What kind of racist are you?

Writer, justice and reconciliation ambassador and Pastor Alexander Venter speaks of four kinds of racists in post-apartheid South Africa. Following on from my last column – and adding to the continuing national dialogue on racism – I believe that these are very useful definitions in terms of helping us to name our prejudice and hence bring it under control. They are not specific to any one race; they apply to all South Africans regardless of colour or ethnicity. Which one are you?

Confirmed racists are prejudiced and open about it. They resent or even hate people of other races. This includes the phenomenon of xenophobia, where people fear, reject and even victimise those of other races. Some believe more than ever that blacks and whites – and indeed all differing races – should be kept apart. In the case of black and white, white confirmed racists believe black people are inferior. They will say things like: “Things were better under apartheid.” They will express open glee when a black person articulates such a misguided view as for them this is a slam-dunk in terms of confirming their own prejudicial belief systems. For black confirmed racists, white people are still imperialistic settlers and their retort might be along the lines of: “They must go back to Europe.” Confirmed racists are upfront and ‘honest’ about their racism. The attitudes of this group are hardening and they can often be heard dumping their hateful and offensive opinions and actions on those around them.

Suppressed racists are those who have buried their prejudices in the name of political correctness, keeping-the-peace, or fear of being judged. This will come with a decent measure of self-deception and denial. “I am not racist!” they protest (or perhaps even “I am not a racist but….”) and they may even resort to the old: “I have friends/colleagues who are black!” It doesn’t often take much – a particular event, issue, person or glass of wine – to bring out the racist comments and attitudes. The reality is that we can only supress things for so long before they pop out. This type of racism is no less destructive than Confirmed Racism because it pays lip service to principles of equality while opposing its implementation. This is particularly applicable when it comes to any form of redress particularly policies like BBBEE. It would appear that many South Africans are currently stuck at this level of racism. We haven’t engaged deeply and meaningfully with the hard and often painful process of facing our race demons and we certainly haven’t acknowledged just how vital it is that we do. This will take courage and hard, uncomfortable work – and many of us simply haven’t begun that journey. However, until we do South Africa will be caught in the twilight zone between two eras. This will impact on social cohesion, crime levels, economic growth and the strength of our democracy. Moving beyond this stage of racism is fundamental now to our progress as a nation.

Recovering racists are those who have acknowledged and faced their racial conditioning and the fact that if you were raised in South Africa then racism is intertwined in your very being. They are taking responsibility for this and they are consciously working on their thought processes, beliefs, attitudes and actions. They have dealt with their guilt and are free of this, but freedom is relative. Like people recovering from any addiction, they will always be in recovery and this is a daily journey. They are unlearning old ways of thinking and relating and are adopting new attitudes, behaviours and even speech patterns. They are working at inner and outer transformation of their lives and hence society at large. This is the stage we all need to get to. It takes us beyond denial by harnessing the power of vulnerability to admit our weaknesses and our struggles. Only when we do this can we heal – individually and hence collectively.

Pre-racists or Innocents are those who are in the pre-prejudice stage; they are our children. They are racially innocent provided of course their parents, extended family or other influential adults haven’t already polluted them with their prejudice. The post-apartheid generation has a wonderful opportunity to be racism-free in a way all other South Africans could never be. It will depend on our guidance and modelling – or lack thereof – as to whether this generation is lost to racism.

I would suggest that these definitions are very useful starting points but perhaps not as clear cut as 4 neat categories. For example I am a Recovering Racist but I sometimes catch myself suppressing racist thoughts because “that’s not what a recovering racist should think”. But again I ask – and I would urge personal honesty – which type/types of racist are you? Perhaps even more importantly, are you prepared to go on a journey to the next level of recovery?

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

My sincere thanks to Alexander Venter for giving me permission to quote extensively from his book “Doing Reconciliation – Racism, Reconciliation and Transformation in Church and World.”  

 

We are all recovering racists

I have been writing about issues of racism for years now, but I have seldom felt so winded; so physically nauseated – as I did when I read those hateful words written by now infamous people.

