• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to footer
  • Home
  • About
    • Editorial Staff
      • Bryan Strawser, Editor in Chief, Strife
      • Dr Anna B. Plunkett, Founder, Women in Writing
      • Strife Journal Editors
      • Strife Blog Editors
      • Strife Communications Team
      • Senior Editors
      • Series Editors
      • Copy Editors
      • Strife Writing Fellows
      • Commissioning Editors
      • War Studies @ 60 Project Team
      • Web Team
    • Publication Ethics
    • Open Access Statement
  • Archive
  • Series
  • Strife Journal
  • Strife Policy Papers
    • Strife Policy Papers: Submission Guidelines
    • Vol 1, Issue 1 (June 2022): Perils in Plain Sight
  • Contact us
  • Submit to Strife!

Strife

The Academic Blog of the Department of War Studies, King's College London

  • Announcements
  • Articles
  • Book Reviews
  • Call for Papers
  • Features
  • Interviews
  • Strife Policy Papers
    • Strife Policy Papers: Submission Guidelines
    • Vol 1, Issue 1 (June 2022): Perils in Plain Sight
You are here: Home / Archives for apartheid

apartheid

The struggle continues: Khulumani Support Group and reparations in South Africa

February 5, 2021 by Hannah Goozee

By Hannah Goozee

Photo Credit: Khulumani Support Group

More than twenty years after the conclusion of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), survivors of apartheid violence in South Africa continue to struggle for justice. On 28th October 2020, members of Khulumani Support Group, a national organization of over 100,000 members, gathered outside the Union Buildings in Pretoria demanding overdue reparations from the government. The 112 individuals held placards and banners, while singing during daytime   and sleeping on the grass at night. Many of these members are elderly suffering from health conditions, and yet refused to leave until they received an answer:  where are the reparations for apartheid? In this piece I reflect on time spent with Khulumani Support Group in 2019 and suggest that the failure of reparations is symptomatic of the TRC’s political origins and attention to individuals over structures. This individualization of apartheid has resulted in a continued lack of structural and material redress in South Africa.

The South African TRC is often heralded as one of the most successful transitional justice mechanisms. The product of a negotiated settlement between the National Party government and the liberation forces, principally Nelson Mandela’s African National Congress, the TRC was presented as the healing moment for South Africa. Over the course of several years, victims shared their stories of violence and victimhood in public hearings across the country. Additionally, investigations were undertaken into clandestine apartheid activities and amnesty procedures were held for perpetrators willing to disclose their wrongdoings. The TRC concluded in a seven-volume report, with the first five delivered to the President in 1998 and the last two in 2003, with recommendations for societal, political, and economic transformations.   The process, as Mandela declared in the handover ceremony, signalled “the end of one season and the beginning of another”.

For members of Khulumani Support Group, the dawning of a new age was far from a reality. In 2019, I spent six months with members of the East Rand branch of the organization, many of whom were present at the protest in Pretoria. I interviewed nearly forty members for my doctorate, listening to their stories of apartheid, loss, and violence. From my very first interaction, one thing became clear – the pain continues to be lived: from unhealed wounds inflicted by apartheid forces, to lost and damaged properties, not to mention the death and disappearance of loved ones. Not only do they continue to reckon with the legacy of apartheid, but their pain has been exacerbated by governmental promises of reparations, which never materialized. Often, it was during discussions of the TRC and reparations that members became distressed, more so than when describing their apartheid experiences.

Reparations were a prominent feature of the 1995 Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, the legislation which formally established the TRC. In addition to uncovering gross violations of human rights and the granting of amnesty in exchange for full disclosure, it was also recognised that reparations would be necessary for a peaceful transition to be achieved. The Act defined reparations as including “any form of compensation, ex gratia payment, restitution” and distinguished between urgent interim reparations and a long-term reparations policy. The TRC’s Reparations and Reconciliation Committee was tasked with implementing the former, and making recommendations for the President on the latter. Crucially, the Act also provided for the creation of a President’s Fund to hold the reparations payable to victims.

While the TRC identified Urgent Interim Reparations as a priority once it was established in late 1995, governmental delays and logistical challenges meant that payments only began in 1998. By this time, much of the Commission was wrapping up its work. These interim reparations were designed for individuals identified as victims and in need of urgent support. By 2001 the process was complete, with payments made to merely 14,000 individuals, a fraction of those in need of support in the aftermath of apartheid.

The final report included recommendations for much more substantial reparations, including further urgent reparations, but also higher amounts for individual grants, symbolic reparations, community rehabilitation, and institutional reforms. The President’s Fund was identified as the means to provide the payment of individual grants, which the RRC  estimated to be R23 023 per annum and to continue for six years. These grants were to be paid to victims identified by the TRC, and the relatives and dependents of victims.

