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Introduction

South Africa–India: Historical Connections, Cultural Circulations and Socio-political Comparisons

Isabel Hofmeyr and Michelle Williams

Pick up any South African newspaper or tune in to any broadcast programme and before long one is likely to come across an item on India. Whether an advertisement for a particular model of Tata or Mahindra motor car, or a report on the growing trade and investment links between the two countries, each day brings mounting evidence of the marked intensification of relations between South Africa and India.

This Indian presence in the South African media may seem unremarkable. As a rising world economic power, India probably currently features more in most international media than it used to. South Africa has one of the largest Indian diasporic populations and one may hence expect India-related stories. However, the Indian presence in the South African media is noteworthy in two respects: firstly, the reporting on India appears in the mainstream media rather than those aimed specifically at South African Indian communities and, secondly, the discussion of India in the South African media tends to explore the economic synergies that exist between the two countries rather than discussing India’s rise in general.

This focus on these new economic possibilities in turn forms part of a series of state and public policies that specifically seek to bolster South Africa–India interactions. Prior to South Africa’s political transition in 1994, there were no formal economic ties between the two countries. In 2008/2009 total trade amounted to over US$4 billion. Since 2001 it has grown at a phenomenal rate of 22 per cent per annum, and the two governments set a target of US$10 billion in trade by 2010. Investment has grown almost as rapidly, and today there are at least 50 major corporations from each country operating in the other, and as many as 20 or 25 others exploring the possibility of investing from one to the other. Both states are committed to increasing these figures by making use of their growing number of bilateral agreements and the trilateral possibilities opened up by the India–Brazil– South Africa initiative (commonly know as IBSA). Growth in commercial ties has seen the establishment of bilateral business associations and similar bodies, but has also stimulated the expansion of linkages in other social arenas beyond the market.

Other factors promote closer South Africa–India exchanges. There are longstanding historical links between the two countries inaugurated by 17th-century slavery at the Cape, where about one-quarter of the slaves were from South Asia, and then, from the 1860s, by the arrival of indentured labourers followed by merchants. The two countries share cross-cutting anti-colonial histories in which the figure of Gandhi has been central. The African National Congress and South African Communist Party drew on ideas and strategies from Indian nationalist struggles, while India was one of the first countries to provide support for the anti-apartheid movement. Both countries are middle-ranking powers in the Global South and both are vibrant democracies with strong traditions of public debate and press freedom. In addition to facing similar social issues such as HIV/AIDS, poverty and unemployment, both states are characterised by extreme linguistic, ethnic and religious diversity. Both are grappling with the issues presented by a rapidly rising middle class characterised by a mixture of high-minded political ideals encountering new modes of materialism and consumerism.

Given this context, it is not surprising that there has been a groundswell of academic interest in projects with a South Africa–India dimension. Across the disciplinary spectrum there has been a turn towards India, with increasing numbers of South African academics seeking out Indian partners with whom they can start to track the emerging interactions between the two countries, while analysing both the possible future implications of these new realities and their pasts.

The chapters drawn together in this volume arise out of an interdisciplinary project based at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg.¹ The project draws together about two dozen scholars working in software engineering, public health, economics, education, social sciences and the humanities. Research themes include trade and investment patterns between the two countries, comparative constitutional law, Indian Ocean cultural exchanges, English in secondary schools in Johannesburg and Delhi, HIV/AIDS in South Africa and India, and comparative topics (urbanisation in both countries; the Communist Parties of South Africa and Kerala). This research has expanded rapidly and in 2008 the university established a Centre of Indian Studies in Africa, where Professor Dilip Menon has been appointed to the Chair of Indian Studies.

The work arising out of this group consciously attempts to speak to the new relations that have emerged between South Africa and India. This volume presents an opportunity to profile this research. We begin by discussing older traditions of scholarship that have addressed relations between the two regions. We then turn to consider the new scholarship that is emerging and the directions that this work suggests. The first set of chapters in this volume focus on the historical connections between India and South Africa, where the flow of ideas, people and merchandise has interlaced the histories in interesting and often unexpected ways. The chapters in this section explore these issues through the circulation of the printing press, maritime flows, interlocking worlds of war, the processes of decolonisation and cultural forms of resistance. The second set of chapters draw our attention to socio-political comparisons that look at iconic struggle leaders, democratic deepening, popular participation, migration and political party ideologies. Through the two rubrics – historical connections and sociopolitical comparisons – the chapters explore the interwoven histories and complex experiences of India and South Africa.

