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How the Cabinet fared in 1998
December 24, 1998
report card
NELSON MANDELA
President
Grade: A
Few people in recorded history have been the subject of such high expectations; still fewer have matched them; Mandela has exceeded them. We knew of his fortitude before he left jail; we have since experienced his extraordinary reserves of goodwill, his sense of fun and the depth of his maturity. As others' prisoner, he very nearly decided the date of his own release; as president, he has wisely chosen the moment of his going. Any other nation would consider itself privileged to have his equal as its leader. His last full year in power provides us with an occasion again to consider his achievement in bringing and holding our fractious land together. A few ill-considered comments, such as his jibe about "Mickey Mouse" opposition parties, do not detract substantially from his record.
Prognosis: A long and happy eventide with Graça, his children and grandchildren, spent mainly in Qunu and Mozambique, and the enduring love of a grateful people.
THABO MBEKI
Deputy President
Grade: B
Doing the top job without being the top person can't be easy, even if the boss is as supportive as Mandela has been. Yet the government, administration and African National Congress have evinced ever more of Mbeki's imprimatur over the year. He has moved placemen into key positions: Tito Mboweni to the Reserve Bank, Bulelani Ngcuka to top national prosecutor and Jacob Zuma and other Friends of Thabo (FOTs) into a committee to help him (rather than the ANC's unco-operative conference) control which other ANC leader gets what job.
He has faced down the infantile tendency in the South African Communist Party with help from Mandela; absorbed criticism of his growth, employment and redistribution strategy with the help of Minister of Finance Trevor Manuel; and kept the SACP and unions on board for the election campaign through Minister of Trade and Industry Alec Erwin's skills at the presidential Jobs Summit.
He has held a steady course in difficult circumstances. There have, however, been some unnecessary bumps along the way. He, Mandela and Minister of Foreign Affairs Alfred Nzo managed to be out of the country when our forces intervened in Lesotho - our first post-apartheid cross-border adventure. A week later, he looked stupid when he prematurely announced a peace agreement between Lesotho's warring factions. And there have been a number of strange judgment calls, such as his office's attacks on the head of the Institute for the Advancement of Democracy in South Africa, Wilmot James, and the Heath special investigative unit for its pursuit of Minister of Health Nkosazana Zuma.
Prognosis: What sort of president he makes is likely to depend on whether or not he develops an inner confidence he has hitherto lacked.
How the Cabinet did in 1997: A report card
December 23, 1997
We evaluate the peformances of South Africa's ministers over the past year
Keeping score: What the marks mean:
A -- Brilliant. On top of the job, innovative, delivering. Vote yourself a salary increase.
B -- Very good. Could do better.
C -- Average. Needs quite a lot of brushing up.
D -- Mediocre. Not up to scratch.
E -- Lousy. One last chance or you're fired.
F -- Pathetic, a fail. An appointment as ambassador to Vanuarta or Burkina Faso should be announced shortly.
Name: Nelson Mandela
Title: President
Grade: B
Has spent much time this year preparing the country and the world for his successor, Thabo Mbeki. In marked contrast to neighbouring heads of state such as Namibia's Sam Nujoma and Zimbabwe's Robert Mugabe, Mandela shows no determination to hang on to the reins of power, and appears genuinely to relish his impending retirement in the company of Gra=E7a Machel and his grandchildren. He retains an admirable commitment to nation-building, reconciliation and political stability, going out of his way, for instance, to assuage the fears of white farmers. His belief in jaw jaw rather than war war led him to give the finger to the world's only remaining superpower and visit Libya. His status as a statesman of international repute has been slightly tarnished by his tendency to shoot from the hip. However, his intemperate attacks on the political opposition and the media and undemocratic slightly paranoid utterances, most notably in his five-hour speech to the African National Congress conference, have lowered his overall rating.
Prognosis: A well-earned retirement and not a moment too soon.
Name: Thabo Mbeki
Title: Deputy President
Grade: B
As strategic and canny as he is behind the scenes, Mbeki has not yet emerged as a people's politician. He remains fairly aloof, surrounded by a close circle of officials, ministers, businessmen and old-time comrades. He gets full marks for his grasp of politics inside the ANC, though the country as a whole would like to get to know him better. He has championed a new brand of Africanism which has won favour with a section of the black intelligentsia. For many whites, his earlier, more cuddly image as a pipe-smoking pragmatist has been replaced by an altogether tougher, slightly scary figure. Chances are that both are caricatures and that the real Thabo Mbeki will start to emerge in the year ahead. As the de facto head of government, Mbeki must bear some of the blame for its failure to deliver transformation on the ground. Through some masterful stage-management, however, he emerged from the ANC conference stronger and with the party united behind him --for now, anyway.
Prognosis: He will need all that unity in the tough year ahead, with an election coming up, the Growth, Employment and Redistribution (Gear) programme still failing to make the grade, impatience for delivery on the ground and some of his least favourite people voted into prominent positions on the ANC's national executive committee (NEC).
REPORT CARD ON THE CABINET
MAIL & GUARDIAN December 31, 1996
Nelson Mandela
President
Score: 7,9 Last year: 9,5
Our panel's ratings: 9,5; 7; 7; 8Achievements: Panellists all cited the president's status as an international statesman, and his ongoing nation-building and reconciliation work. He also scored marks for taking a firm decision on the two Chinas, setting up a clear succession in the ANC and holding the alliance together.
Failings: Mandela lost points for heavy-handed leadership (one panellist called it an authoritarian tendency), with our experts citing his handling of Pallo Jordan, Bantu Holomisa, Terror Lekota and black journalists. He was criticised also for covering up on the Sarafina II affair and interfering in provincial political contests. He also has not showed the leadership which would ensure government delivery on its promises, allowing ministers to spend all their time writing green and white papers, rather than implementing changes.
How the Mail & Guardian report cards were rated
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* Mandela forgot the Dalai Lama
* What the press missed in the Mbeki flurryCYBERSPACE
* Brief biography from the M&G's online A to Z of South African politics
* Excepts and photographs from President Nelson Mandela's autobiography
Thabo Mbeki
Deputy President
Score: 5,8 Last year: 4
Our panel's ratings: 6; 7; 6; 4Achievements: Mbeki was credited for brokering the KwaZulu-Natal rapprochement, for his contribution to bilateral diplomacy, for holding the ANC alliance together and for quietly overseeing succesful constitutional negotiations. Also mentioned was his powerful speech at the adoption of the Constitution ("Today it feels good to be an African"), his role in shifting Raymond Mhlaba out of the Eastern Cape premiership, and his grasp of macro-economics.
Failings: His bad public and media relations came up repeatedly, as did his poor choice of some of his advisers; one panellist mentioned his "lack of visionary leadership", another his role in handling Holomisa, Alan Boesak and Cyril Ramaphosa, a third his slowness in pushing through the Open Democracy Bill. His most notable achievement, one said, was "getting rid of his political opponents".
* Brief biography from the M&G's online A to Z of South African politics
How well did the Cabinet do this year
December 22, 1995
Cabinet members are assessed only on their performance in government - not on their party leadership or conduct outside Parliament (ie barging into live TV studios is not taken into account). They are rated on a scale of one to 10. Ten means they should have the job for life; one means they should be fired at dawn; five means they haven't achieved too much, but also haven't done much damage. (The figure in brackets is the rating we gave Cabinet members in April, when - with few exceptions - they had been in office for a year.) Compiled by Anton Harber
Nelson Mandela
9,5 (Previous scorecard, April 1995: 9,5)
The growing tendency to treat the president as a living saint doesn't do him or his government any good. So we searched long and hard for signs that he was not perfect. We found one: his reluctance to undertake a minor but necessary Cabinet reshuffle, even though he himself was embarrased by the Foreign Affairs Ministry over Nigeria, and some of the ministries most important to his government programme are moving too slowly.
Thabo Mbeki
First Deputy President
4 (6)
The de facto prime minister is pulled in too many directions to focus on any one thing for long enough. And when he does, he hasn't always got it right. He misread Nigeria - perhaps the most serious error of the new government - and earlier in the year he bungled, both the Allan Boesak and Winnie Mandela affairs. He remains a wily politician, systematically arming himself with the two essential weapons of modern politics: a support base among particular groups (such as women, who've been promised all future Cabinet appointments) and plenty of air miles.
FW de Klerk
Deputy President
4 (4)
De Klerk is one of the very few people for whom Mandela shows dislike, even contempt. But that's the least of the former president's problems. His biggest is the truth commission, largely because truth has never been a strong point of the National Party. After that comes the fact that his usefulness in the Government of National Unity has a time limit on it, and thereafter he will be leader of a party doomed to opposition and internal division. All of which makes him an unusual phenomenon: a man whose past is as uncertain as his future.
[…]
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
The ANC and the seven dwarfs
December 04, 1998
Robert Mattes: A SECOND LOOK
The details of the first Opinion '99 survey (a consortium of Idasa, Markinor and the South African Broadcasting Corporation) have been widely reported. But once one backs away from the fine brush strokes of the numbers, what emerges is a distinct picture of the South African electorate six to seven months away from the second general election.
Broadly, the survey reveals an electorate that is engaged and discerning, critical in some aspects and satisfied in others. Voters are certainly not as blindly loyal to the parties they supported in 1994 as is widely depicted.
The government is in a strong strategic position - much of it of its own making, but also owing to the fact that opposition parties fail to present most voters with a credible alternative. Yet the government is not politically unassailable. Indeed, over the past year- and-a-half the African National Congress has lost a significant amount of its "confirmed" support.
From late 1994 to mid-1997, 61% to 64% of potential voters regularly told Markinor interviewers they would vote for the ANC if an election were held the next day. However, in September 1998 that figure dropped to 51%. When asked whether they feel close to any political party, only slightly more than one-third (35%) said they identify with the ANC.
Underlying this is the fact that an increasingly large number of people think the country is headed in the wrong direction - a useful summary indicator of overall political optimism or pessimism.
Since 1994, when 76% said the country was headed in the right direction, Markinor surveys have tracked a gradual decline in optimism, with particularly sharp drops since 1996.
The first Opinion '99 survey in September registered the first time the optimistic and pessimistic trend lines have crossed, with 44% saying the country is headed in the wrong direction, and 43% saying it's going in the right direction.
At the same time, surveys by the Institute for Democracy in South Africa (Idasa) over the past few years have tracked a steady decrease in the proportion of people who say the national economy has been improving, as well as in those who expect it to improve in the next year. The drop in optimistic expectations has been especially notable among black voters over the past year.
Perhaps most worrying from the ANC's perspective is the extent of dissatisfaction with government performance on issues that voters rate most important.