However, the TRC classified only 21,000 victims during its process. The TRC defined victims narrowly: individuals or the relatives of individuals who suffered gross violations of human rights. Through individualizing victimhood, the TRC made invisible the everyday violence and abuse experienced through apartheid laws and society by millions of South Africans. Those I spoke to the East Rand emphasised the context and everyday life of apartheid; violence was structural and endemic. However, even working within the TRC’s definition of victim, Khulumani Support Group projects that reparations should be paid to 120,000 individuals or their next of kin. The group also rejects the cut-off date imposed by the TRC, which meant that only those who had self-identified as victims by 14th December 1997 are entitled to reparations. This overlooked the communities which continued to experience violence late into the 1990s, such as the East Rand. Most fundamentally, the group argues, is the continued lack of an inclusive and comprehensive reparations policy from the government.

What came of the RRC’s recommendations? In short, very little. Instead, in 2003, President Thabo Mbeki announced a one-off payment of R30 000 for victims identified by the TRC. This is about a quarter of what was recommended by the TRC, and did not include any access to medical, social, or educational services. Despite the fact that contributions from both South African and foreign governments to the President’s Fund have amassed to approximately R1 billion, no further reparations have been made.

The failure of reparations is reflective of the restrictive mandate to which the TRC was bound. Scholarly critiques of the process recognise that the mandate severely curtailed the TRC’s ability to reflect on the daily reality of apartheid, and the structural violence that was imposed through laws and regulations. The impact of this mandate translated into both its identification of victims and its lack of enforcing power. The TRC could only make recommendations, it had no powers of implementation beyond the Urgent Interim Reparations. The failure then is more a reflection of the political context in which the TRC emerged – a struggle between the outgoing apartheid government and the incoming ANC-dominated democracy. Political compromise meant that attention was deflected from the structures which protected and even entrenched white supremacy in South Africa. The system of apartheid was never questioned. Beneficiaries of this system were notably absent from the TRC debates and forums. Moreover, the focus on actionable gross violations of human rights meant that those in positions of responsibility escaped from prosecution. As scholar and political commentator Mahmood Mamdani has asked “why was the leadership of apartheid not held responsible for it? The answer is political, not ethical.”  Where the TRC focused on both individual perpetrators and individual victims, it made invisible the structural violence of apartheid. The individualization detracted from the socio-economic and political drivers of violence. The continuing reluctance of the South African government to engage with and provide redress for apartheid is evidenced by their intentions to use the remainder of the President’s Fund for vague community development programmes rather than reparations.

From this neoliberal understanding of justice which dominates the international human rights agenda – that is a focus on individuals – ideas of social justice and transformation are silenced. In South Africa, the consequences continue to be felt today. Reparations is just one, albeit crucial, example. As a recent statement from Khulumani’s central organizing committee explains, “for Khulumani and for the country, reparations remain an unpaid debt. The delays have augmented the impacts of the unaddressed wounding of thousands of our people. We have an obligation going forward to finally help people to recover so that they can move forward into a life in which they can avail themselves of opportunities as they arise.” Until then, the struggle continues.


Hannah Goozee is a PhD Candidate in the Department of War Studies, researching the role of trauma in conflict and peace. Hannah holds an MA in International Conflict Studies with Distinction from King’s College London, and a First Class MA (Hons) in International Relations from the University of St Andrews.  During her MA she held a research position at the International Centre for Security Analysis (ICSA), and has also undertaken research for the International Policy Centre for Inclusive Growth (IPC-IG) in Brazil.

Filed Under: Feature, Long read Tagged With: apartheid, human rights, reparations, South Africa

Diary of a Teacher: Reflections of a South African MP on education during apartheid

March 4, 2014 by Strife Staff

By Professor Gertrude Fester:

DERIV-397_33-4-670x454

My schooling was under apartheid South Africa (SA) and yes, the system taught us directly and indirectly that we were inferior. Fortunately, at High school we had teachers from the Trotskyite Unity Movement of South Africa (UMSA). They made us interrogate the system in SA.  So even though we were given ‘coloured’ education we rejected that we were inferior. We also knew that for the external examinations we should be careful about what we wrote and avoided any political critique of the country.

Later as a teacher at high school, we were confronted with all the contradictions, discrimination and exploitation of teaching – the syllabuses to teach, the hierarchical nature of the school and the omnipotent reactionary principal in all his patriarchal glory.  White teachers educated at the same institutions earned extra ‘inconvenience’ payment for working at a coloured school.  Male colleagues earned more than us women – and if any of us women dared to marry, we would lose our permanent positions, could re-apply but then had the ambiguous status of being ‘temporary indefinite’.  How did some of us as progressives survive? As some of us taught English, we used literature to explore totalitarian societies, exploitation, sexism and examined the parallels with our context. Newspaper articles were analysed to highlight propaganda and we examined the role of the media in reinforcing the status quo.  We put in extra hours, started film and debating societies and produced plays annually.   Shakespeare and Brecht were vehicles to critique social, economic and political aspects of our society.   We marched with our students against Bantustan education in 1976. In confrontation with black police who beat our students when they had peaceful protests, we challenged them.  Initially we tried to explain and later argued with the police that they were pawns in the regime.

