Intellectuals under fire

Abstract

The nation is awash in 'ten years of democracy' celebrations and, perhaps predictably in an election year, the ruling party has ensured that the enormous accomplishments of 'the rainbow people of God' cover all fronts and are attributed to this act of covering that conceals the disturbing ferment percolating wildly just below the thin surface membrane of our young democracy. I speak of the unprecedented attacks on intellectuals, the widespread self-censorship among the black elite, the quiet but effective ways of silencing dissent- and the uncritical reflections on what this might mean for the future of our young democracy. I do not come at this debate from the position of the cynic--in its politely liberal or aggressive racist tones. Indeed, to dismiss the enormous strides taken since the early 1990s in building this young democracy as fictitious rainbowism is unfair and misleading. Much has been attained. On the other hand, to celebrate mindlessly the achievements of the state is to render this young democracy acutely vulnerable to the very stresses and strains that destroyed some of the most promising democratic movements on the continent. I enter this debate via personal stories of my own experiences in the past ten years as an independent critic loyal to the democratic project for which so many paid the ultimate sacrifice. In March 2004 the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC Radio) aired a live documentary of almost three hours on the now ubiquitous theme of 'ten years of democracy'. I was invited to lead the segment on and to address the question as to whether there was space for criticism and independent thought tell years later. Contrary to the excessive ululation from a dozen other speakers in the earlier segments, I made the point that intellectuals are in fact under fire in this new democracy, and that those working in universities (not to be confused with academics) have, well, shut-up in the face of such relentless fire. I suggested three reasons for this. First, there is the threat of ostracisation. White intellectuals are readily branded as racists at the slightest indication of a position that differs from the official party line, or that flies in the face of black privilege. Black people know that the charge of racism is the most effective emotional weapon to silence white people--particularly those whose lives have been committed to fighting the scourge of racism. Black intellectuals easily branded as disloyal, a charge that seldom describes the subject of disloyalty (disloyal to what?) but which nevertheless summonses the emotions of deep racial solidarities forged under the fire of apartheid. Second, there is the fear of retaliation through the withdrawal of rewards readily on offer through politics, the bureaucracy and the private sector to those who cooperate. Black enrichment has proceeded at an alarming rate, albeit for a few, and those public figures called intellectuals could easily turn from a lousy salary in university life to an abundance of wealth and recognition under the largesse of the state and its BEE (Black Economic Empowerment) affiliates. Third, there is the uncertainty of reaction--that personal lack of confidence or certainty in how to respond to power within this new space created for democratic life. South Africa had one of the most articulate intellectual communities--encompassing artists, academics and journalists--under and against apartheid. For many, the liberation movements had taken on romantic and idealistic proportions, especially under the leadership of the Islander, Nelson Mandela. Much had been sacrificed in terms of black life, quite literally, and this was embodied in the African National Congress. Surely intellectuals cannot stand up to this new nationalism, premised as it is on the politics of race? Or can they? One of the respondents to my opening statement was a senior ANC loyalist and constitutional court judge. …