While 73% cite employment as the most important issue to be addressed, only 12% think the government is doing a good job in this area. Sixty-four per cent cite crime as most important, yet only 18% think the government is doing a good job dealing with it.
And, only 18% think the government has done a good job with the economy, a fast emerging problem of public attention now cited by almost one in five voters.
Thus, as the country gears up for the election, 56% of all potential voters now say they do not feel close to any political party. Four in 10 insist they do not even "lean" towards a specific party. And one in five say they do not know who they would vote for if an election were held tomorrow.
With so many voters without a "standing choice", one might expect opposition parties to reap an electoral bonanza a few months down the line. But before opposition leaders get too excited, they need to take a deep whiff of reality.
Firstly, the ANC still enjoys a commanding lead in popular support. Even while there have been real declines in confirmed ANC support, intention to vote for any opposition party remains exactly where it was in late 1994 (28%).
Furthermore, only 9% of the electorate identify with any opposition party. If this were a fairy tale, an apt title might be "The ANC and the Seven Dwarfs".
The measured decline in ANC support is a partial sign of the "normalisation" of democratic politics in South Africa.
Governments must make decisions. And while they hope to satisfy a majority in order to remain in power, the very act of governing will almost certainly dissatisfy many people, including many of its original supporters.
Thus, with ANC support in the 1994 election and in subsequent opinion polls already soaring at stratospheric levels, a drop could have been expected.
But in a "normal" democratic system, one would also expect government losses to turn into opposition gains. This clearly has not happened. But why is opposition support so anaemic?
Firstly, even while voters increasingly see the country going in the wrong direction, they do not necessarily blame the government. For instance, among the one-third of black voters who think the country is going in the wrong direction, only 37% would lay all the blame on the government. Fifty-two per cent of these voters say other factors (such as other parties, the media and business) are partially or wholly to blame.
In fact, the public thinks the government has been doing a good job overall. Around eight in 10 have consistently said President Nelson Mandela has been handling his job "well" or "very well" since 1995; Deputy President Thabo Mbeki has also received increasingly positive ratings (now at 67%).
This bodes well for the ANC since comparative experience from other democracies suggest the popularity of outgoing or incumbent executives has an important influence on the electoral fortunes of their party. Moreover, as of the last survey, 58% give positive ratings of the government's overall performance.
But more problematic, from the perspective of the opposition, is that even on those key issues where dissatisfaction with ANC performance is widespread, few voters see any alternative. Thus, only 24% say they could trust the National Party to handle employment issues, 14% say the Democratic Party, and even less for all other opposition parties. You get the picture?
Across the 13 performance areas included in our questions, at no point do any more than a quarter of the electorate say they trust any opposition party on any issue. This is not simply a consequence of people who do not like or do not know about opposition policy positions. The roots go much deeper.
We asked a long list of questions about important attributes of a political party for each of the country's major political parties. Across each question, the resulting picture was resoundingly the same.
Few voters like what the opposition parties have done over the past four years, and few see any opposition party as inclusive, believable, trustworthy, or competent to govern. On each of these ways of evaluating a political party, the ANC enjoys a positive image among far greater proportions of voters.
The prospects of a consolidated democracy in this country hinge greatly on the government's ability to meet expectations and improve lives. But they also depend on the existence of a viable alternative capable of providing a political home to those voters who are dissatisfied with the government. At least in the minds of voters, it seems like it is the opposition more than the government that is not delivering on its part of the bargain.
The ability of opposition parties to reverse these images over the next few months may tell a great deal about the future of competitive multi-party democracy in South Africa.
Dr Robert Mattes is manager of Idasa's Public Opinion Service. He writes this in his personal capacity and the opinions expressed are not necessarily those of Idasa or the Opinion '99 consortium.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Madiba ploughs a lone furrow
October 16, 1998
David Beresford
With the approach of Nelson Mandela's retirement commentators will soon be offering their epitaphs on the political career of a president who will no doubt be long remembered as South Africa's greatest leader.
In their search for insights into the man and his significance to the subcontinent they would have done well to spend 45 minutes listening to him in the less-than-electrifying environment of a corporate conference centre at Midrand on Saturday.
The gathering was a small, but powerful one; a few score Cabinet ministers, security force commanders, representatives of the intelligence agencies, trade union leaders, top businesspeople and opposition politicians.
The occasion was the summit on rural safety and security, the epidemic of farm murders which has reduced the supposed tranquillities of pastoral life into more of a nightmare - statistically, at least - for South African farmers, than that suffered by their Kenyan counterparts during the Mau Mau, or the Rhodesians during their bush war.
Mandela, suffering from exhaustion after his North American tour, had ignored medical advice to attend the conference. Which was to tempt controversy - not because he was risking his health, but because it underlined his failure the previous day to deliver the television address to the nation on the Aids plague. But then this is a man who has given his life to a different field of healing.
To some extent the summit, like most good conferences, had been choreographed, the analysis done in papers prepared by the police, the farmers and the intelligence agencies and the resolutions prepared for the formality of the vote.
Similarly the speeches had seemingly been prepared by the presidential speech-writers with calculation; the call for the moment's silence in memory of those who had died on the farms; the two passages of Afrikaans; the carefully pitched appeal for the expansion of the commando system with the co-operation of such as Congress of South African Trade Unions.
Curiously - in the light of the inclusion of his "statement from the dock" in modern anthologies of democratic speechifying - Mandela is no great orator. His delivery of prepared texts is too wooden and his departures from them too unstructured to be memorable. But it is when he ad libs that the passion can be felt which is the gift of the man.
At the farm murder summit his first departure from the text came as he dispassionately recalled how close South Africa had come to being reduced to "a piece of scorched earth" with "its cities flowing with streets of blood". As if struck by the inadequacy of the hyperbole he paused and, looking up from the lectern, observed that of course the liberation movements had delivered liberation. "That is the compliment we must pay them."
But to bring the transformation about without bloodshed could never have been achieved by them alone. It needed the co-operation of all South Africans. "That is why we have received accolades throughout the world," he said.
There were some who thought the accolades were for him alone, but if one listened to the speeches they were a tribute to all South Africans for achieving what had been achieved by no other people in the world. "After 1994 you only have to say `I am a South African', whether you are black and white, and the doors of the world are wide open for you."
Concluding his written speech with a pro forma appeal for unity -"I am of the view that, even if at times the chorus may have been discordant, we are singing the same song" - he paused again. Then, quoting a statement issued by the South African Agricultural Union last week - "we are South Africans, we are here to stay" - the president launched into a passionate evocation of a new South African patriotism.
Whites had to understand the disadvantaged background - the poverty of education - from which members of the present government had been drawn. They had been "literally taken out of the bush" and asked to run a massive, industrialised country.
"In spite of that, there is no government during the last three centuries that has ever delivered services as this government has done in four years." A thousand houses a day were being built for the homeless, 1 000 connections were being made a day to the electricity grid, running water had been delivered to 2,6-million households; security of tenure extended to six million farm workers whose mass evictions had been part of the shame of South Africa's past ...
But South Africa also needed to know the quiet contribution which was being made to the reconstruction of the country by Afrikaners and the English - particularly business leaders who, without exception, had been unhesitating in their response to funding appeals. "They want to share what they have," observed Mandela. "There is hope in our country. "
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Foreign policy? What foreign policy?
September 04, 1998
Anthony Holiday
Over a Barrel
The secret malaise is no longer concealable. Its symptoms are manifest everywhere from conclaves in Cape Town to the conflict in the Congo.
South Africa's Department of Foreign Affairs - and hence also Deputy President Thabo Mbeki and President Nelson Mandela himself - are taking decisions and engaging in the most delicate and dangerous of negotiations blindfolded.
Their initiatives, when they are forced by circumstance to take them, are uninformed by anything but the crudest and most basic data, and their deliberations are unshaped by any of the geopolitical concepts which might have given form and purpose to what they are pleased to call their "foreign policy".
This is why South Africa is unable to broker peace pacts in Angola or in the "Democratic" Republic of Congo. This is the reason our country has no voice that is truly its own to make heard concerning the global terror war, conducted by Islamic fundamentalist fanatics, on the one hand, and equally fanatical fundamentalists in the Pentagon, on the other.
And this ignorance is what lies behind the unaffordable split in the Southern African Development Community and the accusations in the Organisation of African Unity that the land of the rainbow people is just another pawn in a United States game plan.
It is an open secret that South Africa no longer possesses anything approaching what a developed nation would regard as a genuine intelligence capacity and certainly nothing like the flow of confidential information which PW Botha could command in the high days of the "total strategy".
There are indeed intelligence- gathering organisations, like the National Intelligence Agency. But they are leaky, ramshackle contraptions, crippled by inefficiency and Byzantine office intrigues, as a new breed of African National Congress analysts and operatives struggle to wrest control from apartheid-era survivors.
In consequence (and doubtless also because of the friendly disposition Pretoria has evinced towards the likes of Cuba's Fidel Castro, Palestine's Yasser Arafat and Libya's Moammar Gadaffi), foreign intelligence agencies, like the CIA and MI6, no longer supply us with "feed" from their spy satellites - something they readily did before apartheid died.
Nobody ought to need telling that the daily flow of pictures these satellites provide has become the staple diet of spies in the developed world.
They can spot a truck moving on a jungle track, detect a store of detonators and pick out the tiniest of military training camps. Properly analysed, these pictures can render foreign-policy decision processes razor sharp. Without them, a modern spy or political adviser is like grandma without her bifocals.
Arguably more serious than this lack of access to the information yield from space technology is the dearth of properly trained and talented personnel which afflicts both the Department of Foreign Affairs and the intelligence services.
We simply do not have enough spies and diplomatic data gatherers on the ground in Africa and elsewhere to enable us to cope with, let alone manage, the current cycle of interlocking foreign relations crises.
Where (to take a case very much in point) are our advisers on Congolese politics? Is there a single South African civil servant, steeped in the languages, culture and power relations of that region and additionally armed with an adequate university education in the social sciences, to help Mbeki and Mandela prevent a sub-Saharan conflagration? Of course not.
But more dire than all these defects, it strikes me, is the circumstance that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has failed to generate ideas which might have served as the founding principles of a coherent foreign policy.
Short of these ideas - concepts to help our diplomats grapple with a dispensation in which the most basic terms of reference governing their craft have either changed or lost their meaning - even the richest supply of intelligence would be almost useless. Nobody would know what to do with it, how to make sense of it, how to employ it as a guide to action.
Let the worthies, who are now top dogs in our foreign affairs establishment, ask themselves how deeply they understand such concepts as "social contract", "political community" and even the very notion of what used confidently to be called a "nation" in the context of today's global sea change. If they answer honestly, their answers ought to frighten them. For, as far as I can see, they understand these matters not at all.
