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You are here: Home / Archives for South Africa

South Africa

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

Gambling with impunity: al-Bashir, South Africa & the ICC

June 22, 2015 by Strife Staff

By Beatrice Tesconi:

President Omar Hassan al-Bashir leaving plane in April, 2013. Photo: Abayomi Azikiwe (published under fair use policy for intellectual non-commercial purposes)
President Omar Hassan al-Bashir leaving plane in April, 2013, on a visit to South Sudan. Photo: Abayomi Azikiwe (published under fair use policy for intellectual non-commercial purposes)

News that Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir’s jet had taken off from a military base in Pretoria last Monday sparked two starkly different reactions. Upon his arrival in Khartoum, Bashir received a hero’s welcome from hundreds of supporters cheering his safe return home in defiance of a South African court order barring his departure. On the other hand, global civil society and human rights advocates were left in dismay at yet another missed opportunity to bring an alleged perpetrator of grave international crimes to justice. But both sides found themselves agreeing on one thing – the credibility of the International Criminal Court (ICC) had been dealt a decisive blow.

The decision to attend the African Union (AU) summit held in Johannesburg last Saturday was just Bashir’s latest provocation to the Hague-based court, which has been struggling to bring him to trial since 2009. Following a United Nations Security Council (UNSC) referral in 2005, the ICC opened a formal investigation over the conflict in Darfur, which culminated with the issuing of two arrest warrants in 2009 and 2010 for the 71 year-old dictator on charges of war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide.

As a signatory of the Rome Statute, the founding treaty of the ICC and where the Court’s jurisdictional parameters are laid out, South Africa had an obligation to arrest him. Yet the South African government still promised Bashir and all other African leaders attending the summit full immunity on the basis of a general principle of international law, despite the fact that Article 27 of the Rome Statute waives such immunity ratione personae that is usually granted to heads-of-states in international law.

Things took an unexpected turn when, on Sunday, a South African human rights group managed to secure an interim order from South Africa’s High Court barring Bashir from leaving the country. The South African government argued against the order on the grounds that it had granted immunity to the delegates at the conference. The next day the government let Bashir board his flight home at a military airfield near Pretoria, just as the High Court was holding a hearing that would have ordered the Sudanese leader to be detained and turned over to the ICC. South Africa’s leading party, the African National Congress (ANC), did not hesitate to slam the ICC over its attempt to arrest Bashir, calling it “no longer useful for the purposes for which it was intended”. Yesterday the government denied that there had been a plot to let Bashir leave.

“Securitizing” the Court

Whether or not one agrees with the ANC’s statement that – the ICC “is no longer useful” – it is still reflective of what has become an increasingly hostile climate between the Court and its African member states. The AU has repeatedly accused the ICC of being a tool of Western imperialism and of unfairly targeting the African continent, since many perpetrators in the Middle East and the Western world are left untouched. With all nine of the official investigations that the Court is currently pursuing taking place in Africa, the AU criticism is not completely unwarranted. Yet the Court’s focus on Africa does not stem from any anti-African sentiment, but from the political realities and limitations of its jurisdiction.

The ICC Prosecutor can only open an investigation into situations that occur within the territory of one of its member states, by means of a state’s self-referral or of its proprio motu powers, or if the suspect is a national of a state party. However, an investigation can also be initiated within the boundaries of a non-member state if the situation is referred to the ICC by the UNSC, which is what happened in the case of Sudan.

Furthermore, on the basis of the principle of complementarity, the ICC should be seen as a court of last resort, meaning that it will only intervene if it finds a state to be “unable or unwilling” to investigate and/or prosecute. Therefore, the Court cannot automatically usurp jurisdiction from states, and states themselves can avoid the intervention of the ICC if they are able to conduct a genuine investigation and prosecution.

Given the incidence of conflict globally and the fact that the African continent holds the largest regional group of ICC-member states (34 out of the 123 state parties), the ICC focus on Africa should not come as much of a surprise. Many countries in the Middle East did not grant the ICC jurisdiction, and major powers such as the US have failed to ratify the Rome Statute. It is also worth noting that, Sudan being one of the few exceptions to this, the majority of the investigations that are currently taking place in the African continent have been at the behest of the states, which have requested the intervention of the Court through self-referrals.