The irony is that at the time the story broke I was enjoying our annual family holiday in the Kruger National Park. All the way around that beautiful place my wife and I were marvelling at how diverse it has become. Not so long ago – I’m talking 4 or 5 years back – it was practically all white and very conservative, to its great shame. Not anymore. All races, ages, adoptive families like ours, gay, straight you name it, we all swam together; our children made friends; we shared drinks on New Year’s Eve; we stopped and pointed out animal sightings. It was the first year in many that we felt that things had really turned and that the place was now moving towards being truly inclusive and representative.

When you are in Kruger you don’t usually stop for a Sparrow. But we did this time. She stopped us in our tracks. What we were reading on social media and in the news was just so utterly contradictory to the South Africa that we were relishing. Over the days that followed we spoke a great deal about the issues at stake. I read all the angry articles, Tweets and Facebook posts. I joined the majority of right-thinking people from South Africa and the world in my condemnation of what had been said. But a piece of the puzzle was missing; a big piece.

The discourse surrounding the whole affair began to change slightly and this is when it dawned on me; the issue is not simply the racist ravings of people like Penny Sparrow, Velaphi Khumalo or Justin van Vuuren.

Now please let me reiterate; I – like millions of other South Africans – deplore and reject all words and actions that hurt or demean others in any way. However isn’t this response a little too easy; perhaps a touch convenient given the enormity of what has been said? As sane, rational people of all races, we get to talk about the Penny Sparrows of this world. We get to write columns and blogs and Facebook posts voicing our disgust and in some cases our deep shame. This is all well, good and necessary. But does our indignation not become a spotlight that we turn on ‘those racists’ and away from ourselves?

And here is the big issue for me personally: I fight every day for equality. I write and I talk and I argue against racism constantly. I have a black child. I have beautiful, amazing black and Indian friends and colleagues whom I adore. I often publically share my frustrations with my own white self; my stuck-up, self-important, over-hasty, too direct self.

However, the question I must honestly and vulnerably ask myself, is if on a racism scale of 1 to 10 Penny Sparrow is a 12 – then where am I? I have written in this column before that ending racism begins with you and me; the painful, ongoing journey that each of us must embark on to face our prejudices head-on and get healed, and that if we are to be brutally honest with ourselves then we are all recovering racists who exist somewhere on that scale.

If these issues end with us simply venting our collective spleen against the blatant racists amongst us then surely we have missed an opportunity to turn the spotlight of those vile ramblings back onto ourselves in order that we might face up to our own prejudices and progress further down that racism scale towards zero. Imagine if we all did this? Now that would deal racism a proper blow.

Again let’s be clear; we must deal decisively with all hate speech and the people who speak it. They will undoubtedly face the full and legitimate anger of the citizenry and they must face the full might of the law. But then what? Where does that leave you and me; the racists in recovery? No further down the road of recovery than we were before Penny Sparrow.

For her the beach became the big issue. What is the issue – big or small – for you? I am not asking this question of whites only. I am asking this question of all South Africans. And if your answer is, “I am not a racist”, then I would humbly suggest that you have the furthest to go.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

 

2016 – #DemocracyMustRise

The rain fell not in drops but in great sheets; sheets of water blown sideways by a wind that howled down the valley. It drenched the land and it drenched the people. It ran in riverbeds dry from months – years – of drought, and it made rivers where none had been before. It was like the heavens had opened in answer to the millions of prayers for relief. And it was good. 88mm in an hour good.

That same week the South African currency fell not in Cents but in Rands. It tumbled like the hailstones that accompanied the gushes of good falling from the open heavens. And it just kept falling as if it were on some kind of kid’s joyride. But no one was having any fun. We were bewildered and shell-shocked; struggling to make sense of what appeared to be a willful act of sabotage on our country.

But then – as if in answer to more prayers for relief – David van Rooyen fell. Like the rain the previous day this brought great whoops of joy; relief to the scorched earth. And immediately, the party was over for the free-falling currency. Some said the rise of Pravin Gordhan was a case of too-little-too-late. Most breathed a sigh of relief. Was it too early to say the drought was over?