If this accusation is not unfair, then it must be said that they have only themselves to blame, although a large share of that blame rests squarely with Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Aziz Pahad, who is, in practice, the man who runs the shop, while propping up dear, dozy old Alf Nzo, who is nominally the responsible minister.
It was Pahad who insisted on retaining, until his recent retirement, the services as director general of Rusty Evans, that trusty lieutenant of Pik Botha during times when apartheid foreign policy was synonymous with the destabilisation of our neighbours by warfare and terror.
It was Pahad who alienated at least one top foreign relations theorist - an academic, engaged in precisely the type of conceptual research which addresses our need for a new kind of foreign policy - with false accusations of "leaks" and a thinly veiled contempt for intellectual work.
And it has been Pahad who, instead of transforming the structure and management style of his outfit, has continued to try to live with an uneasy amalgam of the way foreign relations were managed by the ANC in the years when it was exiled and illegal and the style of work which characterised the department in Pik and PW's day.
The upshot has been that, instead of a foreign policy, we have a hopeless mix of so-called "pragmatism", so-called "realism" and general ad hocery that prevents us from making our own initiatives and leaves us little choice but to take Uncle Sam's advice.
Is it too late, I wonder, for our government to learn that, in today's world, if you fly your foreign affairs craft blind, somebody else is more than likely to fly it for you?
Dr Anthony Holiday teaches philosophy at the University of the Western Cape's school of government.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
The marketing of Madiba
July 17, 1998
David Shapshak
Nelson Mandela is worth a fortune. The world's most beloved statesman and most famous ex-con is an obvious target for merchandising, and with his 80th birthday being celebrated across the world, there are many who would like to make a fast buck out of him.
Most of these are opportunistic entrepreneurs, but some are just ordinary folk trying to fill their bellies. Walk through any fleamarket or souvenir store and you'll be able to buy anything from souvenir plates, fabric with his portrait, to aprons, salt shakers and fridge magnets which bear his likeness.
He may not be ranked in any indexes of brand names or trademarks but his is a face instantly recognisable around the world. And that's marketing gold.
Mandela's paraphernalia gained something of a cult status while he was imprisoned on Robben Island, a treasured and illegal emblem of an incarcerated hero.
When he was elected the country's first black president in 1994, everybody from Time magazine to corner caf‚s used Madiba images to sell themselves and promote the euphoria of the rainbow nation. Since then Mandela's life has been chronicled in innumerable glossy coffee table books and on the backs of uncountable T- shirts, both in his banned days and his presidency.
And then there was the Rugby World Cup the year after. No single rugby star could ever have done more for the sale of Springbok jerseys.
Apart from the traditional royal revenue that the British crown attracts, especially the late Princess Diana, no other global leader commands anywhere near the money-generating stature. Imagine trying to wear a Bill Clinton apron with the American flag in the back-ground?
Although Mandela's characteristic taste for flashy shirts has faded - and only the socially out-of-touch still invite you to "Madiba-smart" functions - Mandela is a constant source of new ideas for adverts and newspaper stories.
The Madiba jive, a haphazard array of dance steps and shuffles which one newspaper published in a choreographed sequence, gained popular cult fame in the way the macarena wished it could.
South African Airways is one of many local companies to latch on to the great man's extrovert public appearances, with an ad depicting a range of world leaders falling asleep at public functions while Madiba is smiling and dancing.
But can you copyright a face? And one as famous as Madiba's.
Mandela's spokesman Parks Mankahlana says there's little the president's office can do to stop the use of his image or name.
They can discourage his face being used for financial gain - in line with a 1941 Act that prohibits the use of the president's image for commercial purposes - but it would be overwhelmingly time-consuming.
Personally Mandela doesn't have problems with the marketing spin-offs, Mankahlana says. Charities and trust funds often apply to the president's office to use his name in their fund- raising efforts.
"From the president's point of view, each and every cent raised as a result of memorabilia or merchandise should be used for charity purposes, such as the children's fund and a number of other causes, especially the Red Cross Children's Hospital.
"It would be pleasant if everyone using the president's image made some kind of contribution [to the charities]. Their coffers would benefit and the money would be used to uplift one or two people, it doesn't matter how many."
Merchandising, once the lowly marketing side-kick of other commercial interest, is now the biggest commercial money spinner - as Disney, fashion designers and McDonald's can tell you. Globally the merchandising market is worth billions and has commanded its own form of economic theory.
For the man-in-the-street, trying to make some extra cash, Madiba is a gold mine. Why develop a new brand when you can just piggy-back on another one?
So what's next? Madiba and Graça figurines? Is it curtains for Barbie and Ken?
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Mail & Guardian
Johannesburg, South Africa. July 15, 1998
From mud hut to Union Buildings On Nelson Mandela's 80th birthday, DAVID BERESFORD visits the Transkei village where the president was born in a mud hut, and where he plans to retire to a house modelled on his prison home. Already a legend, this is the man who destroyed apartheid with his silence.
BELOW the village of Mvezo, on the side of a hill over-looking a bend of the Mbashe River in the former South African homeland of the Transkei, three circular mounds of earth can be discovered which are all that remains of the huts which once belonged to Gadla Henry Mphakanyiswa.
In one of these mud-walled buildings, 80 years ago, his youngest son was born. There is little else tangible which marks the arrival of Nelson Mandela in the world. A few dozen miles away, on another hillside in the district of Qunu where he was raised, there is a slide on which he used to play; a granite outcrop, its surface worn smooth by generations of childish rumps.
When the young Mandela careened down it, the children used aloe leaves as sledges to protect their backsides. Today a few pieces of hard board scattered on the granite testify to a technological revolution in playland.
For all the obliteration of the archaeological evidence as to Mandela's early days little seems to have changed in Mvezo and Qunu; the piping voices of the herds boys, among whom he once numbered, still flute over the wide open spaces which were his childhood home.
What change there is, is largely of his making. In the valley below the granite slide there is an intensively cultivated field where he has set Orphalus Zidlele - the grandson of his former high-school principal - to work growing organic corn, beans and pumpkins.
And on the other side of the main road to the coast, which bisects Qunu, is the face-brick bungalow where he plans to retire. With its security fences and guard-house it looks a little like a prison, which of course is what it is in a curious way. When Mandela made known his wish to end his days where he began them, the paramount chief of the Thembu, Duyelekhaya Dalindyebo, allocated him 98 hectares of tribal land and the ANC alerted a leading Johannesburg architect to set about planning an appropriate retirement home.
MANDELA'S 80TH BIRTHDAY RELATED ARTICLES
- Mandela museum costs rocket October 1997
- Nelson and Graca: A love story July 1997
- Mandela gets a street in Harare May 1997
- No ordinary magic July 1997
CYBERSPACE But the architect, to his mortification, never got the commission; word came from Mandela that he had grown fond of the gaol house in the grounds of Victor Verster prison, from which he had been released at the end of his glorious incarceration. So the faithful replica was built for him at Qunu. Memory holds the door.....
Mandela often talks wistfully of his plans to retire to Qunu, spinning out his golden years reading and playing with his grandchildren. But there must be some suspicion as to whether the dream will ever be realised in a meaningful way.
Since his re-discovery of love, in the person of Graca Machel, he has bought another house in Houghton. The widow of the former Mozambique president has sophisticated tastes and the purchase of the Houghton home bears the hall-marks of a woman who considers a prison house a less-than-desirable setting for the spinning of one's golden years.
But the Qunu house will at least provide a material focus for future generations, seeking some evidence of a life which is no doubt destined for legend. And if they are puzzled by the legend's architectural taste it can always be explained with the story of the advocate who suffered 90 day detention in Johannesburg's old Marshall St police station and later rescued his cell door from demolition squads, using it as a garden gate. It was, he used to point out, an act of liberation.
Other tangible records of Mandela's life are in the offing. There has, in fact been much behind-the-scenes squabbling at different levels of government over plans to build a liberation museum in his honour. There was the scheme to erect a gigantic replica of his hand on a Transvaal kopjie which fell through when the Mail & Guardian disclosed the money-men behind the project had made their fortunes flogging skin-lightening creams to blacks dreaming of a whiter life-style. The plan now is to build what will effectively be a warehouse masquerading as a museum - a much-needed repository for the innumerable well-intentioned, but burdensome gifts with which he has been saddled since his release from prison.
It is an eclectic collection - ranging from a gold-plated camera presented by Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah of Brunei (Graca got a diamond-studded Rolex watch) and a pair of gold-tipped chopsticks to a work intriguingly entitled People and Democracy, courtesy of the Libyan government - which will no doubt serve as a time capsule of late 20th Century taste, as well as a reminder to future generations as to the adulation Mandela enjoyed in his life time.
The issue now hotly debated is where it should be sited; in Mvezo, Qunu, or 20 kms away in the Transkei capital of Umtata. Mvezo can probably be ruled out; in a territory renowned for its potholes the long road to Mandela's birthplace stands particularly blessed. The pastoral beauty of Qunu should perhaps be spared further architectural tributes to its most famous resident - leaving Umtata which complains, with some justification, of post-liberation neglect.
Umtata has developed little more than an air of shabby charm since Mandela assumed the presidency in 1994. The Transkei's tourist potential was blighted by the gang rape of a party of British and New Zealand tourists which was given world-wide publicity in 1995.
Umtata has little to lure them back and is hoping the Mandela memorabilia collection will do the trick. For the cogniciti there is one political landmark in Umtata which is worth going to see, however; the Botha Sigcau building, an 11-storey office block which is the nearest thing the Transkei capital has to a sky-scraper. Botha Sigcau, the man after whom it was named, was paramount chief of East Pondoland who backed the apartheid government's grant of so-called independence to the Transkei in 1976.
His reward, for what will long be seen as this betrayal of the liberation cause, was the (ceremonial) presidency of this ersatz nation and the hope of immortality in the Ozymandius tradition by having the seat of government named after him. Today the Botha Sigcau building is something of a vertical ghost town. The notice board in the foyer still offers the information that the "Department of the Prime Minister" is to be found on the 11th floor.
But ghosting their way along its un-lit corridors and camping out in its office are only a handful of officials working for the provincial government and representatives of the Heath commission of inquiry investigating the heritage of corruption which has been the central legacy of the homeland system.
The last "prime minister" to have occupied the 11th floor was Botha Sigcau's daughter, Stella. The last ruler of the Transkei, who did not assume the affectation of premiership, was General Bantu Holomisa. He deposed Sigcau in a coup and turned the Transkei into an ANC base during the closing stages of the anti-apartheid struggle.