South Africa/India: Uneasy historiographies

Despite centuries of interaction, Africa and India today remain largely sundered domains of analysis. Set in relations of opposition by colonial rule and then by a Cold War Area studies map, ‘Africa’ and ‘India/South Asia’ in the academy appear to have little to do with each other. When they are configured, this configuration is usually characterised by uneasy stereotypes of extremity. On one side stand narratives of shoulder-to-shoulder Bandung-style anti-colonial solidarity, especially apparent in accounts of Indian involvement in the anti-apartheid movement (e.g. see Gupta, 2003). On the other are quasi-colonial views to be found in India of Africa as ‘the dark continent’, a view that draws implicitly on older ideas of civilisationism that rank ‘Indian’ civilisation above that of ‘Africa’ (Hofmeyr, 2007:61). These contrasting views offer a stark binary set of explanations, with either too much solidarity on the one side or too little on the other.

Complicating this picture has been the difficulties of pursuing transnational study in an academy dominated by national and regional frameworks. The two regions that are now South Africa and India have been linked by transnational flows of labour (first slavery and then indenture), as well as intellectual and cultural exchange. The scholarship that has sought to understand these processes was undertaken in a context of nationally based historiographies and the dominance of Area Studies training. This work has necessarily encountered difficulties in asserting the primacy of transnational processes in the face of national and regional models of analysis. However, with the transnational turn in the social sciences occasioned by the processes of globalisation and the emergence of a post-Cold War order, questions of transnationalism have come into their own.

These frameworks have in turn opened up new possibilities for thinking about interactions between South Africa and India and have permitted revisions of earlier historiographies that addressed the interaction between these two regions.

Indentured historiographies: The one-way problem

The movement of Indian indentured labour and then ‘free passenger’ Indians – largely merchants to Natal in the 1860s – has generated a strong tradition of scholarship (Bhana & Brain, 1990). However, as Uma Dhupelia-Mesthrie (2007) has pointed out, this scholarship manifests various problems: it tends to homogenise the ‘Indian community’ without looking in detail at its faultlines, and it is primarily social and economic history, with little cultural exploration. A recent major work on indenture by Ashwin Desai and Goolam Vahed (2007) has taken up this challenge and provides a detailed insight into the social, cultural and religious contours of everyday indenture experience. It also addresses another problem with older indentured historiography, namely that it focusses mainly on ‘Indian experience’. Desai and Vahed (2007:8) narrate this experience ‘against the backdrop of White rule and its oppressive relationship with the Zulu’.

An additional problem with older historiography is that it manifests what we may call the ‘one-way problem’. Put briefly, studies tend to examine movement from India to South Africa, without asking what implications this migration had back in India. As Dhupelia-Mesthrie (2007) points out, this problem is equally apparent in the fact that the indentured diaspora tends mainly to be studied in the diaspora itself, with comparatively few historians in India turning their attention to this question, a process exacerbated by the strongly nationalist stamp of Indian historiography.

Fortunately, this ‘one-way problem’ has started to shift through the pioneering work of Tejaswini Niranjana (1999) on Trinidad and John Kelly (1991) on Fiji. Both these scholars demonstrate how the indentured diaspora feeds back into debates in Indian nationalism and is used in a variety of ways. For some early 20th-century Indian nationalists, the indentured diaspora becomes the outer boundaries of the nation, and the maltreatment of workers – and particularly Hindu women – in the diaspora is portrayed as a transgression of the nation. This transgression is used to mobilise sympathy and support for nationalist struggles in India. As Niranjana (1999) argues, the diaspora could also become a conduit for imaginatively and actually expelling the unwanted parts of the nation. Pivoting on the upper-caste/ middle-class Indian women as its imagined centre, Indian nationalist discourse depended on a disavowal of the lower-caste woman. As Niranjana demonstrates, the figure of the undesirable woman could be relegated to the outer reaches of the diaspora, enabling a ‘pure’ concept of the gendered nation to take shape.

This important work opens the way to reinsert the indentured diaspora into the story of Indian nationalism itself. Such a reconfiguration has occurred in relation to the post-1960s diaspora, which was more middle class and hence generally attracted more attention. Along with the transnational turn in the social sciences, the way is clear to factor the less glamorous indentured diaspora back into Indian historiography, demonstrating how the nation’s peripheries were important in its imaginative formation. Or, as Metcalf (2007:3) notes: ‘Abroad … Indians came face to face with their nationality.’