Not for South African rugby. Most agreed that the fall of Heyneke Meyer preceded by the fans cries of #MeyerMustFall was long overdue especially after the Springbok’s humiliating downing by Japan at the Rugby World Cup in England. Many thought Meyer should have fallen much earlier – a case of too-little-too-late? Most breathed a sigh of relief. The dream of an end to the Springbok victory drought was born.

And they sat-in and they rose-up and they marched and waved banners and they bopped and weaved their way all the way to parliament and all the way to another successful student revolution. For those of us who remember it felt dangerous but necessary; like it could turn into another 1976 only this time with a hashtag and a more representative cohort of South African students. #feesmustfall was born. And our political leaders needed a collective change of underwear and the rain fell for the students and for democracy.

All races, religions and classes stood should-to-shoulder; in fact they sat for hours, days, weeks in protest against institutional racism at the University of Cape Town. They called for transformation and they made Rhodes the symbol of the movement. The #RhodesMustFall was born. This time the iconic statue of Cecil John Rhodes came down and in its place rose hope; hope for a future that would see racism fall and student leaders rise to challenge the system and the government of the day. Many asked where these youngsters had been for 21 years. Most applauded their campaign.

And #ZumaMustFall was born. The doubt had always been there but for many millions of South Africans the benefit had ended. Social media erupted and marches were organised. The stream that had begun to flow from UCT some 10 months earlier had grown into a river that was now rushing straight into the corridors of power. And of all the #campaigns in 2015 this is the one that is certain to succeed. It is simply a matter of time.

And in it all democracy rises and rises and rises yet again. That is what has made this a great year. It is not that we haven’t been battered, beaten and bruised. It is not that we haven’t been taken to breaking point. It has been a grinding year in which we have lost many battles. But as we approach its end we can say that every time the people have found their voice; every time citizens have rallied together, change has occurred; democracy has been victorious.

Once again we hear the voices of those who believe South Africa is doomed to ‘go the way of Zimbabwe’. This is utter bollocks! Democracy has never been healthier or more vibrant than it is currently. We only need to look at the few examples I have given above to realise that the people are more powerful than at any other time in the life of our young democracy.

We must remind ourselves that challenges to democracy do not constitute its failure. It is only when those challenges succeed that democracy is weakened. It is up to us citizens to ensure that this never happens. We must redouble our efforts and we must continue to use all means at our disposal to tackle every challenge that we are faced with; take to the streets, take to social media, write to the editor and whatever you do – vote in next year’s Local Government elections. It is up to us ensure that 2016 is another year in which the rain fell and democracy rose.

#DemocracyMustRise.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

Hope for Menstruating Girls – part 2

Many of you will know that I am passionate about a number of topics not least of all sanitary pads. You will know this because for the past year I have been appealing to readers of this column to join me in providing packs of washable, reusable sanitary pads to impoverished girls in rural schools. This innovative and uniquely South African product – beautifully designed packs called Subz Pads and Panties – costs just R140 and will last a girl 3 years. For literally millions of girls across our country, such a product is nothing short of a miracle; it will prevent the indignity of using toilet paper, newspaper and in many cases used pads passed on by friends and sisters; it will prevent the spread of diseases; it will prevent girls from missing more than one-and-a-half years of school during their high school career because of their monthly period – a major determining factor in terms of girls matriculating.

Readers of this column have contributed a fantastic R100 000 to this life-changing initiative known to us as Project Dignity. I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for your incredible generosity. With these funds we have helped nearly 800 girls in a number of different rural schools.

It was on a recent activation at a school in one of the poorer communities we have visited that we all became aware of a very unusual reaction from the girls to the product. The girls usually whoop and high five one another when Sue Barnes of Subzs shows them the pads themselves. But in this community the greatest joy was reserved for when she pulled out the two pairs of panties that come in each girl’s pack.

We couldn’t understand this reaction until after the activation when we were talking to one of the teachers at the school. She explained to us that not only do the girls have limited access to sanitary pads – they have no panties either. The result of this lack is extremely damaging to the young female psyche; a stripping of self-worth and dignity; lowered levels of self-esteem; even self-loathing; a giving over of her body – an object of embarrassment, ridicule and disgust – to very youthful sexual relations, unprotected sex, sex for money and other forms of abuse. The knock-on consequences of all this? Apart from the detrimental effect on the girls themselves, Marie Stopes International tells us that there are approximately 260 000 abortions in South Africa per annum of which between 52-58% are illegal. 3500 babies are abandoned each year.