But the fact that the investigation in Darfur was initiated after a UNSC referral has led some African leaders and commentators to argue that the Court is nothing more than a tool of great power neo-colonialism. Irrespective of whether the UNSC referral was driven by political rather than humanitarian considerations, the arrest warrants issued by the ICC judges were based on concrete evidence gathered during the official investigation. Objecting to Bashir’s arrest on the basis that other alleged perpetrators in the Western world are still at large (a common argument made by the Court’s critics with reference to Bush or Blair), or that other grave situations are not being investigated due to conflicting political interests (i.e. Syria), does not excuse the fact that the victims of Darfur are being denied their fundamental right to justice and human dignity.

While certain African leaders continue to portray the Court as a threat to the sovereignty of African states, Darfurians and the other victims of mass atrocities within the continent are essentially being reduced to ‘bare life’ as their right to justice is being gambled for political considerations of pan-Africanism.

A Victory in Disguise

By choosing African solidarity over its international legal obligations, the South African government has emerged as the only loser of last weekend’s events. Letting Bashir go in defiance of its own Court order has seriously compromised South Africa’s leadership position on the continent and left a major stain on its reputation as one of the Africa’s soundest democracies.

The ANC’s discrediting of the Court should therefore be seen more as a desperate attempt to scrape legitimacy out of an essentially pyrrhic victory rather than being reflective of any truth. Calling the Court ‘obsolete’ ignores the fact that the arrest of perpetrators of grave international crimes has never been one of the purposes of the ICC, but a job delegated to states under the doctrine of universal jurisdiction. Adopting Antonio Cassese’ famous image in reference to the ad hoc tribunal in the former Yugoslavia, the ICC is nothing more than “a giant without arms and legs”, fully dependent on states as its artificial limbs. If anything, this week’s drama served to underline the need to recalibrate our expectation against the realities and limitations of the Court.

Contrary to the opinion of many of the Court’s critics, the latest development in the Bashir-ICC saga marked a significant moment in the fight against impunity, one of the official purposes of the Court. The Pretoria’s court order was in fact the first time any court has legally barred a head of state from leaving a country following a request by the ICC. This, together with the tireless efforts of South African civil society, is evidence of a slow internalization of a norm against impunity in what Kathryn Sikkink sees as an ongoing ‘justice cascade’.

Furthermore, the fact that Bashir had to sneak out of the country like a fugitive, and that the South African authorities had to come up with a range of fanciful machinations and cover stories to let him leave the country, suggests that it’s the end of business-as-usual for the Sudanese leader. The world around him is increasingly shrinking, and so is his time left as a free man.

There is no doubt that Bashir’s arrest would have marked a definitive victory for the ICC and the international criminal law project as a whole. However, framing Bashir’s escape in terms of a decisive blow to the ICC risks reinforcing the same delegitimizing rhetoric that is currently hampering the Court’s universal aspirations. Whilst the ICC might be far from perfect, it has still managed to instill a nascent culture of international accountability where impunity once prevailed, despite being such a young institution.

The future of the fight against impunity will heavily rely on its member states. Only by upholding their international legal obligations can states ensure that a norm of accountability crystallizes in international law, and that even those seemingly invincible leaders of today can become the fugitives of tomorrow. In abdicating its responsibility to Bashir’s victims in Darfur, South Africa flouted its domestic and international legal obligations, but it did not write the epitaph for the International Criminal Court. On the contrary, South African civil society and an independent judiciary have shown us that the ICC is far from dead and that a global effort to fight impunity is well underway.


Beatrice Tesconi is currently undertaking an MA in International Peace and Security at King’s College, London, after graduating from the University of York with a BA in Politics and International Relations. Her research interests are in the field of International Criminal Law, Transitional Justice and the Middle East and North African Region. Twitter: @BeaTesconi

Filed Under: Blog Article Tagged With: al-Bashir, Darfur, human rights, ICC, international law, South Africa, Sudan

The player: "Plot for Peace"

March 24, 2014 by Strife Staff

Editor’s Note:

This movie’s highlight for those like myself fascinated by diplomacy, its study, theory and practices, is its exceptional depiction of Track II diplomacy. We see Olivier, French businessman, deeply involved in many of the preliminaries to the Angola-Namibian accords. Whilst the claim of the film, that this was crucial to the end of Apartheid, is somewhat far-fetched, we may well understand that this is the need of the market, to link to the obvious symbol of Mandela’s liberation as the end of that process.

