South Africa's fourth round of "all race" national elections since the end of apartheid will take place on April 22 -- less than a month from now. Election news dominates the newspapers and television broadcasts, and the daily news cycle reveals a new scandal within the ruling African National Congress (ANC) party by the hour.
I had the opportunity to hear Jacob Zuma, the ANC's candidate for president, speak in the Cape Town township of Khayelitsha in late February. Zuma revealed himself to be a charming figure -- singing a song and performing his trademark dance. But aside from his gimmicks, his candidacy poses real problems for the ANC and the future of South African democracy at large. No other political party can directly challenge the ANC's rule. (The ANC took nearly 70 per cent of the vote in 2005.) The ANC holds enough seats (a two-thirds majority) in the national parliament to amend the Constitution without the say of the opposition. Zuma's own allegations of rape and corruption do not assuage concerns.
The Democratic Alliance (DA), the main opposition party with broad based support from whites and coloureds, frequently takes to comparing ANC rule of South Africa to Robert Mugabe's 29 year (and counting) control of Zimbabwe. The DA intends for the comparison to frighten voters, but most South Africans dismiss the allegation as a simple scare tactic in the heart of an election campaign.
When I talk to a white South African, I am constantly asked where I come from in the States. Massive white emigration, a fact of life in post-apartheid South Africa, leaves middle-aged and retired whites in South Africa and their children and grandchildren scattered around the world. The whites I speak to simply want to know if their family members or friends live near me. The friendly Jewish Studies Librarian is flying to Australia for Pesach to have seder with her daughter. The proper Rhodesian lady I met at the mall speaks to her daughter daily in St. Louis. Everyone knows South Africans living in the U.S., the UK, Australia, New Zealand or Israel. South Africa's Jewish population alone has fallen from a high of 120,000 in 1970 to 70,000 today. And the consequent rise in Australia's Jewish population nearly matches South Africa's decline.
White South Africans are voting with their feet -- and they do not see a future here. Even though white South Africans give up a tremendously comfortable life (large homes, domestic labour, cheap cost of living, strong communities and generations of family roots) to begin afresh overseas, they feel that the opportunity abroad is worth the risk. South African law makes transferring money abroad nearly impossible, so the whites surrender vast sums of assets to emigrate. Of course, the global recession has prompted a return of some South Africans from overseas, but the general out-migration trend seems unlikely to end.
Even the white students my age at UCT speak of their imminent departures after graduation to the UK or other destinations in the English-speaking world. Students feel guilty about abandoning their parents and grandparents here, but many parents themselves encourage their children to leave -- especially students from the Johannesburg area.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The Rhythms of Life in Cape Town
Each morning, I pass UCT's Baxter Theatre Center en route to the Jammie Shuttle bus stop at Tugwell Hall. The Baxter Theatre hosts visiting primary school group
s on a daily basis, constantly reminding me of the diversity of people who live in Cape Town. I see little Malay children with their teachers dressed in headscarves walking single-file from their bus into the theatre. Or Indian children, coloured children, East Asian children, Jewish children and more. The diversity of field trips taken to the Baxter Theatre each week represents the spectrum of South African society -- especially in such a cosmopolitan province as the Western Cape. The province is now home to some 4.8 million, making it neither South Africa's most populated or least populated province.
I feel a sense of disconnect in Cape Town and the Western Cape from events happening in the rest of the country. Hundreds of miles of desert and semi-arid land separate Cape Town from the Highveld, home to the economic and political hubs of Johannesburg and Pretoria. Most Capetonians express perfect content to remain out of the national circle; they have wine vineyards to visit, mountains to climb, live jazz music to enjoy and unspoiled beaches on which to eat a picnic. Why think about the rampant motor vehicle theft, the endless sprawl, the pollution, the traffic and the growing insecurity about the future that defines Johannesburg today? Capetonians do not envy those problems.