‘Africa’ in ‘India’

Another body of work that is starting to reverse the one-way flow is that which asks about the meanings of Africa in India. In India itself, there is often a perception that apart from Gandhi, Gujarati traders and Siddis (the latter being Africans who from the 13th century moved from North and East Africa to India as servants, soldiers, slaves, sailors, policemen, traders, bureaucrats and concubines [Jayasuriya & Pankhurst, 2003]), India has little to do with Africa. Indeed, it is not uncommon to find quasi-colonial perceptions in India of Africa as ‘the dark continent’ (Hofmeyr, 2007:61).

However, as new work is starting to indicate, Africa itself played a formative role in the imagining of India, constituting a boundary for the imagination of the nation. This process is particularly clear in relation to Gandhi, whose pejorative comments on Africans have often been noted. One way to make sense of this discourse is to examine it as part of Gandhi’s imagination of India that began to emerge in South Africa, where for the first time he confronted a cross section of Indian society. Gandhi’s conception of India was initially imagined as a dominion within the British Empire. In this configuration, India shared a boundary with the empire. A primary marker for this boundary was the ‘native’ or ‘Africa’, which came to represent an imaginative boundary of ‘India’. ‘Africa’ hence constitutes one of the limits of ‘India’, a boundary reinforced by ideas of civilisationism (Hofmeyr, 2007).

Gandhi’s years in South Africa obviously provide a major focus within the historiographies of South Africa–India interactions. However, as Surendra Bhana and Goolam Vahed (2005) point out, this scholarship tends to be dominated by national paradigms of analysis. Scholars in and of India have tended to see Gandhi as ‘an extension of traditions in India’ (Bhana & Vahed, 2005:11). Scholars of South Africa such as Maureen Swan (1985) place him in a South African context, with little reference to the Indian background. Elsewhere, there is a strong awareness that Gandhi’s work in South Africa was central to Indian nationalism (Brown, 1996; Markovits, 2003:78–85), yet this relationship awaits in-depth study. Quoting Markovits, Dhupelia-Mesthrie (2007:23) points out that the South African years represent the ‘real black hole in Gandhi’s life’, an absence in part created by the fact that during the apartheid years, historians in India were unable to visit South Africa.

Other ways in which Africa featured in Indian nationalist thought are starting to emerge from P. K. Datta’s (2007) seminal work on the depictions of the Anglo-Boer War in India (which is included in this volume). An avowedly international event, the Anglo-Boer War was taken up allegorically by different groups in India. As Datta (2007:39) indicates, the war crystallised ‘an ambivalence towards colonial authority that deepened skepticism of the Raj’ and served to weaken ideas of imperial loyalism. Datta explores the idea that imperial subjecthood provided a discourse to claim rights within the British Empire (from one place to another), but was fundamentally flawed owing to the structured inequalities of the empire. The contradictions of this idea were powerfully revealed in the Anglo-Boer War and its aftermath in both India and South Africa.

Indian Ocean studies

Under the influence of Braudelianism and world systems theory, Indian Ocean historiography accelerated from the 1980s, producing a rich vein of work on the historical unities, commonalities and discontinuities of this early modern maritime world. In an excellent account of this scholarship, Markus Vink (2007) sets out these themes: monsoon and trade winds, port cities, littorals (Pearson, 1998; 2003; 2006), ships and seafarers (Gupta, 2004), religion and trade (Risso, 1995), long-distance commerce (Chaudhuri, 1985; Gupta, 2004; Prakash, 2004) and the Portuguese presence (Subrahmanyam, 1997b; Pearson, 1998).

One strand in this skein has become important to current debates on transnationalism, i.e. the notion that the early modern Indian Ocean world offers an instance of transregional trade without the state.² Discussing how the Hadrami diaspora engaged with the Indian Ocean region, Engseng Ho (2006:xxi) notes:

Their enterprises overseas were not backed by [a] … mobile, armed state. The Portuguese, Dutch, and English in the Indian Ocean were strange new traders who brought their states with them. They created militarized trading-post empires in the Indian Ocean ... and were wont to do business at the point of a gun. Hadramis and other non-Europeans – such as Gujaratis, Bohras, Chettiars, Buginese, and Malays – did not. Rather than elbow their way in, they comported themselves to local arrangements wherever they went.