On the other hand, the machinations, tribulations and frustrations of Track II diplomacy are well represented, as are the personal international networks that made this preliminary diplomacy possible. This film is also a fascinating corollary to anybody interested in the diplomacy of that period and conflict (see for instance G. R. Berridge, ‘Diplomacy and the Angola/Namibia Accords’, International Affairs Vol. 65, No. 3 (Summer, 1989) , pp. 463-47 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/2621723>) and looking to retrieve the personal, the informal, where institutions and ministries fail to reach the conditions for dialogue and necessitate the weird, the friendly, non-sovereign and influential intervention of a non-diplomatist like Olivier.

Pablo de Orellana
Editor, Strife

* * *

The player: “Plot for Peace”

Plot for Peace - STRIFE

By Mike McCahill:

Jean-Yves Ollivier is a French businessman with a story to tell: how he came to be personally involved in securing Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. When we first meet Ollivier in Carlos Agulló and Mandy Jacobson’s impressively detailed documentary Plot for Peace, he’s playing solitaire in a shaded backroom filling up with his own cigar smoke, and professing his own skill at making order from the chaos of the world. Clearly, this is one of life’s cannier, savvier players, his rotund belly and ruddied cheeks speaking to a level of personal success; he proceeds to recount the circumstances of the greatest hand he claims to have ever laid down.

Ollivier moved to South Africa in 1981, and found it to be a nation on the verge of a grave and terrible schism: as some particularly choice, occasionally vicious archive footage makes apparent, this was a country determined to do just about anything to keep its poor black citizens from disrupting the high life its white elite were enjoying elsewhere. The status quo could only hold for so long, Ollivier sensed, and any destabilisation would prove damaging indeed to the West’s considerable business interests in the region – his own among them. As the violence stepped up, he hit upon the idea of mining his own gilded contacts book, with the aim of enlisting key figures from both sides to sit around the same table and thrash out a deal for peace.

There followed a torturously complex process of negotiation, which went on for several years before the ANC leader’s name came up: the talk had first to pass through events in neighbouring Namibia, and hit a major stumbling block in the form of Angola, beset as that country then was by both Cuban and South African forces, with the US, almost inevitably, starting to poke its nose in over the issue of the continent’s vast mineral reserves. In the midst of all this talk, it is possible as a viewer to start getting lost, although the tangled web of allegiances Ollivier’s narration sets out seems to prove beyond all doubt the enduring diplomatic theory that everything everywhere is connected – while also suggesting there was more of interest going on behind the scenes than the recent Mandela biopic pushed front and centre.

Ollivier’s claim is that his profile is such that it can open doors others cannot, while still allowing him to fly under the radar (in the case of one anecdote here, literally) if need be.  All governments need guys like him to take the steps and carry the baggage state-accredited diplomats cannot. Needless to say, this leaves him a figure at least as controversial as might be heroic. You could well come out of the film arguing that Ollivier’s actions were governed more by self-interest than any more humanitarian or philanthropic impulse, although he’s the first to insist the economic sanctions imposed on South Africa at the time of his arrival weren’t helping anybody. Perhaps the ends do, sometimes, justify the means.

His contact book has, at the very least, helped the filmmakers to secure access to most of the key diplomatic and political figureheads of this particular moment, including Winnie Mandela and representatives from Congo Brazzaville, and Mozambique, further complicating the notion this whole tale might merely be one ageing white man’s prideful reappropriation of a defining moment in recent black African history. A reliance on talking heads to corroborate or redirect elements of the subject’s narration may prove a little wearying for the layperson – though enough of Ollivier’s reference points actually come to pass to leave one mulling over the idea there’s more fascinating truth in here than not.

Plot for Peace is touring selected cinemas nationwide ahead of its DVD release on Monday, 24 March.

 

______________________________

Mike McCahill writes on film for The Guardian, The Sunday Telegraph, The Scotsmanand Metro, and is the chief film critic for MovieMail. He has contributed to Radio 4’s Today programme, and made regular appearances on the Press TV show Cinepolitics. His reviews can be found in The DVD Guide (Canongate, 2006; second edition 2007), Halliwell’s The Movies that Matter (HarperCollins, 2008) and online at http://cinesthesiac.blogspot.co.uk. He’s a lover, not a fighter.

Filed Under: Film Review Tagged With: Angola, Diplomacy, Namibia, Nelson Mandela, Plot For Peace, South Africa, Track II diplomacy

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

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