Sigcau was made a cabinet minister by Mandela when he came to power. Holomisa was drummed out of the ANC in 1996 - for "disloyalty", having denounced Sigcau for taking a R50,000 (sterling 5,000) bribe from Sol Kerner. Such are the vagaries of political fortune, even under the stewardship of a legend.
But Mandela's legacy to the nation is quite specific. The moment produces the man and he will be remembered above all for that moment on May 11, 1994 when he took the salute from the armed forces in the fore-court of the Union Building; one man, armed with 27 years of silence, who destroyed an ideology.
From log cabin to the White House. From mud hut to the Union Buildings. Standing by the remnants of that hut, among the wild aloes and thorn bushes on the hillside above the Mbashe River, one thinks back over the 80 years which have been the life of Nelson Mandela and marvels at the power of lost innocence. -- Electronic Mail&Guardian, July 15, 1998.
Cracking down on critical allies
July 03, 1998
President Nelson Mandela's comments at the opening of the South African Communist Party conference that the growth, economic and redistribution (Gear) stratety is the fundamental policy of the African National Congress and that he will brook no opposition to it is just the latest sign of the ANC's irritation at public criticism from its own allies.
This concerns us not because we see conflict within the alliance as a bloodsport, but because there are serious and valid reasons for questioning some of what the government is doing.
If the SACP can't debate the government's macro-economic policy, what is there to talk about? The fact is that Gear has met none of its goals - we have slow growth, high unemployment and some (but not nearly enough) redistribution.
We have not attracted foreign investors in meaningful numbers nor prevented the rand from being eaten alive in the ruthless jungle of the international markets.
High interest rates have crippled the economy and the high cost of money has meant there has been very little support to that end of the economy that even Deputy President Thabo Mbeki concedes is our most vital, energetic and job-creating - the informal sector.
To top it all, in the wake of the South- East Asian crash there has been thoughtful re-examination of the wisdom of global economic orthodoxies such as the International Monetary Fund - World Bank structural adjustment remedies that have done so much harm on our own continent.
The questionable presumptions about privatisation, high interest rates, low inflation and fiscal discipline to the detriment of social expenditure are precisely the underpinnings of Gear, the policy that Mandela insists his critics should remain silent about.
And what of Mbeki's rebuke of activists within the alliance protesting against the government's inaction at the treatment of a loyal comrade, Robert McBride, by a Mozambican justice system which appears to be based on the juridical principles of the Spanish Inquisition in a case that rests on the discredited evidence of old guard elements in the security forces with a dangerous agenda?
The McBride saga is just a further sign of a leadership that appears determined to crack down on democracy within the movement.
These are obviously hard times and the last thing the government needs is opposition on its left flank; opposition on the right can be more easily deflected by stigmatising it as anti-transformation or essentially white in complexion.
But the fact that the ANC is virtually assured of political power for decades to come means that the debates within the ANC and the alliance have great significance for everyone.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
No joy for Mandela in EU trade talks
June 19, 1998
Michael White and Liz McGregor
What should have been a triumphant valedictory tour for Nelson Mandela before he steps down as president of South Africa has been marred by European Union failure, under Tony Blair's presidency, to deliver on open trade promises made when apartheid collapsed.
Mandela joined the EU heads of government for lunch in Cardiff after a breakfast on Monday with businesspeople and tea with the queen at Windsor, but there was disappointment in Cardiff that he was unable to seal his visit with the completion of a trade agreement between his country and the EU.
South African diplomats expressed dismay at what they see as EU intransigence in defence of domestic products like fruit and wine.
EU officials admit that countries like France, Spain and Portugal, whose farm produce competes with much that South Africa would like to export to Europe, have been making difficulties during the protracted negotiations.
But they insist that Mandela's negotiators failed until recently to come up with a formula for reciprocal opening of South Africa's long-protected markets, as required under the rules of the World Trade Organisation (WTO).
Downing Street's representative said Blair would have liked to see more done "to take forward EU-South African trade relations, and that is no doubt something President Mandela himself will want to give voice to when he is here. We see that as a useful opportunity because his presence will concentrate minds on it."
Mandela made an oblique reference to his disappointment over the trade deal before an audience of business people.
He expressed his gratitude to the British for funding his defence in the treason trial that put him in jail for 27 years. "I know how generous the British are," he said.
But he reminded them of the R254-billion debt his government had inherited from the apartheid government; how the servicing of that debt swallowed the funds that could have fed and housed 20 000 homeless children "whose hopelessness and anxiety" haunted him.
At stake in the trade negotiations are key South African exports such as wine, cut flowers and citrus fruits. The South Africans argue that since their seasons are the opposite of Europe's, they do not compete directly, although they pay the same tariffs as the United States.
The EU case hinges on "WTO compatibility". That requires a reciprocal opening of trade to cover an average 90% of products on both sides. It aims to prevent local distortions which, in this instance, could hurt neighbouring African states.
The EU side is offering 95%, including the disputed products, but until this month Pretoria was seeking exemptions on 1 200 mainly manufactured products, reduced on June 10 and 11 to about 100. That puts it within the 85% range - meeting the 90% average. EU companies want to be able to compete for South Africa's infrastructure contracts.
South Africa's complaints amount to saying that European leaders made generous promises when Mandela took power and bask in his reflected glory. But they do not put their money where their mouths are.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Mandela kicks MPs’ butts
September 26, 1997
Marion Edmunds
President Nelson Mandela has instructed all African National Congress parliamentarians to tell him, in face-to-face interviews, what constituency work they do.
Mandela’s interest, announced at a recent ANC caucus meeting, is provoked by concern that MPs are neglecting their constituency work and failing to disseminate information to the people about the government’s progress. He also wants to assess the mood of voters in the run-up to the 1999 elections.
His intervention is expected to lend political authority to plans by ANC chief whip Max Sisulu to tighten up party discipline in Parliament. Sisulu is to take a firmer line on MPs’ work ethics before the end of the year, bringing order to the chaotic constituency system, and helping to define the jobs of MPs.
It is expected his office will introduce mechanisms to monitor performance in 180 constituency offices, as well as attendance at parliamentary committee meetings and sittings of the National Assembly and the National Council of Provinces. Those who shirk duty will be brought to book.
ANC caucus chairman Thabang Makwetla said Mandela was driven by his keen interest in the ANC’s performance in communities. "He wants an assessment of what MPs were doing over the past 18 months. There are a number of offices functioning very well — and then some not so well."
The parliamentary sessions have been cut back this year to make way for constituency work, but the ANC has no overall picture of what has been achieved. The R3 000-a-month constituency allowances go into a fund for office expenses. Although a number of constituency offices are located in shopping centres, many people do not know who their MPs are or how to contact them.
A snap survey by the Mail & Guardian this week showed that most offices had a paid receptionist who answered the phone, but few MPs were available, because of their duties at Parliament.
"It’s a very mixed-up question and I think it needs to be addressed," said Sheena Duncan of the Black Sash, indicating that local government councillors were often better politicians for the people than national MPs.
"Some of them are obviously lazy and I don’t understand what they are doing with all this constituency time they have and the parliamentary breaks," she said
Speaker Frene Ginwala has proposed restructuring the parliamentary timetable to allow for better use of time. This would include an annual four-month break from Parliament for constituency work.
Wilmot James, executive director of the Institute for Democracy in South Africa (Idasa), reflected: "The impression I have is that some MPs have a commitment to their constituencies and work beyond their call of duty, and other MPs are just drawing a salary."
MPs from a "struggle" background are easily overwhelmed by voters who come to them with important, but also unimportant, issues to resolve.
The ANC’s MP in the Boland, Melanie Verwoerd, works seven days a week, but struggles to find time to address all the problems brought to her, many of which are not political.
"A man came to me and said he had a problem getting an erection, and because he had voted for the ANC, the government ought to help him. He would not listen when I said we could not do anything for him," she said.
"Eventually we referred him to a sangoma and he came right. It’s all part of a day’s work."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
© Mail & Guardian
July 18, 1997
No ordinary magic
Despite three and a half contentious years at the helm, Nelson Mandela, celebrating his 79th birthday on July 18, maintains his astonishing popularity here and abroad.
GAYE DAVIS
LUCKILY the photographers and television camera crews fighting for elbow-room watched where they put their heavy boots and none of the children were trampled in the crush. President Nelson Mandela's grey head disappeared from time to time as he stooped to bestow his trademark greeting: "Hello, how are you?"South Africa's president made his way slowly around the vast chamber hung with bunting, banners, flags and birthday cards, crunching spilled popcorn underfoot while his bodyguards flinched at every staccato pop of a balloon bursting.
Oblivious to the commercial hype that necessarily attends such affairs, Mandela's eyes and greetings were only for the 1 000 or so ill children, many of them in wheelchairs or on crutches, whom he had invited to Cape Town to help him celebrate his 79th birthday this year.
As parents and their afflicted offspring jostled for position amid the surging pack of hacks, Mandela gave each child he greeted the kind of attention a visiting head of state would be flattered to receive.
For Rachel Boltney, in the wheelchair she has had to use since the stoep wall at her home fell on her and snapped her spine, it was "the best day of my life". And Mandela, in his ineffable way, made it seem as though it was an extra special day in his.
There are not many world leaders who make a point of first greeting the waiters at official functions, before proceeding to the line of dignitaries. And while some heads of government might see the public relations pluses in throwing a birthday party for disadvantaged children, one can be sure the event would be overly stage-managed, with no chance of sticky fingers attaching themselves to the presidential tie. But then, Mandela is no ordinary world leader - and he doesn't usually wear ties.
As he enters his 80th year, it is with the knowledge that in December, when the African National Congress meets for its 50th national conference in Mafikeng, he will hand over the presidency of the organisation to his deputy, Thabo Mbeki.
Rumours that Mandela would also like to retire as head of the government before 1999 get short shrift from his representatives. In reality, however, he has already handed over much of the day-to-day business of running the government to Mbeki.
He still works at a pace so punishing that many CEOs wouldn't survive, but the division of labour between his office and that of Mbeki has become more pronounced, with Mandela now the ultimate, rather than hands-on, authority.
This forms part of the ANC's strategy to ensure a smooth transition and to counter the M-factor - the belief, widely held among foreign investors, that without Mandela's glue the country would become badly unstuck.
The strategy kicked in soon after a dose of presidential sniffles in 1996 sent the rand into free-fall and has now achieved a momentum which sees Mbeki emerging with a greater profile, as a man with his own vision.
But Mandela is still the first call for ministers seeking advice or help in resolving a conflict, and it is still his office through which all decisions are processed, and will be until 1999, when he retires as president. He also still has the right (and it's one he exercises) to intervene whenever he sees a problem - but the day-to-day meshing of politicians and departments is increasingly handled by Mbeki, whose office is expanding to cope with the extra workload.