T. N. Harper (2002:158) puts the point succinctly: ‘The globalization of European imperialism was an extension of the nation state. The globalism [of diasporas] was not.’ This precedent of transoceanic trading systems uncoupled from a militarised state has proved productive in terms of rethinking the nation state today. Three prominent writers on the Indian Ocean – Amitav Ghosh (1992; 2008), Abdulrazak Gurnah (1994; 2005) and Engseng Ho (2004; 2006) – explore these old trading diasporas of the Indian Ocean world as a way of relativising the nation state. For Ghosh, the cosmopolitanism of the older diasporic networks offers a counterpoint to the narrowness of the modern nation state system. For Gurnah, the nation state is subsumed into the transnational networks above it and the loyalties of family and lineage below it. For Ho, the nation state is overshadowed by more epic entanglements as the universalistic ambitions of old diasporas and new empires encounter one another.

While the initial impetus in Indian Ocean historiography was towards early modern patterns of trade and diaspora, more recently there has been a growing emphasis on 19th- and 20th-century histories (Ewald, 2000; Vergès, 2003; Bose, 2005; Metcalf, 2007). One productive strand in this scholarship has been around the notion of Indian Ocean public spheres emerging from the 1880s to the First World War. As Mark Ravinder Frost’s work (2002; 2004; 2010) has demonstrated, these public spheres were rooted in the port cities of the ocean and grew out of the intellectual and religious activities of the cross-cutting diasporas that gathered in these entrepôts. Dedicated to projects of reform, these intelligentsias pursued a variety of universalisms (pan-Islam, pan-Buddhism, theosophy, imperial citizenship, Hindu reformism), which they formulated by sharing ideas via circulating periodicals and intellectuals (Arya Samaj missionaries, Sufis, pilgrims and scholars). Utilising the growing communication channels of empire, these networks operated most visibly in the extensive periodical press produced in these ‘information ports’ (Cole, 2002:344) and circulated actively between them. These journals quoted avidly from one another, enacting a quoting circle around the ocean (Hofmeyr, 2008).

These periodicals constitute an experimental site in which ideas of nationalism and diasporic discourses could be explored in relation to one another. An apt example is the extensive field of diasporic ideas of Indianness apparent in terms such as ‘overseas Indian’, ‘colonial-born Indian’, ‘Indians abroad’ and ‘Greater India’. The complexity of each of these terms is apparent from a quick glance at the idea of ‘Greater India’. As Susan Bayly (2004) demonstrates, this idea was first articulated in the 1920s by French-influenced Bengali scholars and focussed on the ancient cultural diffusion of Hinduism and Buddhism from India into East and South-East Asia. This idea of India as an early and benign coloniser appealed to a range of constituencies: Indian Indologists seeking to claim an active role for India; Hindu supremacists wanting evidence of ancient Vedic glories; anti-colonialists like Subhas Chandra Bose and his Indian National Army and Ghadarists like Taraknath Das, who saw their military activities as armed wings of Greater India; and, finally, those interested in the Indian indentured diaspora, or what was known as the ‘new’ Greater India, as opposed to the ancient. Greater India could provide an idea of nationhood that stretched diasporically across time and space and importantly could be both anti-colonial and colonising at the same time.

This idea of Indian Ocean public spheres is a useful one for considering the interactions between South Africa and India. Some of the chapters in the first section of this book develop this idea by exploring connections between southern Africa and India, and exchanges in the Indian Ocean more generally. Together, these chapters explore a range of lateral linkages within the Indian Ocean and enrich our picture of both Indian Ocean public spheres and the historiographies of interactions between southern Africa and India.

Isabel Hofmeyr’s chapter in this volume focusses on cosmopolitanism in the Indian Ocean through the lens of Gandhi’s printing press and textual migration. Hofmeyr explores the idea that the port cities of the Indian Ocean ‘constituted a network of textual exchange and circulation that built on, sustained and invented forms of cosmopolitan universalism across the Indian Ocean’. She suggests that the circulation of print across the Indian Ocean interpolated with cosmopolitanism in unexplored and interesting ways. The chapter looks at the connection between textual migration and an emerging cosmopolitanism by exploring the social relationships that developed around Gandhi’s printing press.