The 2011 census revealed that there are 7 million girls between the age of 10 and 19 in the lower Living Standards Measurement (LSM) brackets. We can safely say that a significant percentage of these girls will have limited access to both sanitary products and panties.

Now we can campaign, protest and generally jump up-and-down during these 16 Days of Activism for No Violence against Women and Children – and we should. But how can we have meaningful impact on our extraordinarily high levels of abuse if we allow the perpetration of such indignity and degradation on our girls on a daily basis? Abuse of girls and women must include not providing adequately for their monthly periods. Empowering women has to begin at the most fundamental level; honouring their femaleness – not as something base and dirty and embarrassing – but as something God-given and miraculous. Girls and women must be enabled to embody their femaleness with absolute pride and dignity. This is the most powerful anti-abuse message we can send.

I am acutely aware that many of us feel overwhelmed and helpless during the 16 Days of Activism. What can we do to help? Well, working together we have empowered 800 young girls this year alone. We did this ourselves; this generous community of readers.

We invite you to join us and sponsor a (nother) 3 year supply of pads and panties for one girl. For just R140 you will change her life forever.

The Peace Agency bank details are as follows:

FNB Durban North

Acc #: 6215 995 8217

Branch code: 22-04-26

Please reference your donation with “Project Dignity”

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

A Day without Water

Malcolm Muggeridge famously said: “Every happening, great and small, is a parable whereby God speaks to us, and the art of life is to get the message.” What are some of the messages from our current water crisis?

Certainly we must urgently work together to save water, but why do we only save water when there is a crisis? We have become so technologically advanced that we are blinded to what we actually need to stay alive on earth. Does this water crisis not demand of us that we begin to view the world differently? Does it not demand that we begin to cherish that which we discard with such ease? Does it not teach us to educate our children about the value of our natural resources – in times of both lack and plenty?

The other lesson this drought must teach us is that however advanced we may have become, we are inextricably linked to the earth. We do not exist apart from it. We are indeed, one. We seem only to truly internalise this fact when – having pillaged our planet – we are faced with the realities of hunger or thirst.

By now you will have read many ideas of how you can save water and I hope that we are actioning them all. However, I want to suggest that we do something a little different as citizens; something that allows us to truly identify with this drought. You may remember a very impactful campaign run by World Vision called The 40 Hour Famine. Members of the public were invited to fast for 40 hours in order to experience what it felt like to go hungry. People would sponsor the participants and money was raised for victims of famine across Africa. It was incredibly successful.

I want to suggest that we undertake a similar campaign called A Day without Water. For 24 hours we shall pretend that we have no access to water (in taps, pools etc). We will have to make preparations to store enough water for drinking and cooking; we will go without baths and showers; we won’t swim. We will live as if water has run out and all that is left is that which we have stored. This will give us some sense of the life that so many people across our country are currently living.

Then, I invite you to get people to sponsor you for each hour that you go without water. As an NGO we have identified an ingenious solution to the drought in rural areas: PlayPumps – water pumps that are connected to children’s merry-go-rounds. As the kids play, water is pumped out of the ground for the local community. Help us to raise funds to get as many of these installed in needy areas as possible.

A Day without Water will run from 18:00 on Friday 4^th December to 18:00 on Saturday 5^th. Please spread the word. Get your companies, schools and places of worship involved; get social and other media on board. You can e-mail me on justin@peaceagency.org.za for bank details and if you have ideas and suggestions that can enhance the campaign.

Let’s make this a national, annual event. Then we will truly have got the message from the parable of our water crisis.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

You, me and Bheki Cele

It was moments after the Boks trounced Scotland at St. James Park. Spirits were running high and flowing liberally. The family – along with the nation – were elated.

My Uncle Reggie was in good form but I noted with some concern that he was getting quiet. This always suggests that one of his famous political proclamations is not far off.