Given that Mandela now functions more as chair of the board, with Mbeki managing the stresses and strains of being its chief executive, it is timely to reflect on the triumphs and failures of the three-and-a-half years Mandela has spent at the helm of the government.
His ability to inspire ordinary men and women with the belief that they can and should make a difference has given his presidency a lustre lesser politicians would kill for. But there is more to governing a country, particularly one as troubled as ours, than getting smeared with birthday cake.
When he took up the reins of power in 1994, the world was holding its breath, expecting the racial tensions splitting the country to explode into a bloodbath. Instead, the world witnessed a miracle.
Mandela's achievement is colossal. Introspection can't be said to be a South African characteristic, but casting the mind back to before 1994 is a salutary exercise, especially if one takes the time to imagine how badly things might have gone.
Even the National Party has found itself having to salute the role he played during negotiations, the respect and loyalty he evokes among the majority of South Africans, the effort he has put into nation-building and reconciling people across the thorny hedges of race, language and culture.
He has ensured a stable transition and shown an amazing capacity to take along with him a broad section of society, awakening a common patriotism and unity of purpose.
It is true that one still gets the dinner parties where the well-off whinge about rampant crime and declining standards, and shore up their analysis by asserting that nothing has changed for the majority of poor South Africans. But for the woman in the taxi shuttling between Khayelitsha and Cape Town, things are looking up.
Millions of people now, for the first time, have water laid on, and proper drains for sewage, and electricity. Legally and constitutionally, we have been through a revolution.
Mandela's government inherited a civil service of 13 bulky fragments, which has been amalgamated, rationalised and reorganised into 11 different units, cutting across the boundaries of the past. Which is not to say that things are running smoothly - but what multi-national would manage a complete organisational restructuring and the infusion of a new organisational ethos in as brief a space of time?
Key to the way Mandela works is his grasp of presidential politics and statesmanship, and a deference to the democratic process that sees him conspicuously refraining from running kitchen Cabinets - informal inner circles of enormous power.
Year one saw him raising the curtain on South Africa's brave new world, with his hand outstretched in particular to embittered whites. Year two saw him spelling out the way forward, putting flesh on the bones of a macro-economic strategy. This year he's delivered the equivalent of the chair of the board's annual report, telling the country how the government is doing in a refreshingly frank assessment (making progress, but must try harder).
But there have been hiccups. Loyalty to old friends has seen him fending off brickbats from the opposition, hurled in response to his invitation to Libyan leader Colonel Muammar Gaddafi and the interview he granted the controversial American Muslim leader, Louis Farrakhan, who has referred to Adolf Hitler as "a great man" and to Jews as "bloodsuckers".
Closer to home, his determination to stand by Minister of Health Dr Nkosazana Zuma at the height of the scandal concerning R14-million squandered on an Aids musical that sent the wrong message laid him open to allegations of cronyism.
His silence on the ANC's denial that hotel magnate Sol Kerzner had given the party R2-million for its election coffers also raised questions about his judgment; it took 80 days before he confirmed the donation had been made.
He exhibited extreme loyalty to the Taiwanese, who also helped the ANC fill its election coffers, when every sane analysis of the Two Chinas dilemma pointed to the inevitability of South Africa having to recognise the mainland.
Foreign affairs have proved marshy terrain. Links with Indonesia - a country with an appalling human rights record that stands accused of genocide in East Timor - have raised questions about Mandela's commitment to human rights. And he found himself out on a limb in Africa when other leaders on the continent refused to back his call for sanctions against Nigeria in the wake of the execution of Ken Saro Wiwa.
Back home, there was the furore sparked by his assertion that senior black journalists functioned as lackeys for the white owners of their newspapers, furiously disputed by the journalists themselves.
At the same time, ANC MPs in Parliament were expressing growing concern with his leadership style, citing mismanagement of crises (the Zuma scandal and the Bantu Holomisa affair), a consolidation of central authority and a clampdown on dissent.
Kaizer Nyatsumba, The Star's political editor at the time, wrote: "The truth, at last, is out, and it is frightening: our saintly emperor has no clothes! He publicly hurls insults at black journalists critical of him and his government; he summons a black editor to his organisation's head office to remonstrate with him; he makes much of his commitment to collective leadership, but rules his organisation with an iron fist, with people who do not agree with him falling out of favour."
But if Mandela had given a hint of the iron fist beneath the velvet glove, he later confounded his critics by giving a remarkably frank assessment of where the ANC had gone wrong, detailing the organisation's shortcomings not only as a political movement, but as the majority party in the government.
In a speech marking the ANC's anniversary celebrations at the beginning of the year, he said the ANC was far too concerned with denying it had made any mistakes and too reluctant to move to put things rights - and he urged a return to the "culture of democracy and debate" within the ANC.
He also appealed to ANC officials and public representatives to focus more on people on the ground, allowing time to hear their concerns - in a bid to close the worrying gap opening up between the governors and the governed.
A dramatic slump in ANC membership and survey results showing voters' mounting unhappiness probably prompted his frank talk - but Mandela didn't take the gap most favoured by political leaders, which is to hang the blame on a scapegoat.
When he sets aside his prepared script and talks off the cuff, his aides hold their collective breath. But Mandela's frankness is one reason most South Africans have taken him to their hearts: they can trust him because he speaks from the heart.
His tireless efforts at spreading the word of reconciliation now focus less on reassuring ethnic minorities and more on the recognition that there are good men and women in the country who, while they may not share political philosophies, can yet work together - providing the rules of the game are clearly drawn and adhered to.
Mandela has set the tone and the rules for playing the game in the new South Africa. Peace is breaking out in KwaZulu-Natal; Inkatha Freedom Party leader Mangosuthu Buthelezi has been corralled by recognition of his abilities, marked by his regular swearing-in as the country's deputy president.
For Mandela, the focus now is less on averting a racial war, more on promoting national unity and purpose.
Managing the transition saw Mandela really worried at one stage about the focus being on him and him alone. He was perturbed that he was seen as the sole key to continued stability and that if he were to resign, or die, the country would disappear under a tide of dissension. He's putting a lot of energy into demonstrating that the new government is competent, that policies are in place - and he is consciously promoting his succession.
There have been exposés of corruption, there has been some bullying, there have been ethnic squabbles, but generally the country has had an extremely smooth ride.
The reason for this lies with Mandela, a leader with an extremely strong will. Nobody thinks of him as a benign despot (especially not those who have seen him lose his temper). But, at the same time, his graciousness and sheer generosity of spirit have ensured for him a place in the hearts of most South Africans.
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CYBERSPACE
* The ANC's Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela page
* Nelson Mandela's Inaugural Address
* The Nelson Mandela Page - includes pictures of Robben Island
* Long Walk to Freedom
Three years on, democracy's a mixed bag for a Free State town
May 09, 1997
A small Free State town provides a testing ground for South Africa's three-year democracy. Stuart Hess and Dawn Blalock report
ELIZABETH MOROENYANE, a mother of six, sits on a blanket in the dirt plot she can now call her own. She traces a small square in the dust with her fingertip, fills it with an X, and describes the day three years ago that she queued for 10 hours to vote for the first time in her life.
She makes a thumbprint next to the square: "Mandela," she says. She is proud to have "done a wonderful thing to choose Mandela and bring him to power".
Regardless of class or colour, lives have changed dramatically, for better and for worse, in this farming community in the northern Free State. Some residents are philosophical, others still hopeful - and others still angry.
Viljoenskroon is probably as typical a small town as anywhere in South Africa. If changes brought by democracy can happen and succeed here, they can happen anywhere.
Three years on, the town still has distinct divisions between black and white. There is a "white" town and, across the R59 highway, a "black" town.
Rammulotsi, the sprawling township with 102 000 residents outside the main town, is growing rapidly every year.
The 7 000 white residents in the town are more empathetic to their fellow black residents. Emily Ramile, a social worker in Rammulotsi, says : "They have come to understand that this country is changing and they must go along with the change."
Moroenyane is pleased with the material changes in her life since 1994. She no longer walks 12km to fetch water, but points to a tap in her yard. Her shack has electricity. Nurses regularly come to treat residents.
She says black residents now have the right to walk through the town whenever they please. In the past, they had to heed a 9pm curfew.
She says she paid R10 a month and now owns the land on which her corrugated-iron shack stands. But a shack is still a shack. By now, she expected her family of 12 would have had a real house. She believes violence and crime are worse.
Children are sexually abused by men who are home all day as a result of worsening unemployment.
Some turn to crime because jail, with free food and warm clothes, beats starving and freezing in the squatter camp.
"We see some fruits of the changing - the old authority and the new authority are joined together to be one," says pensioner Nathaniel Seobi (79). After all, this former church leader explains, a three- year-old child doesn't learn to walk, run and talk immediately.
Other Viljoenskroon residents are not as satisfied with the new South Africa. "Mandela gets paid lots of money but we, we've got f-all." says an angry Abram de Jager (27). "Parliamentarians only look out for themselves, but here in the squatter camp, we work very hard but we get nothing."
De Jager supports a family which includes uncles, cousins and aunts on the R200 a month he earns as a farm labourer.
He paid in blood for democracy - two of his brothers were killed in the struggle against apartheid. De Jager is angered to see those he fought still benefiting while he has few options.
"Those who killed my brothers are still working in nice offices," he says.
The President still has a debt to pay, he warns. "Mandela must remember ... a lot of people spilt blood for him. He would not be where he is now if we didn't do that."
Meanwhile, the government is preoccupied with the ghosts of apartheid activists. "They dig up bodies of old fighters, but what about us? We have problems here and they don't help us."
Three years ago a farmer, Louis Botha, was the acting chairman of the Viljoenskroon branch of the National Party. He saw change coming and prepared for it.
"I was in favour of a new dispensation and I worked for it, so in a sense I got what I worked for," Botha says. "There's no room in this country for the type of democracy that allows whites to rule themselves as a separate entity. I accept the fact that I'm in an African country - I don't mind being ruled by a government that is democratically elected."
Yet, Botha says, unemployment has increased since 1994 and union policies are contributing to the problem: "Farmers are afraid and are holding back [on hiring] right now ... because of concerns about the unions."
Although Botha says he saw it coming, crime has hit hard. And it hits across the board. The Viljoenskroon police force seems paralysed to fight it. Botha suspects the police were involved in the theft of some of his cattle.
This week Botha's son, a computer scientist, is emigrating to California's Silicon Valley. Botha is happy for him, and confident that one day he'll return and that South Africa will be worth returning to.