Keeping the Indian Ocean as their focal point, Pamila Gupta examines the itinerant movement of Goans in the Indian Ocean (and beyond) in the 20th century and Jonathan Hyslop explores the Indian Ocean lascars in the age of steam. Using a life history approach, Gupta examines three distinct periods of Goan migration in the Indian Ocean: the 1920s (a period of migration from Portuguese India to Mozambique); the 1950s and 1960s as the decolonisation of Goa started to bite; and then the post-1975 movement (mainly to Portugal) as Goans left Mozambique after its independence, with a small number remaining. These movements demonstrate not only Indian Ocean links but also faultlines. Goans generally found themselves precariously poised in the Portuguese empire: in Goa they found themselves as colonised Portuguese subjects, while in Mozambique they became a type of coloniser defined as superior to Africans, but below white Portuguese. As itinerants, Goan migrants unsettle supposedly clear boundaries of race within empire and render provisional ideas of high colonial rule and its stark categories of ruling. Decolonisation also begins to look different if viewed through a Goan lens: rather than being one discrete event, decolonisation comprises an ensemble of processes, one of which is further migration.

Gupta’s chapter demonstrates the interwoven relationship of empire and diaspora, a theme taken up by Jonathan Hyslop. He examines Indian Ocean seafarers in the age of steam navigation, tracing the interactions of British sailors and African and Asian seamen (lascars) in an imperial communication system. Moving away from the existing focus of examining lascars in British ports, the chapter explores the lateral linkages between port cities in the Indian Ocean. As steam replaced sail, labour relations on ships became increasingly industrialised and racialised. Enfranchised British workers used their unions to win better wages and working conditions for themselves. Captains and shipowners in turn increasingly turned to African and Asian seamen, who were seen as more tractable. While the lateral linkages across the sea opened up new routes of communication, the increasing racialisation of the workforce added new faultlines to the Indian Ocean world.

Shifting to an investigation of Gandhi’s satyagraha³ legacies in the South African political arena, Goolam Vahed’s chapter scrutinises the influences of Gandhism from the perspective of an individual life, that of Dr G. M. ‘Monty’ Naicker (1910–78), a political activist who drew heavily on Gandhian ideas. Naicker was involved in Natal Indian politics and played a leading role in the 1946–48 Passive Resistance Campaign challenging the increasing segregationist measures in Durban. As Vahed suggests, Naicker and others in the South African Indian Congress were in dialogue with Gandhi and Nehru, a dialogue that was crucial in propagating nonviolent forms of resistance and feeding ideas between Indian and African nationalist thinking.

Emerging comparative perspectives

The experiences of India and South Africa have also been explored through scholarship comparing them. While still working largely within nationally based historiographies, scholars are beginning to look at social, political and economic processes experienced by India and South Africa in order to better understand each individual case. Indeed, comparative research is especially fruitful in trying to understand the complexities of India and South Africa, as both countries (and scholarship on the countries) have tended to see themselves as exceptional, reducing social and political phenomena to the uniqueness of their respective societies. Comparing them with each other helps to dispel notions of exceptionalism and makes us look to local, national, and global processes and forces shaping the countries. Thus, using the comparative method strengthens analyses by focussing attention on factors that may have been overlooked in a single-case analysis.

Looking at southern Africa alongside India yields fascinating similarities and differences in their histories. The early colonial histories bear resemblance involving layers of Portuguese, Dutch and British incursion. In the 20th century their histories diverged markedly when in 1947 India gained independence and became the largest democracy in the world. Less than a year later the apartheid regime officially took power in South Africa, putting the country on a very different trajectory. Yet their histories would converge again by century’s end, and despite important differences in their struggles, the Indian National Congress and the African National Congress bear striking similarities. Moreover, in both South Africa and India, Communist Parties have found their voices expressed in oppositional politics and institutional arenas, and both societies enjoy robust civic associations and vibrant labour movements.

Alongside these achievements, however, are also disturbing trends. According to the 2009 Human Development Report of the United Nation Development Programme (UN, 2009), South Africa registers the third-highest income inequality in the world. In addition to high levels of poverty, South Africa has some of the most violent crime rates in the world. India, too, manifests extreme levels of inequality and poverty, and has seen incessant communal (religious) violence since independence. While formal democracy has been consolidated in both countries, as Patrick Heller shows in this volume, the power of the elite continues to act on subaltern classes in devastating ways. The goal of deepening democracy has proven more elusive in both India and South Africa.

