SAIRR, the Hofmeyr Society and other small organisations, elected Native Representatives and others – overwhelmingly supported a qualified franchise for ‘civilised’ natives and insisted on this being attained through gradualist, constitutional, parliamentary means.

Other white activists – members of the Communist Party of South Africa (CPSA), non-CPSA Marxists and socialists, as well as a new, younger generation of white liberals and social democrats radicalised by the Second World War and the ideals they had fought for – supported the demand for full, immediate equality for all and were happy to use extra-parliamentary methods. As the decade unfolded the demand for full equality became common to liberals and radicals alike.

But what was less clear was how African nationalism and non-racialism would commingle – both in the struggle and later in a democratic state. While the ANC led the struggle for freedom it insisted on separate, race-based congresses, led by the ANC and joined under what was to become known as the Congress Alliance (referred to in this book also as Congress or the Alliance). This was multiracialism – racially distinct congresses allowing all races to participate in the struggle for freedom, but under African and ANC leadership. Whites were not allowed to join the ANC until the late 1960s, and could not sit on the National Executive Committee until 1985. The United Democratic Front (UDF), which spearheaded legal internal resistance to apartheid in the 1980s (while the ANC was banned and exiled), retained the multiracial approach of the Congress movement.

Multiracialism was one approach. The Communist Party – in both its pre-1950 CPSA and post-1953 South African Communist Party (SACP) forms – had a non-racial structure, where people of all races belonged to the same organisation. The Liberal Party was organised in the same way. Many whites sitting in the South African Congress of Democrats (SACOD), the white wing of the Congress Alliance, were deeply uncomfortable with their racial structure, and the ANC stricture that their task was to organise whites, the community to which they supposedly had easy access. (Many white activists, of course, were ostracised by other whites, who had no interest in their ‘communist’ message or ‘kaffirboet’ lifestyles.) As we see throughout this book, many white liberals and leftists wanted little or nothing to do with their fellow white citizens – they wanted to identify with, be seen with and work among black South Africans – ‘the path of least resistance’, ANC–CPSA stalwart Moses Kotane labelled it.

Marxists and socialists not in the SACP also resisted the whites-only basis of SACOD and the Congress Alliance more broadly, arguing that the struggle for equal rights for all races was obscuring the ‘real’ struggle, which was class-based and aimed at substantive equality for all. Non-racialism, in other words, was not merely a different way of structuring an organisation or political party but had (or obtained) distinct ideological overtones.

Over time the race-based structure of the Congress Alliance became a highly politicised issue. Liberals and Africanists saw the multiracial structure of the alliance as a vehicle designed by (white) communists through which they were able to exert overweening influence over the ANC. Lacking any significant numeric base, the argument went, white communists were still able to lead Congress by the nose via its multiracial structure, which gave them seats on the co-ordinating structures at the apex of the Alliance, regardless of their tiny numerical base. Non-SACP Marxists attacked multiracialism and the ANC for elevating national liberation above class struggle and socialist revolution; since 1928 the CPSA had supported the need for initial national liberation preceding a class-based struggle.

The dispute heated up throughout the 1950s and, as a result, people became more sensitive to the terms they used and what the different terms actually meant. By the end of the decade, ‘interracial’ had largely disappeared. ‘Race relations’ had largely returned to the Institute named after it. Multiracial referred to the way the Congress movement was organised, while non-racialism was both the way the SACP and the Liberal Party were organised and the stated goal of all anti-apartheid forces. Unless quoting from the time, this is the way in which these terms are used in this book.

Nationalism, socialism, liberalism, communism … and whites

But if terminology had become more precise the same could not be said of the understanding of how non-racialism would be realised under African nationalist leadership. In part this was because beneath the disputes about the structure of the Congress Alliance lay a deeper set of competing ideologies, whose differences were fought out over the multiracialism versus non-racialism debate. In the face of an increasingly vicious apartheid state and security apparatus, moreover, blurry ‘non-racialism’ had a much-needed feel-good factor and was a rallying cry for all those opposed to the implementation of apartheid.

And of course at the heart of the issue were white South Africans. In the face of growing oppression, drawing together African, Indian and coloured activists and organisations in an anti-apartheid alliance was an obvious step. But what about whites? What to do about whites generally, since they were not colonial servants who would flee back to the metropole come independence, as was happening across the African continent,⁹ but were rooted permanently in the country? And what to do about those whites who wanted to join the anti-apartheid struggle? Liberalism, socialism, the internal colonialism thesis of the South African Communist Party, the nationalisms of the ANC and Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) – all had to recognise and accommodate whites, both as permanent residents of the country and as participants in an African-led liberation struggle. All had to consider, debate, wrestle with and take a position on non-racialism, and on what to do about white participation.