"If it is not normal at the moment," he says, "we are heading for a normal life."
Mohau Moirapedi (20) has recently had his efforts thwarted by vestiges of the apartheid mindset. It's not white youths but their parents, he says, who are making it difficult for him and others to start a sports club for youths.
Too young to vote in 1994, he supported the ANC although he's not a member.
Moirapedi wants to be an office administrator. He is very satisfied with the secondary education he received. "Now even in the black school we've got a white principal and white teachers.
"I was thinking a black president would get us out of the oppression my parents lived under. The new government must try to work harder to see how many they can help to be in tertiary education. If not, some are going to be thieves or join organisations that make our country corrupt."
He'd like to continue his education but he can't afford it. "The problem is financial. I was thinking that money is not the real problem and now I see that it is."
Bryden Leather sits drinking beer at the Birds Bar at the Hotel Mahem in the white town with his AK-47 on his knee - one of 107 guns he owns and collects on his 4 300- hectare farm. When not farming, he organises private hunting trips for Americans around Southern Africa.
A former Koevoet soldier who saw action in Namibia (which he still calls South West Africa) and an ex-policeman, he calls a former police buddy on his private cell number when he needs the police. No one answers the phone on the regular line, he says.
What has improved in his life in the past three years? "Crime," he says, without making clear exactly what he means.
"All the shit they expected to happen before the elections - it's all happening now," he says. "Crime has doubled - and he [Mandela] can do nothing about it."
Leather says farmers have been left out in the cold by government policies over the past three years, fuel prices have skyrocketed, the Maize Board was demolished leaving farmers to market their harvests with their own rand, and that rand is worth considerably less than three years ago.
Blacks "have been promised everything" and the goods have not been delivered. They have to resort to crime to survive, he says.
"I've got nothing against the black person," adds Leather, even though he often uses less than flattering (unprintable,actually) words to describe blacks.
"I cannot exist in my farming operation without him."
Ask Viljoenskroon people what has changed the most in their lives over the past three years since the election. The resounding answer, regardless of colour or class, is the same: crime.
However, the town's mayor, Pule Mokitlane, believes residents are exaggerating the crime problem, although his house was recently deliberately burnt to the ground. He now lives in the "white" town.
"Serious crime is not that bad. There has been an increase in house-breaking, but our police force is handling that very well," he said.
But it's the sage-like Nathanian Seobi who sums up Viljoenskroon's adjustment to democracy.
"Everyone is free to live, not free to make violence, to be a thief," he says. "Freedom is to know each other and respect each other."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Madiba `to testify for Allan'
March 20, 1997
Facing 21 counts of theft and fraud, Dr Allan Boesak can count on the support of the ANCdespite opposition party outrage, reports Rehana Rossouw
PRESIDENT NELSON MANDELA has offered to testify as a character witness for Dr Allan Boesak, close friends of the former African National Congress Western Cape chair said this week.
Boesak - facing fraud and theft charges - met Mandela at the president's request for two hours last Sunday, shortly after arriving back in Cape Town from the United States.
Mandela's representative Parks Mankahlana would not confirm or deny whether the offer to testify had been made. But the Mail & Guardian has established from several sources that the offer was made and accepted.
The ANC's support for Boesak has outraged its opponents, but the organisation is standing by its decision, based on the principle that the former leader is innocent until proven guilty.
Boesak - who returned after nearly two years in the US - faces 21 counts of theft and fraud of more than R1-million, involving foreign donor money administered by the Foundation for Peace and Justice (FPJ), where he was director. Boesak will plead not guilty when he appears in the Cape High Court on August 4. His co-accused is former FPJ director Freddie Steenkamp.
Despite the ANC's support, some Western Cape party supporters believe the organisation should do more for Boesak. Members in the Peninsula's northern suburbs - where Boesak once lived and worked - said the ANC's support was limited to "cheap words".
"We helped Allan's daughter Belen raise money for busses at the last minute to get supporters to the airport. The ANC's provincial executive did nothing to help," said a senior Bellville ANC member.
"Then, when they saw how many people were at the airport, they hijacked the gathering because the ANC has not been able to attract such large non-racial crowds for years. The people came for Boesak, not for the ANC."
ANC Western Cape representative Brent Simons dismissed these sentiments, saying the organisation began discussing Boesak's return at its first provincial executive committee meeting this year. "By February the ANC had discussed it in all its structures and resolved to support Boesak and welcome him in the way he deserved to be welcomed," Simons said.
He said the ANC had not earmarked any funds for Boesak and therefore did not pay to bus his supporters to the airport, but had committed itself to supporting him "in whatever way was required". Boesak had not requested financial support from the ANC.
Boesak's friends said this week he had returned to South Africa "practically penniless". Legal Aid was paying his legal costs, but this did not include his expenses when travelling to Pretoria to consult his lawyers.
A Cape Town businessman was paying for the Boesak family's housing and living expenses and a committee has been established to raise more money for them. They have begun working on a fund-raising dinner at around R200 a head.
Boesak will also attempt to earn money while waiting for his trial to start in August, possibly on the lecture circuit. His friends say he will give talks on religious topics, but is unwilling to speak publicly about political issues.
The charges against him were formulated after a two-year investigation into foreign funds the FPJ administered, which allegedly did not reach the donors for whom it was intended. These included funds from Danchurch Aid, the Coca-Cola Foundation and singer Paul Simon.
After appearing briefly in the Cape Town Magistrate's Court on Monday, Boesak was released on his own recognisance, with strict bail conditions. He had to surrender his passport, cannot leave the country without written permission from the attorney general and must report to the police every Sunday. He was also prohibited from communicating with 167 state witnesses, some of whom are his closest friends.
His return to Cape Town was vintage Boesak: being carried shoulder high at the airport to meet a thronging mass; wiping sweat off his brow as he whipped the crowd into a frenzy; and returning ardent hugs and kisses from ecstatic women.
At the magistrate's court, the scene was eerily reminiscent of Boesak's heydays in the struggle. At the end of his brief hearing, the freedom songs came wafting down the corridor and the pack of journalists outside sprung to attention.
First came the supporters - markedly representative of the politically polarised communities in the Cape - garbed in ANC colours, toyi-toying out of the court. Then Boesak appeared and was mobbed on the steps. He adroitly managed both to return the hugs and address the media.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
`Authoritarian' leadership alarms ANC politicians
October 04, 1996
The ANC is making sure more than ever before that its MPs toe the party line. Gaye Davis reports
African National Congress members of Parliament are expressing growing concern with the organisation's leadership style, citing mismanagement of crises, a consolidation of central authority and a clampdown on internal dissent.
The Mail & Guardian has interviewed a number of ANC MPs to gauge the climate in the organisation following the expulsion of Bantu Holomisa, the clash between Gauteng Premier Tokyo Sexwale and Deputy President Thabo Mbeki, and other controversial recent events.
Many expressed a deep concern, believing the organisation is lurching from blunder to blunder, but the fact that not one would speak on the record is an indication of the state of the party.
MPs described a "climate of fear" that inhibits criticism. "You don't think about sticking your neck out for fear of getting your head chopped off," said one.
Some cite ambition as the reason why voices are stilled. "If people want to rise, they must be seen to be in good standing by certain people. Some people are keen to say certain things to enhance their positions - or because they already occupy a position they don't want to lose. The career aspect has never been a factor in ANC politics before - it's a totally new situation."
At the heart of the problem appears to be the leadership style that has developed since the ANC came into government, dependent to an extent, on powerful personalities such as President Nelson Mandela and Mbeki.
Key ANC players in the government take decisions and then present them for endorsement - brooking little dissent in the process. "There has been a merging of government and the organisation," said a source. "The government takes the decision and it becomes an ANC decision. Internal democracy gets crushed."
There is deep concern over how candidates are being selected for key posts. Whereas before cadres rose through party ranks, these days they are elevated within the organisation by virtue of government appointments, often on the grounds of loyalty rather than competence.
"Government positions are used to manufacture leadership. Their status in government is used to elevate them within the organisation," said one MP.
Said another: "People are not in high positions necessarily because they have merit or important constituencies, but because they enjoy the favour of those high up."
This has led to the marginalisation of ANC constitutional structures and those of the alliance with the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu) and the South African Communist Party (SACP).
One example cited is Mandela announcing on his return in May from courting German investors that privatisation was "fundamental policy" of the ANC - when the debate had not yet run its course internally. Another is the macro-economic framework, which was presented to the national executive committee virtually as a fait accompli.
The lack of consultation caused serious problems - and raised key questions about the future of the ANC/Cosatu/SACP alliance.
"The ANC is still a broad liberation movement. The different class, racial and other tensions have to be held together. One can do this by keeping channels of debate open, and allowing positions to emerge, or by trying to control things, by clamping down on dissent - which turns the organisation into a pressure cooker," said an MP.
"The leadership has opted for the latter course. It's a defensive reaction, rooted in the sense that we've got power, but have we got the ability to deliver?
"Decisions have to be made - it's accepted that the government must govern. The problem is they're being taken on the run, in an ad hoc fashion.
"The government is driving the show, not the political structures. If you're running a broad liberation movement you need a consensus-making instrument so that you can drive your programmes and take people along with you."
For many MPs, the handling of the Holomisa affair illustrates the problems of political mismanagement. "It could have been dealt with early on, far more efficiently. Instead, the ante was upped and it was driven to crisis," said one.
Some MPs contrast the firmness of the action taken against Holomisa with the relative lack of resolve displayed in dealing with recalcitrant bureaucrats, for example.
Also, the way in which Holomisa was dealt with has left a bad taste in many mouths. "Many didn't agree with what Holomisa did and were critical of him before. But the way he was disciplined has left people with the sense that no-one is safe anymore," said one source.
MPs also have in mind the experience of Pallo Jordan, seen to be a popular leader with independent and outspoken views. They were shocked when he was dropped from the Cabinet, and this was only partly allayed when he returned a few months later.
The personality cult that has developed around Mandela means that criticism of his actions is all too readily seen as lSse- majest,. But while fear of incurring his displeasure may cause people to hold their tongues, this is not the whole problem.
"Few people would want to take on Mandela head-on. He stands head and shoulders above anyone else in the organisation and he is also a man of principle," said one source.
"What concerns people is that if this authoritarian style becomes entrenched as a way of running things ... there are others who are less scrupulous than Mandela who will exploit it."
Others say the authoritarian style already allows for situations that are exploited to some people's advantage.
"There's an intensity of feeling against what is seen as a closed group running things," said a source.
For individual MPs, it throws up questions about their relevance, what they can achieve. They see themselves as ineffective. As a result, many are reviewing their positions. "A lot of people are just treading water, waiting to see what happens," said a source. "Others are getting out while they can."