Development indicators are illustrative of the achievements and challenges faced by each country. While India’s economy grew at 7.2 per cent per year against South Africa’s 4.8 per cent between 1998 and 2008,⁴ India has not opened its economy in terms of exports and imports to the same degree as South Africa. India’s poverty rate of 34.3 per cent of the population living below US$1 a day is far higher than South Africa’s poverty rate of 10.7 per cent.⁵ Yet India’s income share of the lowest 20 per cent of the population is 8.1 per cent, which compares favourably with South Africa’s income share of the lowest 20 per cent of the population of 3.5 per cent. Comparing the countries across a series of indicators throws up contradictory processes. On a number of indicators, such as per capita gross national income, literacy, internet use and tertiary enrolment, South Africa ranks favourably against India. These achievements, however, have not translated into increased youth employment, nor have they produced the phenomenal growth rates found in India. At the same time, India’s spectacular growth has not increased literacy rates or reduced poverty. Clearly, these are complex societies with contradictory processes shaping the countries’ development trajectories; see Table 1.

Table 1: India and South Africa compared

Indicator	India	South Africa
Population	1.1 billion	48 million
Gross national income per capita (Atlas method) (2009)	US$1,040	US$5,820
Gross domestic product (GDP) growth, % per annum, 1998–2008	7.2	4.1
GDP growth, % per annum, 2008–10	7.3	1.2
Openness: exports + imports, % of GDP (2006)	32.5	53.2
Income share of lowest 20% (2006)	8.1	3.5
Poverty rate, % of population < US$1 per day (2006)	34.3	10.7
Infant mortality, per 1,000 live births (2009)	52	48
Youth unemployment rate, % (2006)	10.5	60.1
Literacy rate, % (2009)	66	88
Tertiary enrolment ratio, % (2006)	11.4	15.3
Internet users, per 1,000 people (2006)	55	109

Source: World Bank (2006a; 2006b; 2009a; 2009b)

Given these similarities between South Africa and India, one might expect a strong tradition of comparative work. This as yet does not fully exist, part of the reason being that under apartheid Indian scholars could not visit South Africa. The situation is fortunately beginning to change and a field of comparative work is starting to emerge. A problem with comparative work, however, is that it often focusses on large-scale policy-oriented studies. Put simply, these studies tend to compare very general phenomena in as many cases as possible in order to draw policy outcomes through the comparisons. They are often funded by well-resourced northern foundations that are more interested in the immediate policy implications for South Africa and India than in a deeper understandings of causes, processes and sequences of events. Fortunately, a growing body of emerging work on South Africa and India is providing an alternative body of comparative studies.

Beyond the obvious similarities that India and South Africa share, such as common histories of British imperialism, iconic liberation movements, successful democratic consolidation in two heterogeneous societies and two of the most remarkable leaders of the 20th century (Mahatma Gandhi and Nelson Mandela), scholars are also exploring the less obvious areas of comparison. The work of Crain Soudien (2007), for example, looks at inclusion and exclusion in Indian and South African schools. Soudien shows how similar processes of elite values (Anglo, middle class in South Africa and upper caste in India) reproduce exclusion despite advocating normative inclusion. Another example of comparative scholarship is Claire Bénit-Gbaffou’s and Stéphanie Tawa Lama-Rewal’s emerging research on urban governance, participation, and the voice of the poor in South African and Indian cities, which looks at the relative incapacity of the urban poor to influence policy, despite the fact that they constitute a numerical majority. The chapters in this volume contribute to this tradition of comparative work that seeks to understand unfamiliar ground in new and exciting ways.

Socio-political comparisons

Without losing the historical integrity of the specifics of each case, the chapters in this section search for common themes. Taking as their focal points different topics, they converge in showing the striking similarities and important differences between India and South Africa. The five chapters represent aspects of comparative work that can be explored in regional analyses. They range in topic from political parties and democracy to migrant histories, and in scope from the local to the national levels. All the chapters compare some facet of India and South Africa and in the process tell interesting and illuminating stories.

Picking up on the legacies of Gandhian ideas on South Africa, Crain Soudien’s chapter asks how Gandhian ideas might be applied to current social theory on Africa. Soudien argues that current thinking on Africa is caught in one of two positions: either a reproduction of Western modernity or a wishful nativism that seeks to retrieve a pure Africanness apparently untouched by the ravages of colonialism and modernity. He asks how we can transcend the sterility of these two positions, which are characterised by envy or revenge. Highlighting two aspects of Gandhian thinking – a critique of ‘masculinised conceits of civilisation’ and their reliance on violence, and a non-teleological approach to the past that allows it to become a site of contingency and experimentation – Soudien argues that Gandhian thinking leads us beyond the ‘logic of dominance’