Some did so more easily than others. Few, if any, managed to move beyond the general notion of equality under African leadership – exactly the approach of all post-1994 governments. That remains a partial, under-developed and ham-fisted interpretation of what non-racialism could, and should, mean.

Whites were members of the Communist and Liberal parties and SACOD; well-known anti-apartheid whites also tried to join the ANC (Ronald Segal) and PAC (Patrick Duncan, who had previously tried to join the ANC), while others (particularly those on the far left) maintained an ongoing critical commentary on the follies of nationalism and of racially discrete congresses.

This latter group were proponents of an immediate class struggle, rather than a class struggle to be initiated after the national liberation struggle had been executed successfully. They are arguably as marginal in the post-apartheid political discourse as they were during the struggle years – even as their predictions seem to be coming true, and ANC leaders defend instant wealth because ‘we did not struggle to remain poor’.¹⁰

The ANC’s dominance within the tripartite alliance (which includes the SACP and the Congress of South African Trade Unions – COSATU – alongside the ANC) has become increasingly pronounced in the post-apartheid era, during which it has formed successive governments, and, while there is contestation over the number and depth of redistributive measures and the growth path chosen by the ANC, the adherents of class struggle seem as few and as disparate as they were sixty years ago. The warnings issued then – that class struggle would be postponed indefinitely by a national bourgeoisie anxious to maximise personal wealth and advancement at the expense of the urban and rural poor – are repeated, though with less ‘we told you so’ than might have been expected, suggesting that history does indeed need to be revisited and its lessons relearned.

During the 2009 general election campaign, some media attention was given to arguments – some from within or close to the ruling party, others from more predictable economic sectors and their think-tanks – that affirmative action and black economic empowerment – the two premier vehicles for acheiving either redistribution or an instant national bourgeoisie, depending on your viewpoint – should be done away with, since they were harming the economy. But the lesson has been learned the hard way: race classification linked to economic advancement has utilitarian, political and vote-catching value. It would be a harsh historical irony if arguments about the economic irrationality of race classification linked to job reservation and redistribution were to find purchase in the ANC, the party that (with the SACP) so strongly argued that capitalism and apartheid were mutually functional and rejected all arguments to the contrary as gutless liberalism.

The ANC conference in Polokwane in December 2007, which saw the demise of the Thabo Mbeki era, heralded much change. At the time of writing, it is impossible to know if this will translate into substance. Post-Polokwane, the ANC and government speak more forcefully about redistribution and pro-poor growth. The tetchy impatience with (real or perceived) colonial stereotyping that marked the Mbeki era seems to be declining, and hopefully this decline will be accompanied by more open-mindedness to debate and discussion about race, identity, and non-racialism. That such a discussion is urgently needed was made clear by the murderous xenophobic violence of May 2008 and the ethnic undertones of the ANC–Congress of the People (COPE) election battle in 2009.

The current generation of political leaders – and many of their voters – were all affected by apartheid, and may have a race-bred consciousness that will never entirely fade away. But the next generation – those born long after apartheid’s demise – deserve so much better. Our challenge is to find the courage to break decisively with the past, the mindsets and the identities it created for and ascribed to us all, and enter a new discursive space where it is, indeed, enough merely to be.

A note on methodology

This book began life as a doctoral thesis, written in the 1980s. The research focused heavily on secondary materials, including existing collections belonging to individuals and organisations, as well as private papers made available to me by many activists of the time (most of which I managed to archive in various university libraries in South Africa and the United Kingdom). I also conducted a series of interviews (listed in the references) with activists from the period.

In the 1990s, however, everything changed: the ANC was unbanned, Mandela released, apartheid crumbled with a whimper, democracy was ushered in and a new South Africa was born. Of course, a great deal did not change – precisely the reason for returning to this topic, where non-racialism remains undefined and racial classification and race-based thinking remain pervasive after fifteen years of ANC rule.

Rewriting the thesis as a book has allowed me the opportunity to introduce new material, primarily from the biographies of many key actors from the period (see the Reference section). But it should be clearly stated that I did not embark on a second round of qualitative research; that the respondents who were interviewed were overwhelmingly white activists from the 1950s, and more black respondents might have provided differing perspectives; and that the book does not attempt to engage with current discourses around race, identity and related topics. How damaging these factors are to the overall thrust of the book is left to the reader to decide.

This is a history book. It tries to tell the story of a remarkably talented, courageous and visionary generation of activists, of all races, and the ways in which they dreamed up a possible future for South Africa. It is the task of those of us fortunate enough to live in ‘the new South Africa’ to see whether or not we measure up to the standards they set and change accordingly – in areas such as self-sacrifice, service, bravery, camaraderie – in essence, full and active citizenship. Above all, South Africa carries global expectations, as the ‘miracle’ of the 1990s, that we can and will give meaning to non-racialism, and create a society that truly belongs to all who live in it, black and white.