Twenty one
years after the first democratic vote in South Africa the year 2015 has witnessed a rise
in public protests that is unprecedented in the new democratic dispensation. The student
and worker protests that recently flared up across the country are reminiscent of
the anti-apartheid protests of the 1980s. Over the past four weeks, tertiary
education students across the country protested against fee increases, worker
exploitation at tertiary universities, and called for free universal education.
They occupied and shut down institutions, eventually taking their protests to
the doorsteps of parliament in Cape Town and the Union Buildings in Pretoria.
A
bewildered ex-liberation ruling party seemed to be caught unawares by the rise
in youth protests, and at first attempted to appear as supporters of the
protests. As the irony of the situation grew, and the protests converged upon
government buildings in cities across the country, the president and the
Minister of Higher Education and Training were forced to intervene, eventually
declaring that a zero per cent increase in fees would be guaranteed by
government.
Yet the warning signs were clear. Public protests have been steadily rising over the past decade in South Africa. Major service delivery protests in poor communities have risen dramatically (peaking at over 400 in 2012, from 14 in 2004). Worker protests have hit all sectors, from mining to agriculture to government. The student protests of the past four weeks, are but the tip of the spear. It has penetrated, and opened up room for new, more direct tactics to be employed in making power accountable. The students took their cause to the gates of parliament in Cape Town, and converged in their thousands on the Union Buildings in Pretoria, forcing government to capitulate to their demands.
The student
protests have set an example to worker groups, who have effectively been
trapped within a leadership vacuum following the dramatic and bitter split of
the Congress of South African Trade Unions, which governs in partnership with
the ANC in a tripartite alliance that includes the South African Communist
Party (SACP). As labour leadership has dithered, a new party – the Economic
Freedom Fighters (EFF) – have captured a key demographic in the youth bulge
(i.e. marginal, unemployed and poor youth), and are set to capture the votes of
workers who are disillusioned with their lack of representation and political
power within the tripartite alliance.
When
mineworkers embarked upon a “wildcat” strike in 2012 at Lonmin mines in the
remote town of Marikana, they did so under a newly established new union – the
Association of Mineworkers and Construction (AMCU) – which had split from the
traditional National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), having grown impatient and
disillusioned with unfulfilled promises and lack of adequate representation. AMCU
members viewed the NUM leadership as part of a system of political power that
negated serving their interests independently and adequately.
Notably, AMCU declared itself “apolitical and non-communist”, in stark contrast
to NUM, which as a member of COSATU governs in alliance with the SACP and the African National Congress (ANC). It’s refusal to call off the
strike led to a standoff with police that resulted in the largest mass killing
by police that South Africa has experienced since the 1964 Sharpeville
massacre. In all, 41 mineworkers were gunned down by police in Marikana, many
of them under suspicious circumstances.
The
Marikana massacre shocked South Africans deeply. There was a sense that the
nation was witnessing a nightmare play out. It couldn’t be real. How could it
be that the new ex-liberation party led government could massacre the very
constituency that had repeatedly won it its large majority vote? It seemed
surreal. Time folded and many South Africans felt as though they had been
transported back to the bad old days, when the police acted as an armed wing of
the Apartheid state, gunning down black South Africans without pause. But the signs that tensions were building between the state and the public had been clearly present and evident in the years preceding Marikana.
It is
within this context that the protests of parliamentary workers (over the past few days) should be
understood. When the police fired off stun grenades at parliamentary workers
who were protesting in the parliamentary precinct, after having faced criticism
for adopting the very same strong arm tactics against students who had stormed
the precinct a few weeks earlier, a deeply disturbing message was communicated.
Even though parliamentary workers work side by side with politicians, it was clear that the ruling class and the working class inhabit completely different
spheres, and that the plight of workers is largely invisible to the ruling
class, despite their left-leaning rhetoric.
In reality,
workers are not the driving force behind the ruling party, they are merely a
convenient voting stock that can reliably be drawn upon come election time.
They are not equals in any real measure, and their issues and demands – many of
them entirely reasonable given the long terms of service parliamentary workers
have put in – lie in the background of day to day politics. They are
not the first priority of the ruling party; rather the first priority of the
ruling party is holding on to power, and securing the relationships with
business and capital that enable them to do so unchallenged.