Patrick Heller compares India and South Africa using the indices of democratic consolidation and democratic deepening as his central organising principles. He shows how both South Africa and India are relatively successful cases of democratic consolidation in terms of state capacity and the rule of law. However, Heller problematises these achievements by asking whether consolidating democratic institutions in India and South Africa has translated into democratic deepening in which citizens are able to meaningfully participate in political life. In this regard, South Africa and India have not fared very well. Citizens in both countries struggle to practise citizenship, because the effective points of interface with the state are limited and the nature of state-civil society relations has tended to favour state control. In addition to these vertical limitations between the state and civil society, Heller also points to horizontal limitations within civil society. By carefully examining South Africa and India, Heller shows how consolidating and deepening democracy require very different logics and very different configurations of the balance of power between the state and civil society.

Claire Bénit-Gbaffou and Stéphanie Tawa Lama-Rewal explore a similar idea from a different perspective. Looking at the different experiences of decentralisation and local democracy in India and South Africa, they show a striking difference in the two experiences. In India, the focus has been on rural areas, with cities remaining almost invisible (at least in the literature), whereas South Africa has emphasised the metropolitan areas. They argue that ‘the idea that natural location of local democracy is in rural India has been extremely widespread, among politicians and scholars, at least until the 2000s’. This contrasts markedly with South Africa, where there has not been a rural bias, but rather a strong focus on the urban political field.

In her chapter, Michelle Williams compares the ideological visions of the communist parties in South Africa and the Indian state of Kerala. In response to the rise of neoliberal globalisation and the failures of 20th-century socialism, during the 1990s the communist parties in South Africa and Kerala embarked on a journey of ideological renewal that highlights radically democratic egalitarian alternatives. Williams shows how both parties theorised remarkably similar visions of ‘socialist democracy’ around four common themes: participatory democracy, a new developmental state, the coexistence of capitalism and socialism, and the extension of civil society and the state in the economy. Their ideological renewal grew out of an appreciation that socialist alternatives could not be conceived as a predetermined model of social organisation, but rather had to be understood as a process of extending democratic practices of collective decision making and the progressive empowerment of subalterns to participate in the development of society.

Phil Bonner’s chapter explores differences between the historiographies on migrancy in the two countries. Central to South Africa’s segregationist and then apartheid order has been a migrant labour system held in place by a raft of repressive measures: land dispossession, taxation, pass systems, compounds, segregation. In the South African historiography, migrancy is treated as synonymous with institutionalised compulsion and coercion. India has large-scale migrancy, but without this barrage of coercive interventions. Focussing on Bombay (now Mumbai) and Calcutta (now Kolkata), the chapter outlines how migrancy in the Indian case has been sustained by a series of factors across town and country that encouraged the maintenance of a rural base and discouraged the movement of families to towns, and kept oscillatory migrancy in place. Bonner also compares questions of generation, gender, race and social stability across the two historiographies. In South African migration, young men and women moved first, a ‘generationally skewed’ pattern that is as evident in the Indian case. In terms of gender, far more women moved in the South African context than in the Indian, raising the question of why and how the Indian working class became so overwhelmingly male. In South Africa, race became a critical issue as the power of white settler society came to define African urbanisation as pathological and as something that had to be reversed by a series of repressive state measures. In the South African case, migrancy produced ‘chronic family instability’ and high levels of juvenile delinquency, which were not evident to nearly the same degree in India. Comparing these historiographies shows up their aporias in productive ways.

In his chapter, Eric Worby concludes the book by exploring the common preoccupation of all the authors with what he calls ‘civic virtue’ and ‘private ethics’. Using the example of cricket, he demonstrates how civic virtue and personal ethics dovetail in performance in the game. Worby shows how ‘in the transnational ethical field constituted by cricket, it is fairly easy to see how personal morality is persistently mapped into arguments about public values, as well as the political institutions and practices that sustain them’. It is this very same intermingling of personal morality, public values, and political institutions and practices that makes possible the conversations in this volume.

Rethinking the South: Towards some conclusions

For some commentators, we are beginning to move towards a ‘post-American world’ (Zakaria, 2008) in which the unilateral dominance of the United States will wane. The rise of India and China most powerfully signals this shift and raises pressing questions about the shape of such a ‘post-American’ world – and the Global South within it.