And so it came. Somewhere between a Nick Mallett technical tirade and a Naas Botha – well, a Naas Botha, Reggie murmured: “They must just bring back Bheki Cele.” We all turned slowly, jaws slightly ajar.

It was not this bewildering non sequitur that elicited our collective bemusement but rather the fact that Reggie had learnt how to pronounce “Cele” properly – click and all. (Like most English speakers he would usually pronounce it Chelly as in “Jelly”). This new-found respect spoke volumes. Reggie clearly meant business and we could tell that it was time to turn off the tellie.

The most recent crime statistics have caused justifiable shock. The details are well documented, suffice to say that we are slowly but surely turning the tide on nearly two decades of solid progress in reducing most categories of crime. Our National Police Commissioner Riah Phiyega’s head is being called for and the general vibe is that people want Bheki back.

Of course on paper this makes some sense. The man served for only three years and managed to reduce crime in nine out of 10 categories. His predecessor the lake Jackie Selebi was also relatively successful in reducing crime. He wasn’t as successful as Captain Fantastic but he was certainly more successful than Phiyega. Now let’s be honest the only thing that she currently has going for her over the other two is that she hasn’t been found guilty of any crimes or serious misdemeanours. Selebi died in disgrace having been jailed for corruption. Cele was also found guilty of maladministration by a Commission of Enquiry and relieved of his duties by the president.

“Reg,” I ventured tentatively; “Bheki Cele was found to be unfit for public office”

I knew I was in trouble the moment I said it. Twenty minutes later we all excused ourselves and went our separate ways.

You see we South Africans do many things well; braaivleis, rugby, sunny skies and international TV personalities. But we are Olympic when it comes to double standards. Without any hint of irony, we can call for Jacob Zuma’s removal from the presidency for alleged corruption and in the same breath call for Bheki Cele’s reinstatement as Police Commissioner in spite of his guilt not being alleged. How does that work?

Well, it’s quite simple really. Our values hold no value. Simply put, we are willing to flip-flop our way through life going wherever we can get the best deal. What is the result? A nation bedevilled by some of the highest crime rates in the world. Get it? We are the problem.

Now you may ask what the connection is between our nebulous values and the soaring crime rate. Well if lawfulness is our value – which I am trusting that for most of us it is – then we have to hold to that value (not simply hold others to that value!) in spite of what benefits there may be to compromising it. This means that there are some things that we are not permitted to do. Here are some of those:

• We are not permitted to call for the return of Bheki Cele as Police Commissioner – however much we may believe his approach to policing worked – because to do so would be to endorse maladministration.
• We are not permitted to break the law however “small” we may feel the infraction to be.
• We are not permitted – however tempting – to act on the question; “everyone is doing it so why can’t I?”
• We cannot withhold revenue or information from SARS.
• We cannot pride ourselves on doing the right thing “most of the time”.
• We cannot work in an environment that is corrupt or unethical without either speaking up or resigning.
• We cannot give or receive bribes even if to do so would prevent us from being imprisoned.
• We cannot take revenge when a wrong is perpetrated against us.

This list is not exhaustive and hopefully you will already have noted one or two that I have missed. Now remember these points only apply if lawfulness is your value. If it isn’t then not to worry about any of it. The law may or may not catch up with you. But if – like me – you are passionately concerned about peace in our country then the above points need to be adhered to as a minimum requirement. It begins by putting an immovable stake in the ground when it comes to living our values. Then it takes us acknowledging the double standards we have got so used to living by, and ridding ourselves of them.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

Tired of being white

Recently there was a story of a small goat who thought he was a chicken. This got me thinking about my own identify and caused me to reflect on the fact that whilst I am a white South African, I would currently rather not be.

So I asked a black colleague and friend of mine about what the white equivalent of a “coconut” is. Of course a coconut is a somewhat derogatory term for someone who is “black on the outside and white on the inside.” But what is someone who is white on the outside, black on the inside, or would at least like to be? She looked confused and then pronounced me a Top Deck!