Those who can are leaving for new, more secure jobs - in the private sector, like Constitutional Assembly chairman Cyril Ramaphosa, or in the civil service. "The stakes are much higher now - if you get chopped as an MP and you only have a high- school qualification what do you do?"
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Mandela placates East Timorese from his bed
September 20, 1996
Gaye Davis
A DELEGATION from Indonesian-occupied East Timor left South Africa this week with an assurance from President Nelson Mandela that donations to the African National Congress by the Indonesian government would not make "a hostage" of South African foreign policy.
Jorge Ramos Horta, who represents the East Timorese resistance movement, said Mandela gave the assurance during a "very frank" 30-minute meeting which took place in the bedroom of Mandela's Houghton home on Sunday, where he was recovering from knee surgery.
The delegation, which came as guests of the ANC, left ruffled feathers in the Indonesian embassy following an incident at an international fair in Pretoria on Saturday, which resulted in the Indonesian ambassador lodging a protest with the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA).
At issue was the warm welcome extended to the East Timorese delegation by a DFA official at the fair, organised by the Junior Foreign Service Officers' Club and Pretoria University's rag committee. Ramos Horta was given the opportunity to speak and the Indonesians' affront was compounded when a club official, owing to a misunderstanding, lowered the flag flying above the Indonesian stall.
Foreign ministry representative Pieter Swanepoel confirmed that on Tuesday the Indonesian ambassador met Tutu Mazibuko, deputy director general in charge of Asia and the Middle East. Mazibuko stressed that the event had not been an official DFA function.
South Africa's diplomatic relations with Indonesia - which annexed the former Portuguese colony by force in 1975, sparking a struggle for independence which has seen some 200 000 East Timorese die - is one of the more glaring contradictions of South Africa's post-apartheid foreign policy.
Ramos Horta said Mandela explained to the delegation during the meeting that he had not raised the issue of the East Timor people's struggle when he first visited Indonesia to solicit funds for the ANC's election campaign as he was not well informed about the situation.
"After the elections the ANC still needed money so he went a second time. He said the donations would not make South African foreign policy a hostage and said that he did raise the issue of East Timor. He said he had a lot of objections to his going from within the ANC and from non-governmental organisations," Ramos Horta said.
ANC MP Raymond Suttner, chair of the National Assembly's foreign affairs portfolio committee, said: "A number of us feel quite strongly in support of the right of the people of East Timor to self- determination and about the human rights violations in Indonesia. It is important the president did stress that the fact we received donations will not determine our foreign policy in this area."
The delegation gave Mandela a letter from imprisoned East Timorese resistance leader Xanana Gusmao. Mandela said he would reply to it and handed over a copy of his biography, Long Walk to Freedom, to give to Gusmao with the inscription: "With best wishes to an outstanding freedom fighter."
Ramos Horta said the delegation had asked Mandela to speak to United Nations Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali ahead of the next round of talks between Indonesia and Portugal in December.
'For us it is the last round if Indonesia does not want to come with a more flexible position," said Ramos Horta. "We want Indonesia to agree to release all prisoners and stop the torture. In return, we would call a moratorium on guerrilla activity and street demonstrations."
Mandela displayed "enormous understanding and real sympathy", Ramos Horta said. "We leave with complete satisfaction, partly because we did not come expecting too much."
The delegation understood the conflicting interests which had to be juggled to further South Africa's own agenda, even if this meant the ANC "taking certain steps that could be shocking when looking at its position on human rights".
Presidential representative Parks Mankahlana confirmed the meeting took place. "It would be inappropriate at this stage to make any statement about the content of the discussion because of the sensitivity of the issues involved," he said.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Mandela to the aid of newsman
April 12, 1996
Nelson Mandela asked Washington for help in rescuing South African journalist Phillip van Niekerk from Liberia after he was trapped in the fighting this week.
When the guns began firing in down-town Monrovia, Van Niekerk, the Southern African correspondent for the M&G's sister newspaper The Observer, was the only foreign newsman left in Liberia. South Africa has no presence in the West African country. The Department of Foreign Affairs was unaware there were any citizens in Liberia until Tuesday evening, when senior officials were informed about Van Niekerk's presence.
United States authorities were flying US citizens out of Monravia to Freetown in neighbouring Sierra Leone, but Van Niekerk as a South African did not qualify for assistance. He remained in a hotel as battles raged through the city centre.
When Mandela heard of his precarious position, he sent a message to the White House asking President Bill Clinton to take care of him. As a result, Van Niekerk was included in the US evacuation to Freetown.
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Afrikaners looking for Mandela magic
April 04, 1996
Justin Pearce
AFRIKANERS battling for the survival of Afrikaans-only schools are pinning their hopes on President Nelson Mandela as constitutional negotiations draw to a close. But the African National Congress has yet to be convinced the battle for Afrikaans is not driven by a racist agenda.
In the past two weeks, representatives of Afrikaner cultural and political political parties joined together across political lines to approach Constitutional Assembly chair Cyril Rama-phosa, the ANC study group on education, and finally Mandela in an attempt to secure constitutional guarantees for state-funded schools which teach only in Afrikaans, and which preserve an Afrikaans "culture and ethos".
But, while representatives of the groups were impressed by the cordial reception they received from Mandela, they have so far failed to convince the ANC that their aims are something other than a return to apartheid.
"Our goal is monolingual Afrikaans schools, just as there are monolingual English schools and Zulu schools," explains Professor Piet van der Merwe of the South African Foundation for Education and Training, spokesman for the delegation. Other organisations represented included the Federasie van Afrikaanse Kultuurvereniginge (FAK), the South African Federation of State-supported Schools, various Afrikaner churches, the National Party, the Freedom Front, and the Conservative Party.
Van der Merwe and other delegates emphasised their intentions were not racist, and the Afrikaans schools they envisaged would be open to all. The high emotions generated by the education question added to the urgency of solving the question before this week's constitutional bosberaad in Arniston.
The representatives went first to Ramaphosa, who suggested they approach the ANC, given the power of the ANC vote in the Constitutional Assembly. Not reassured by the response from the ANC education working group, the Afrikaner delegation went to the president to try to invoke the legendary Madiba magic.
"Look at the springbok rugby emblem," said Freedom Front representative Leon Louw. "The only person who saved it was Mandela."
Louw sees Mandela as the man who will take up the cause of Afrikaans schools in the face of "ANC radicals" who, he believes, are determined to wipe out own-language education.
The president's response to the Afrikaners last Friday was a master-stroke of his hallmark diplomacy. Addressing the delegates in Afrikaans, Mandela began by presenting them with copies of the Freedom Charter which, he pointed out, had been adopted at the "Volkskongres" - better known as the Congress of the People - and which still supplied the guiding principles for ANC policy: "When I talk of reconciliation and respect for all the languages and cultures in this country, this is not an individual standpoint." Mandela is unlikely to intervene without the backing of the ANC.
On the face of it, Mandela and the ANC's bottom line do not seem to be inconsistent with the demands made by the Afrikaners. Yet, within the ANC, suspicions run deep that the delegates have another agenda. "If they are asking for exclusive rights for Afrikaners, it would be very difficult for the ANC to support that," said a member of the working group who felt that the delegation's arguments did not bear scrutiny.
Proponents of monolingual schools point out that mother-tongue education is a right that is recognised in other multilingual societies such as Canada and Belgium, and this is what is now being sought for Afrikaners in South Africa. The delegates deny they are looking for special rights for Afrikaners, pointing out that all children have the right to classes in their own language.
But the demand on the table is for more than mother-tongue education. Louw says separate Afrikaans classes in a multilingual school "with a culture and ethos we are not used to" will not be enough, and the intention is to secure the future of schools which teach only in Afrikaans.
While monolingual schools may sound harmless in principle, there are fears in the ANC such an idea cannot escape being politically loaded, given South Africa's history of racial segregation and privilege. In platteland towns, where the best schools were built exclusively for Afrikaners, Afrikaners are going to have to relinquish their hold if the government is to fulfil its aims of equalising access to education.
But, Van der Merwe says, "we don't expect every half-full Afrikaans school to stay that way. We are also open to the idea of sharing facilities." As long as some Afrikaans schools remain in places where there are enough Afrikaans pupils to make them viable, no one is insisting every dorp has one.
This concession could provide a way out of the deadlock. One source close to the president said while the current Constitution cannot be changed without falling foul of the anti- racist constitutional principles, a compromise outside the Constitution is not out of the question: "We must distinguish between constitutional provisions and implementation of the policy. An education department could declare schools in certain areas to be for Afrikaners - though they would not be allowed to turn other pupils away."
But Van der Merwe doubts that existing provisions are enough to ensure the survival of Afrikaans schools: "We believe this is open to interpretation.." Without constitutional safeguards, Van der Merwe believes, Afrikaans schools will be under threat.
While Afrikaans-speakers within the ANC believe special protection for Afrikaans is neither desirable nor necessary, the organisation acknowledges that the delegates who visited Mandela last Friday represent most Afrikaners.
ANC spokesman Ronnie Mamoepa did not want to pre-empt the ongoing negotiations, and would only say "the ANC is committed to discussing all concerns in an attempt to find an amicable and lasting solution."
For the delegates, a solution means nothing less than at least some Afrikaans schools stay ing that way. Says Ds Henno Cronje of the FAK, "if this doesn't come right, it has serious consequences for reconciliation."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
'Everyone wants a piece of the president'
March 15, 1996
One of the questions most frequently asked of President Nelson Mandela at the Park Lane Clinic last week was whether he was scaling down his activities. To find out, Rehana Rossouw peeked at his diary for this week
This is what President Nelson Mandela's diary looks like this week. There are early morning dashes to airports, a meeting with a sports star, that very important meeting in KwaZulu-Natal and plenty of time for rest in between affairs of state.
As far as possible, most of Mandela's afternoons and every Friday are kept free. This Friday though, the imbizo in KwaZulu- Natal is of critical importance, so his day is full.
Three days a week are devoted to African National Congress business - Mondays, which he spends at Shell House, and Saturdays and Sundays, when he prefers to stay at his Houghton home.
By late last year, Mandela began complaining that his schedule was so hectic that he seldom had time to read the newspapers and important state documents. He wanted time out to do this so badly that he remarked that he missed the days on Robben Island, where he could spend time reflecting on issues and penning his responses. So he suggested free time in the afternoon, whenever possible.
"The decision to leave his afternoon free had nothing to do with doctors," stressed presidential spokesman Parks Mankahlana.
Mandela's diary is definitely not as hectic as it was this time last year, said Mankahlana. However, the president's office could not produce last year's diary for comparison as it was in Pretoria and his staffers were all in Cape Town.