Yet as we start to feel some of the changes precipitated by the rise of Asia, questions about the idea of the Global South move to the fore insistently. Can this category hold together as India and China strive for superpower status? What are the limits and possibilities of this concept as we move forward? Can the idea of the Global South with its roots in Third Worldist discourses speak to the ambiguities and complexities of a changing world order?

The term itself has become common currency, but its genealogies and lineages are less clear. The term ‘South’ initially emerged in the 1980s from the Brandt Commission on international development, which popularised a North/South or rich/poor vocabulary (Dirlik, n.d.). The collapse of the Eastern bloc and Soviet Union in 1989 precipitated a shift from a Cold War three-worlds model towards a division of developed and developing nations, the ‘North’ and the ‘South’. In this context, the term ‘Global South’ came to stand in as a proxy for the term ‘Third World’. In a post-Cold War order, older ideas of the Third World and non-alignment appeared to have become redundant, but these nations continued to share strategic objectives and interests. In recognition of this imperative, the Non-Aligned Movement called its tenth summit in September 1992 in Jakarta, Indonesia, to discuss how the developing nations might regroup in the changed geopolitical order. The summit affirmed the importance of a North–South axis, as opposed to the East–West Cold War axis. Clovis Maksoud, the eminent diplomat and long-standing permanent observer of the League of Arab States at the United Nations, comments: ‘The Jakarta Declaration implicitly recognised the dawn of a new era, in which the terms “Third World” and “non-aligned” have been subsumed by the term “Global South”’ (Maksoud 1993:34). The persistence of the Non-Aligned Movement and the growing importance of the G-77 group (which focusses on a unitary voice for the ‘developing nations’ in the United Nations) point to the continued need for collective action among these nations.

The idea of the Global South, then, will continue to be an important concept that will shape intergovernmental activity, non-governmental organisation priorities and trade agendas. What will its role be in setting academic and research priorities? Taken together, the chapters in this collection provide some answers to this question by probing the limits and possibilities of one set of axes in the Global South, namely the links between South Africa and India.

On the possibilities side of the equation, the chapters point to the productive and as yet unexplored histories and comparative possibilities within the Global South. The pieces point to new histories of linkage and circulation, whether these be Goan migrants, lascars or typographers moving in and around the Indian Ocean. The comparative possibilities point to new historiographical insights, as histories of labour, social movements and urban governance are placed side by side and as social theory from different parts of the Global South is brought into conversation.

Yet at the same time, these pieces also point to the growing contradictions within the category of ‘the South’ and its earlier incarnations. As Hofmeyr’s chapter indicates, Gandhi’s cosmopolitanism met its limits in ideas of civilisational hierarchies between India and Africa. While ideologies of Third Worldist solidarity and Afro-Asian cooperation have obscured such divisions, new histories of Bandung are starting to reveal the complexities and struggles within and between different players, ideologies and interests, and how these shaped the contours of these movements (Amrith, 2005; Burton, 2006; Burton, Espiritu & Wilkins, 2006; Chatterjee, 2006b; Abraham, 2008).

In some cases, the gaps of power between different parts of the Global South are considerable and can constitute what Antoinette Burton (2006:151) has termed ‘semi-imperialisms’. These faultlines and semi-imperialisms will continue to play themselves out, especially as new alliances and competitions emerge in the ‘post-American’ Indian Ocean. In this changing arena, unexpected ‘lateral’ cultural forms will take shape. Hindi film continues to make its way to many parts of Africa and finds new audiences there (Larkin, 1997). Reverse flow is apparent in the South African film Mr Bones, which has been circulating in India. The film comes from Leon Schuster, the king of South African slapstick. Its plot concerns a white boy who falls from an aeroplane and grows up in a ‘tribe’ and becomes a ‘witch doctor’. Translated into a range of Indian languages, the film has been a runaway success in cinemas and on TV.

In some senses, Mr Bones’ travels are to be expected: slapstick stereotypes travel easily. Yet such examples also seem counter-intuitive: they unsettle the elevated moral agendas of South–South cooperation, in which slapstick does not really belong. Equally out of place would be the growing trend of South–South spying, a phenomenon that is now routine in the Indian Ocean: since 2007, for example, India has opened up listening posts in Madagascar and Mozambique to track shipping lanes and keep an eye on the Chinese. As a post-Cold War and possibly ‘post-American’ world coalesces, understanding South–South slapstick and South–South spying will become increasingly important.⁶ The chapters in this collection seek to lay the groundwork for an environment in which we can start to make sense of new phenomena such as these that will speak to the complexities of a new and confusing world order.