It is hard to explain this identify crisis of mine other than to say that I am tired of being white. Now, please don’t get me wrong; I do not dislike mine or anyone else’s whiteness, nor do I feel guilty for being white. This also has nothing to do with the colour of my skin per se although living in Africa certainly has its challenges for us melanin-deficient folk. I am just tired of what it means to be South African and to be white.

In truth this identify crisis has been brewing inside me for some time now and to write it down and air it for all to read is quite hard; vulnerable. What kind of person publically disses their own colour/culture? Aren’t we all meant to defend our racial and cultural identity? But I ask that you would walk this road with me, because perhaps if we go there together we may find that we are all battling – to some degree or another – with our racial identity.

I am tired of the way I view the world as a white person. The more time I spend with people of different colours and cultures the more one-dimensional, overly-simplistic and irrationally self-righteous I realise my worldview can be. To add to this – or perhaps to protect myself from these hard realisations – I have created a life for me and my family that ensures that our access to other cultures is limited at best.

I am tired of the fact that I say how much I love this country but I have spent so little time actively exploring and participating in the rich and diverse heritage of our people. Opting for the comfort and safety of what is known and familiar I basically live on a cultural island. And yet when I do venture into the unknown and actually spend time interacting outside of my norms, I am humbled – to be honest, broken – by how petty, parochial and self-absorbed I am. My decidedly Western, dualistic view of the world and my neat, judgement-laden boxes labelled things like “religion”, “meditation”, “time”, “marriage”, “ancestors” etc. are squashed in an instant when I let go and spend some time being with those different to me. And I discover how much I have to learn. This is uncomfortable as I have always viewed myself as ‘the teacher’.

I am tired of belonging to a group that feels constantly hard done by. Why can we not see that we deserve to be last because we were first for so long (we still are if we are to be honest)?

I am tired of how little we value and respect age.

I am tired of participating in conversations about how apartheid didn’t benefit “us” because we were kids or not even born during those dark years. This view reinforces the “us vs them” mind-set that is slowly killing our country. If we aren’t even at the point where we can own our stuff, then we are the ones scuppering the healing process. The truth is that if you are white and have spent any length of time on South African soil (more than, say, 24 hours); whether you are 100 years old or have just been born – you benefit/have benefited from apartheid.

And at the risk of picking at a newly formed scab, I am tired of having to justify why I feel that the lack of transformation in sport 21 years into democracy is so unacceptable. I am tired of engaging in conversations in which we pontificate about how we should be selecting players based on merit not skin colour. Why can we not see that if real transformation doesn’t happen and urgently, Japan will not be the only second tier team that beats us? There are around 47 million non-white South Africans. We will win bigger, better and more often when we have this massive pool to choose from.

My deepest hope is that we will urgently move to a point where we can have open, generous, non-judgemental conversations about race and racial identity. This must not be left up to politicians – they will likely damage our fragile bridges. The responsibility is ours – the citizens of this country.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

Lessons from a South African mine

There was an air of anticipation in the room as they filed in and took their seats. This was the second and final day of the workshop and by now the nerves of day 1 had subsided. New friends greeted one another and old friends laughed and chatted.

They took their seats and focused intently on one of my colleagues who would be facilitating the session. Silence descended and then she asked the question: “What makes you valuable?” 15 pairs of eyes looked shyly down and hands were folded nervously in laps. An aching silence fell over the room.

The question had been posed to the group at the end of day 1 and their homework was to go and ask wives, husbands, children, and neighbours what it was that made them valuable. My colleague – aware that a group of frontline mine workers may never have considered such a question – allowed the question to hang. Silence. She repeated the question: “What makes you valuable?”

After what felt like an eternity a man stood up slowly and tentatively. The room held its breath: “My wife told me that I am just a good father to our children.” Eyes looked up slowly and then the applause began. The man – an older African gentlemen – looked somewhat confused. His eyes seemed to say: “Perhaps they didn’t hear me correctly; perhaps my English wasn’t correct; I said that all that made me valuable is that I am a good father to our children.” But the applause continued. He smiled; the broadest, proudest smile I have seen in years. He had risen to tell his story as a man who saw himself as valueless. He took his seat once again filled with a sense of his own self-worth.