The lesson
– the invisibility of the working classes – also resonates in the student
protests. Protests at former black universities have been met with heavier
police action than those at the former white universities. There is a sense
that the former white universities, which typically house more privileged
students, are treated with greater sensitivity and enjoy more attention by the
media. As was the case during Apartheid, police cracked down heavily at former
black tertiary institutions. This has not gone unnoticed.
The key to
understanding the violence that unfolded during some protests requires only a
cursory understanding of the history of protest in South Africa. The protests
of the 1980s, which were intended to “make the country ungovernable”, has
transmuted in the new dispensation. It lay somewhat dormant by comparison in
the first decade of democracy, However, the ‘service delivery protest culture’
that has grown exponentially over the past decade, was born of communities who
had grown frustrated with the lack of delivery by politicians that they had
voted into power.
The main
sentiment was that communities could vote for the ANC, but they had to get out
into the streets and make communities ungovernable in order to get ANC
structures to take action to resolve the day to day issues that arose. It is
predominantly a tactic to become visible in the public domain. In a society
characterised by drastic inequality, that inequality manifests most
severely in the invisibility of the poor and those who are marginal to the
formal socio-economic systems and institutions.
So when
parliamentary workers occupied chambers within parliament, and giving speeches,
chanting slogans and singing protest songs there was a sense that a “peoples
parliament”, however briefly, had come into existence. The EFF, whose members
attend parliament in red workers overalls, construction helmets and domestic
worker uniforms, seemed vindicated in their assessment of where the leadership
vacuum is most stark in the South African political landscape.
When police
fired stun grenades at the protesting workers, it was reminiscent of the
violent treatment that the EFF experience at the hands of ‘parliamentary
bouncers’, who wrestle them out of the chambers whenever bring parliamentary
procedures to a standstill; in essence adopting “occupy” tactics within
parliament. The EFF is acutely aware that the moment they have been waiting for
has arrived; the disillusioned and fragmented constituency of the ANC is now
rebelling directly at the doorsteps of power.
The service
delivery protests – most often located in far-away peripheral urban settlements
– seem poised to transform into a more significant protest force i.e. by taking
their causes directly to the buildings and spaces where politicians go about
their work, in the centres of major cities.
This new
development cannot be underestimated. It indicates that disgruntled and ignored
constituencies are beginning to understand how to exert pressure on the
government. The students, to their credit, were the first to sink this lesson
into the psychologies of South Africans. What is indisputable, is that while
Marikana resulted in shock and disbelief, and a sense of futility, the student
protests have bolstered sentiment and determination to tackle power directly.
The youth
have led the charge against an insensitive political system and state, which
continues to entrench the very inequalities that the struggle against Apartheid
was based on, and in doing so have demonstrated that there is a way to make
power accountable in South Africa. The lesson has been learnt and it is
unlikely that it will be un-learnt anytime soon. I expect that protest culture
will intensify over the next few years in South Africa, and that a crisis of
mammoth proportions will likely unfold.
The
struggle of the long-marginalised and desperate poor of South Africa is yet
again converging from the peripheries to the centres of power. That, more than
anything, is a strong indication that the winds of socio-political change have
begun to blow again in South Africa. Whether they are miners or farmworkers in
remote mining and agricultural towns, residents of informal settlements and poor communities
that are scattered on the peripheries of cities, or students and scholars whom
the system does not service or prioritise, the indisputable fact of the
momentum that is gathering is that it will sustain itself until it reaches a
tipping point.
Exactly
where it will lead is uncertain, but what is certain, in my view, is that there
is no going back now. That’s a lesson that South African history teaches
clearly; when the momentum is on the side of the public, they are relentless
and resilient. The groups that feel invisible to power now have a way of making
themselves incontrovertibly visible, and it is likely that they will make every
effort to capitalise on their newfound visibility to drive for serious and
lasting political changes in South Africa. Perhaps it will serve as a second
political enlightenment, perhaps it will lead to increased chaos and anarchy.
Whatever the case, it is long overdue.
P.S. Incidentally, after writing this blog, I learnt today that the deputy president of South Africa, Cyril Ramaphosa, an ex-trade unionist turned billionaire, has been served summons over the Marikana shootings.
P.S. Incidentally, after writing this blog, I learnt today that the deputy president of South Africa, Cyril Ramaphosa, an ex-trade unionist turned billionaire, has been served summons over the Marikana shootings.