"Largely, this situation has evolved over a period of time, rather than because of a specific instruction. The staff in the president's office have now all acquainted themselves with the fact that his programme has to be streamlined.
"If six ministers want to see him on a particular day, perhaps three will be re- routed to the deputy president. Instead of doing an interview once a day, we arrange one a week with four journalists present."
Mankahlana said Mandela's programme was currently "manageable and reasonable", although demands for his time keep rising. "We expect that as long as he is alive, people will want a slice of his time. He is popular, he has strong appeal, and everyone wants him at their event."
More often that not though, Mandela just isn't available to judge a fashion show or snip a ribbon and, when the staff at the presidency believe an event needs a representative, other Ministers are co-opted into service to stand in for the president.
"Some people don't like it when they invite Mandela and someone else arrives to represent him. It's not that they want the president of South Africa to attend, they want Nelson Mandela himself."
What most people don't realise is that Mandela's diary is thematic. They would stand a better chance of grabbing his attention if their request for his time found symmetry with Mandela's causes.
In October and November last year, for instance, his diary was cleared of matters of state while he concentrated on winning support for the local government elections.
Since January, he has had one overriding concern - peace in KwaZulu-Natal. Mandela's staff have had to shape his programme and make it fit into the president's overall plan.
Almost all his speeches this year have preached peace, reconciliation, patriotism and nation building. He has consulted often with King Goodwill Zwelithini, Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi, and ANC KwaZulu-Natal leader Jacob Zuma. He has been following Magnus Malan's trial closely.
On Tuesday he had lunch with Buthelezi to iron out arrangements for the imbizo on Friday. "After Friday's imbizo, he will start gearing up for the local government elections in the Western Cape and KwaZulu-Natal," Mankahlana said.
"With this much foresight, we are able to add to the president's current project without overworking him. There's no Chinese wall though, we can always pitch the programme according to what's high on the agenda."
Most of the diary is drafted by a committee consisting of cabinet secretary Jakes Gerwel, presidential parliamentary councillor Ahmed Kathrada, Mandela's secretary Mary Mxabane and his head of communication Joel Netshitenzhe.
State visits to South Africa and abroad are, naturally, organised months in advance. These are also streamlined, taking into account which countries are most important to visit and which visits can be passed on to the deputy presidents.
The diary committee meets regularly to consider requests for Mandela's time. Obviously, they cannot allocate every minute detail, anticipate every crisis or cater for their boss's whims. When he wants to meet a sports star, like Springbok swimmer Penny Heyns this week, she's slotted in. If he wants a photo opportunity with her after the meeting, it's likewise arranged.
"We can plan almost a year in advance for overseas trips, but visits to South Africa come sometimes with as little as a week's notice," said Kathrada. "So the diary changes all the time."
"We try to take into consideration rest periods for him, but that's also not easy. For instance, when he goes to Transkei to rest, we go out of our way not to disturb him and people land there without previous notice demanding to see him.
"While we try to cut down the programme as much as possible, it's difficult, everybody wants a piece of the president."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
'An inspiration to geriatrics'
March 08, 1996
We consulted some doctors about Nelson Mandela's health. They say it's excellent for his age Rehana Rossouw
It's hard to regard a man who jets across a continent and back in three days, gets to bed after 1am, then chirps energetically at the media seven hours later, as a geriatric. But at 77 years and seven months, Nelson Mandela is one.
At that age, the degeneration of the body affects all major functions. Yet specialists and doctors consulted by the Mail & Guardian this week about the president's health are in awe of his energy and mental faculties.
"He's an inspiration to geriatrics all over the world. At an age where many are in retirement homes contemplating their navels, he's not only holding his own nation together but swanning across the globe solving other countries' problems," said a Cape Town physician.
On Monday Mandela's doctors will reveal the results of a three-day battery of tests conducted to dispel rumours of poor health.
Mandela left the Park Lane Clinic on Thursday with a clean bill of health from his physician, Dr Michael Plit. An electrocardiogram had shown his heartbeat to be "textbook perfect", with no signs of coronary artery disease. X-rays indicated his lungs were in excellent condition.
It's difficult for doctors not present at the clinic this week to identify weaknesses in the president's health, but they could provide general pointers to areas of concern.
The most important check this week was of Mandela's cardiovascular system. If it falls outside the expected range he should be treated to reduce the risk of heart failure. Yet the risk of Mandela's suffering a heart attack is low.
Older people are also significantly more likely to develop an irregular heart beat, doctors said. This can result in a stroke. Mandela's ECG would determine whether this is a problem.
"His favourite exercise is walking and all he really needs to do is work up a sweat three times a week through aerobic exercise like walking," said a physician.
The incidence of diabetes does increase among older people, but doctors believe that if Mandela sticks to his sensible diet there is no reason for him to be at risk of contracting the disease.
Because Mandela contracted TB while in prison, his lungs will have been checked this week. He does not smoke, so lung cancer is a low risk, and there is also no cause to worry about emphysema or asthma.
The chances of Mandela having cancer are significantly reduced because of his lifestyle. He has had a prostatectomy, so there is no chance of prostate cancer and, because he is black, the risk of skin cancer is insignificant. He would have been screened for stomach and bowel cancer this week, though.
There are only two recorded cases of black men with Alzheimer's disease in the history of medicine, so Mandela is an unlikely candidate.
"There is very little likelihood he is suffering from senility. The first thing that goes is memory, long before judgment suffers. There is no sign of the president having memory problems. He makes speeches without notes and quotes extensively from previous meetings and incidents in the past," said a physician.
Doctors are concerned about the stressful life Mandela leads, but, commented one, "He does not strike me as a stressed person, although we have seen him come close to losing his temper a few times ... PW Botha was a prime candidate for a stroke because of the way he used to get worked up over everything."
Doctors believe that, unlike other politicians, Mandela is fortunate to have sustained friendships spanning decades. Many powerful men are surrounded by hangers-on basking in their glory but unavailable to support them when they are stressed.
University of Cape Town Professor in Geriatric Medicine Stephen Louw said although Mandela appeared unusually able to dissipate stress, he was concerned about the president's punishing schedule.
"After watching the television programme A Day with the President last year, I felt it was a bit unrealistic to expect so much from him. He flew to Cape Town and back to Johannesburg late at night in one day - that would be exhausting for most people," Louw said.
His programme should be more tightly controlled, said Louw."He's obviously an immensely conscientious person who believes he must be available when needed. This may be healthy for the nation, but it could be hazardous to his health."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
Mandela's Health:
Brain: While the incidence of senility and dementia does increase among older people, doctors say Mandela's public performance shows no sign of either. As a black man, the chances of his contracting Alzheimer's disease are practically non-existent
Stress: Mandela may look troubled here, but doctors say that he handles stress very well
Heart: Mandela's race, non-smoking habits, careful eating, 27-year prison diet and frequent exercise reduce the risk of a heart attack. But doctors will have checked his cholesterol and given him an ECG to see if there are any signs of an irregular heart beat
Weight: Certainly not overweight. He exercises regularly and does not seem to have a sweet tooth
Blood pressure: There is an increasing incidence of high blood pressure among South Africa's black population. If the president's pressure falls outside the expected range of between 150/90 to 160/95, he will need treatment to reduce the risk of heart failure
Ankles: Some observers have noticed a slight swelling of the ankles, which can point to slight heart weakness
Eyesight: Mandela has had one minor operation for blocked tear ducts, the result of working in the Robben Island limestone quarries
Hearing: He shows signs of auditory degeneration, normal at his age
Lungs: Because Mandela contracted TB while in prison, his lungs will certainly have been checked this week. There is no cause to worry about emphysema or asthma because Mandela is capable of walking long distances
Bowel and stomach: The chances of Mandela having cancer are significantly reduced because of his lifestyle. He would have been screened for stomach and bowel cancer this week, though. The other most likely forms of cancer, affecting the skin and prostate, are unlikely because he is black and has had his prostate removed
Bladder: Doctors will have checked uric acid levels for any sign of kidney problems
Muscles: His muscle tone appears to be quite good and he seems strong and agile. There are no indications of some of the usual signs of age, like stumbling or falling often. 'He can probably duck quickly if someone shoots at him,' says a physician
Diary: Too full. If there is any reason to be concerned, it is that he leads a life which would exhaust a 20 year old
Editorial:
A post-Mandela age
March 08, 1996
IT is with great relief that the country learns of the clean bill of health given to President Nelson Mandela by Johannesburg's Park Lane clinic. Rarely can a people - indeed the world - have wished for the good health and long life of an individual with as much fervour as in the case of Mandela.
That said, it is difficult to understand what the government hoped to achieve by this piece of medical grandstanding, other than to offer a testimonial to the private health sector.
It is an unfortunate fact of life - or, rather, of death - that the Grim Reaper, in addition to preying on the aged, is a furtive character who makes much use of ambush and surprise. A certificate today, even from the good doctors at the Park Lane, is no guarantee against tomorrow.
If the intention of Mandela and his advisers was to give reassurance about our tomorrows to the financial markets we would suggest that they are misunderstanding the problem, which lies in the perception that he is the only man capable of holding South Africa together. This view may be inherently racist, but it - as much as the sight of the odd ambulance calling on the presidency to tend to a security guard who has slipped on the stairs - is responsible for the panic over the president's health.
In the absence of any copper-bottomed guarantee as to Mandela's continued good health, the obvious solution to the problem is to demonstrate to the world that even in his absence the government of the country rests in safe hands. The way to do that is for Mandela to shift some of the responsibilities of leadership on to the shoulders of those who would lead in his place.
The most obvious candidate at the moment is Mandela's deputy, Thabo Mbeki. There is a school of thought that Mbeki has already shown himself, in his role as presidential trouble-shooter - with his handling of matters such as the Winnie Mandela and the Allan Boesak scandals - ill-qualified for the top post. Such a judgment is premature and unfair. As Mandela himself can testify, Winnie is too much for any man to handle and anxious second-guessing of his president may well lie behind Mbeki's other fumbles. There may, however, be others better qualified for the succession who could be tested with the exercise of power. If such candidates are not in sufficiently senior positions in government to assume such responsibilities, then they must be elevated there.
Besides, Mandela is the architect of reconciliation, a project in which he has achieved what few others could. But this take-it-on-the-chin-for-the-sake-of-peace era is drawing to an end, inevitably replaced by a period when delivery of election promises must be the first priority. This is the project of the younger generation.
Only by such determined action can we destroy the unfortunate perception which has been foisted on Mandela, through no fault of his own, that "l'etat, c'est moi."
© Weekly Mail & Guardian
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