And one-by-one they stood and spoke. The group – predominantly men – recalled what wives, kids and community members had said about them. And they loved it! But fascinatingly, most of their stories included the word ‘just’:

‘”My family say that I am just a good provider.”

“My kids say I am valuable because I just buy them food and gifts.”

“My neighbour says I am just a good member of our community.”

“My wife says I am just a good husband”.

I do not believe for one moment that their friends and loved ones used the word ‘just’ to describe any of these incredible men; what was said about each of them was so far from ‘just’ anything.

But the hard truth is that for years, decades – we have spent our time exploring what it is about one another that we dislike; what it is that makes you less valuable to me. And no one knows a lack of value better than frontline mine workers in South Africa. If any group has fundamentally internalised and accepted a lack of personal value, it is this group. I believe that it is this fact – not the reason that so often presents itself; dispute over wages – that leads to the violence that we see on our mines. People learn to interpret their value by the size of their pay packet and violence erupts when their ‘value’ is not increased sufficiently. But what option have people been given to experience true value and worth in any other way?

I sat at the back of the room listening and watching as the confidence of the room grew; as men began to sit up a little straighter and smile as if they meant it. And I wondered if Marikana might have been avoided had Lonmin taken the time to ask their people the question; “what makes you valuable”- and really listened to the answers? And I wondered how much of the destruction that we see in our country wouldn’t be avoided if we all took the time to explore one another’s value – give value to another – beyond the tasks that we are employed to fulfill.

At a time when mines are trying desperately to hold onto their own value, Richards Bay Minerals is counter-intuitively working to instill value into its people. This is not just good in terms of healing and building individuals, communities and the nation at large; it makes solid business sense too. By being willing to speak to the intrinsic value of the human being, this company is giving each member of its staff-force a deep and abiding sense of self-worth. And they have learned that self-worth is the cornerstone of an inspired, safe and productive workforce.

This is the lesson that businesses – and most urgently mines – need to learn in South Africa.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

A man’s world – and always will be?

It is seldom that I read something that physically winds me. John Metta’s piece on Huffington Post entitled “I-Racist” did just that. If you haven’t read it I suggest you take a few deep breaths and do so. It is deeply challenging.

I don’t want to ruin the read for you but at the heart of Metta’s piece is a simple hypothesis: the world order is still fundamentally white and not much about this fact is changing.

But I don’t want to go down the race road in this piece; you can read I-Racist for that. I want to make a connection between what Metta is saying and Women’s Month/Day; the world order is still fundamentally male and we – men that is – are not doing enough to change this. In fact it can be argued that we are contributing to it.

Over the years I have become increasingly concerned that August’s focus on women is beginning to do more harm than good. In a very insidious way we have begun to trivialise the issue of the inequality and abuse of women on a very fundamental level and – in so doing – we have watered down the very message that this month is aiming to communicate.

August was meant to remind us that the emancipation of South African women is an ongoing project that is nowhere near completion. Instead we have slowly but surely turned it into something that looks like a cross between Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day: “Have you told your girls how much you love them?” I was asked on Women’s Day. I believe that this creeping distortion of what this month is all about is damaging the cause of the true emancipation of women.

Contributing to this distortion is the growing commercialisation of Women’s Month; it is being used to market and sell products from beds to stationery. The current strapline of a Bic pen campaign is particularly troubling: “Look like a girl, Act like a lady, Think like a man, Work like a boss. #HappyWomen’sDay.” This campaign – and indeed many others –belittles the devastating issues facing millions of women on a daily basis in this country.

Back to the connection with I-Racist: We live in a society in which men benefit from the oppression of women. Fundamentally we don’t believe that there is a problem with women’s equality in South Africa, just like we don’t fundamentally believe that there is a problem with racism. White people believe that black people should just “get over themselves” and “stop playing the race card”. Men fundamentally believe the same about women; “what do you mean you don’t have the same opportunities as men?” we ask incredulously.

And if this sounds harsh then I invite you to ask yourself a few questions: how many female directors are there on your board? How many female leaders are there in your church/place of worship? How many male secretaries are there in your company? If the answer to all these questions is 50:50 then you have joined the fight against the abuse of women in South Africa. If not – then you are contributing to it.