Political unrest again flared up in the 1980s. I joined community structures.  One such was the United Democratic Front (UDF, an umbrella body of more than 100 anti-apartheid structures with all the contradictions- capitalists, communists, Catholics, atheists and Protestants, the Call of Islam, and Jews for Justice. Later the Organisation of Lesbians and Gays, OLGA, also joined. This was an indication of the broadening of our struggle.  In the UDF there was a student of mine from 1976. He was a radical who came for two meetings and left.   But before his departure, he accused me of ‘selling out’ in the 1980s as I had chased them into class when they wanted to boycott. I was puzzled as I also saw myself as progressive, supporting the students’ protests. I could not recall this. Later I then remembered he threw a stone at me when I walked into the classroom. The principal approached us while we were standing outside of the classroom. I then requested students to come into the classroom.  I then walked into the classroom.  Yes, the boundaries were blurred – being a teacher was also being part of the oppressors.

One of the challenges confronting us at a later stage on teaching student teachers was convincing them that getting quality education was also a means of defying oppression.  The student leaders had to be encouraged to not only make mobilizing impassioned speeches at political rallies but should balance attention regarding their academic work well.   Many of these student leaders were too busy ‘organising’ to do their academic work. Or even come to the few classes that materialized.

A state of emergency was declared in mid-1985 giving police and army draconian powers.  The students responded with boycotts and the community with petitions and protests in general. Mass arrests and police brutality with impunity followed.  This exacerbated the general uprising. The students were divided – whether to attend class or whether to continue boycotting and making SA ‘ungovernable’.  There was no teaching for most of 1985. Imagine our surprise when we as lecturers were instructed to set final exams. In the staff meeting I enquired on what we had to set exams as we had done minimal academic teaching. We were instructed to set exams as if there were normal teaching.  We also had to give students handouts on the exam- outlining relevant sections to prepare (and compromise standards, reinforcing the very gutter education the protests were highlighting).

I encountered students on campus crying, appealing to me, and I am sure other lecturers, whether they should write examinations or not. I emphasised that that was a decision that they alone could take. When the examinations came, some students chose to write while the majority boycotted.

Now as a teacher in Central Africa, new and different questions arise.  Currently I find myself in a context of a society emerging from horrendous political conflict.  Subsequently no culture of reading or rigorous academic enquiry exists.   I am teaching economic elites in English.  How does one teach and maintain a standard commensurate with levels at similar institutions elsewhere in the world?  What ‘standards’ do I promote and encourage given the response from students that they, as bureaucrats, have no time to read?  I am seen as having unrealistic demands. The director agrees. Shall I bow to the fallacy that as an African in a poor African country, I must be satisfied with mediocrity?  In SA we had a slogan:  ‘No normal sport in an abnormal society’.  Shall this be a case of no ‘normal’ standards, whatever ‘normal’ may be, in an underdeveloped country?   Another slogan we used was:  ‘La Luta Continua!’  So this is a case of the struggle continues.

 

Gertrude Fester is a former Member of Parliament in South Africa and Commissioner of the Gender Commission. A feminist political activist, she taught, until recently, Transitional Justice mainstreaming gender, at the Kigali Institute for Education. She is research coordinator of Rwandan Association of University Women and writes fiction and non-fiction, particularly on the lives of women and marginalised people’s.’ She currently lives in Rwanda.

Filed Under: Blog Article Tagged With: apartheid, education, South Africa

Footer

Contact

The Strife Blog & Journal

King’s College London
Department of War Studies
Strand Campus
London
WC2R 2LS
United Kingdom

blog@strifeblog.org

 

Recent Posts

  • Climate-Change and Conflict Prevention: Integrating Climate and Conflict Early Warning Systems
  • Preventing Coup d’Étas: Lessons on Coup-Proofing from Gabon
  • The Struggle for National Memory in Contemporary Nigeria
  • How UN Support for Insider Mediation Could Be a Breakthrough in the Kivu Conflict
  • Strife Series: Modern Conflict & Atrocity Prevention in Africa – Introduction

Tags

Afghanistan Africa Brexit China Climate Change conflict counterterrorism COVID-19 Cybersecurity Cyber Security Diplomacy Donald Trump drones Elections EU feature France India intelligence Iran Iraq ISIL ISIS Israel ma Myanmar NATO North Korea nuclear Pakistan Politics Russia security strategy Strife series Syria terrorism Turkey UK Ukraine United States us USA women Yemen

Licensed under Creative Commons (Attribution, Non-Commercial, No Derivatives) | Proudly powered by Wordpress & the Genesis Framework