As President Obama said about tackling racism, it is not simply “avoiding the use of the word nigger”. By the same token, we abuse women in myriad ways and not just in how we talk about them or have sex with them – although those are massive issues in this country. We abuse them by accepting salaries that are higher than our female counterparts (on average 30% higher); we abuse them by investing in JSE-listed companies in spite of the fact that only 16% of executive directors in these companies are women; we abuse them by attending places of worship that continue to privilege men for positions of leadership and we abuse them by using Women’s Day to market products.

The reality is that we are women abusers not necessarily because we lift a hand against women (although many do that too) but because we fail to lift our voices against a system that fundamentally, intrinsically privileges men.

Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.

Our children deserve the new travel regulations

I have been reluctant to weigh in on the issue of the new immigration regulations pertaining to children but I can contain myself no longer.

Let me begin by recapping the intention behind the new regulations; to prevent child trafficking. Let me also – just for the sake of clarity – define what “child trafficking” is. Child trafficking is defined as: “the illegal movement of children, typically for the purposes of forced labour or sexual exploitation.”

Now it is important that we humanise this issue because the arguments against the new immigration regulations have been worryingly callous; “How many children are really trafficked into or out of South Africa each year?” “Most kids enter or exit illegally through our very porous borders as opposed to through legitimate channels where their travel documents will be checked.” I even heard one travel industry commentator quipping; “Is this not using a steam-roller to crack a nut?”

Researchers seem to agree that hundreds than in the thousands of children are trafficked into or out of South Africa each year. Now to put these meaningless numbers into a little context all I ask is that you close your eyes and imagine your son, daughter or grandchild – the one who is currently playing happily outside with her friends or watching some TV – imagine that child dirty and broken, parading the streets of a foreign country, turning tricks to fuel her insatiable drug habit and the bottomless pit of her “Daddy’s” lust for money. Would you not want to do everything in your power to prevent this from happening? Would you not stand in a queue at Home Affairs all day, every day for the rest of your life to ensure that that dreadful image never became a reality? Of course you would and stuff what anyone had to say about; “the negative impact on our tourism industry.” What callousness! Quite frankly if people are put off coming to our country because we love and care for our children then they should not be welcomed here in the first place.

And let’s be honest here, we are not asking for all that much. Here is an extract from the website www.sapeople.com: “All children under the age of 18 – both local and foreigners – are now required to travel with a valid passport and an unabridged (full) birth certificate stating both parents’ names. If the child is travelling alone or with only one parent, then the child must also carry an affidavit filled out by the missing parent/s.” This particular website then goes on to provide a Parental Consent Form that you can download and use.

So all that is needed apart from the normal passport is an unabridged birth certificate and – only if the child is travelling without both parents – an affidavit from the missing parent stating that the child has permission to travel. If you are travelling from outside South Africa all you require is an official document stating the name of both the child’s parents. According to the Board of Airline Representatives (BARSA) this will cost the tourism sector over R6.8bn in losses and could result in job cuts. It did not specify the timeframe for these massive losses or how the figure was calculated.

But even if these figures are valid which is highly questionable, should we be placing monetary values – however large – onto children lives? Essentially what we are indicating when we say that the travel industry will lose RXYZ billion is that children’s lives are not worth this amount. Again – close your eyes and imagine your child.

Now I know there is a bigger picture here regarding the impact on the economy and de facto on people’s lives as a result of travel industry related job losses etc. But in truth should we not be aiming to create jobs and boost tourism whilst doing everything in our power to prevent the incalculable losses associated with child trafficking? Should we not adopt a certain cosmetic brand’s strapline; “First Do No Harm” and ensure that our travel industry does not thrive at the expense of even one child?

To quote another well know brand’s strapline lets; “Just do it”. Let’s go to home affairs, stand in the queue, get the unabridged birth certificate, do an affidavit and stop bloody whining. If we imagine that our efforts are saving children’s lives rather than wasting our oh-so-precious time and money then we may even do it with a sense of pride that our country is doing all it can to safeguard our children.

This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.