But Cape Town is not without its fair share of problems. The summer months just passed brought extensive wildfire damage due to both natural causes and arson. Unfortunately, a surprising source of wildfire arson in the Western Cape includes the firefighters themselves. The firefighter pay structure pays firefighters based on the number of hours worked. Emergency fire conditions permit firefighters many hours of lucrative overtime pay, tempting firefighters to start their own fires in order to earn more pay when work is slow. What would the honest fire station Dalmatian think?
s on a daily basis, constantly reminding me of the diversity of people who live in Cape Town. I see little Malay children with their teachers dressed in headscarves walking single-file from their bus into the theatre. Or Indian children, coloured children, East Asian children, Jewish children and more. The diversity of field trips taken to the Baxter Theatre each week represents the spectrum of South African society -- especially in such a cosmopolitan province as the Western Cape. The province is now home to some 4.8 million, making it neither South Africa's most populated or least populated province.I feel a sense of disconnect in Cape Town and the Western Cape from events happening in the rest of the country. Hundreds of miles of desert and semi-arid land separate Cape Town from the Highveld, home to the economic and political hubs of Johannesburg and Pretoria. Most Capetonians express perfect content to remain out of the national circle; they have wine vineyards to visit, mountains to climb, live jazz music to enjoy and unspoiled beaches on which to eat a picnic. Why think about the rampant motor vehicle theft, the endless sprawl, the pollution, the traffic and the growing insecurity about the future that defines Johannesburg today? Capetonians do not envy those problems.
But Cape Town is not without its fair share of problems. The summer months just passed brought extensive wildfire damage due to both natural causes and arson. Unfortunately, a surprising source of wildfire arson in the Western Cape includes the firefighters themselves. The firefighter pay structure pays firefighters based on the number of hours worked. Emergency fire conditions permit firefighters many hours of lucrative overtime pay, tempting firefighters to start their own fires in order to earn more pay when work is slow. What would the honest fire station Dalmatian think?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Beginner's Tournament
The Township Debate League (TDL) event ran very smoothly and even resembled debate tournaments from back home – namely a lengthy awards ceremony and too much downtime in between rounds. I suppose debate tournaments share characteristics all over the globe. My learners from Thandokhulu High School even won a round at the Sunday beginner’s tournament. They will describe the weekend experience to the rest of the team at Thursday’s training session.
I realised that TDL and its sponsors reimburse the learners for their public transport costs en route to and from the tournament, as well as provide a sandwich, juice and fruit for lunch. Without this generous assistance, the learners simply would not be able to compete. (Don’t worry: the volunteer adjudicators also got lunch.)
The structure of a debate round consists of two teams of five learners – one takes a proposition (“for”) side and the other argues the opposition (“against”) side. The speakers alternative, and each speaker must present different elements of the team’s overall position. The winning team is chosen as the sum of all its efforts – not based on an individual speaker.
After a few rounds, the quality of debate drastically improved. The learners were speaking for their full time allotment (and not just 45 seconds), engaging each other and using better examples and clearer words. With barely six hours of formal training during the past four weeks, the students remarkably demonstrated how a little training and investment goes a long way to improving confidence, speaking abilities and logical reasoning. I shared in the palpable excitement that lit up the otherwise worn and gray tournament venue.
While the other volunteers and I waited for our bus to fetch us, the tournament organizer read aloud the additional comments recorded on the learner feedback surveys. Overwhelmingly, the learners thanked the volunteers “for being so nice to us.” As the organizer asked, why wouldn’t we be kind to the students? Common decency may not be so common in the lives of the students. The surveys revealed that the debaters enjoyed themselves very much – and wish they could attend a tournament every weekend. One survey even said, “I want to be perfect at debate just like the adjudicators!”
The surveys also made us laugh, especially the comment, “The food was very good, but I’d like another pear.” Or, “The adjudicators were staring at us too much and it made me nervous.” The students put so much passion and energy into everything they do, and it continues to inspire me every week.
I realised that TDL and its sponsors reimburse the learners for their public transport costs en route to and from the tournament, as well as provide a sandwich, juice and fruit for lunch. Without this generous assistance, the learners simply would not be able to compete. (Don’t worry: the volunteer adjudicators also got lunch.)
The structure of a debate round consists of two teams of five learners – one takes a proposition (“for”) side and the other argues the opposition (“against”) side. The speakers alternative, and each speaker must present different elements of the team’s overall position. The winning team is chosen as the sum of all its efforts – not based on an individual speaker.
After a few rounds, the quality of debate drastically improved. The learners were speaking for their full time allotment (and not just 45 seconds), engaging each other and using better examples and clearer words. With barely six hours of formal training during the past four weeks, the students remarkably demonstrated how a little training and investment goes a long way to improving confidence, speaking abilities and logical reasoning. I shared in the palpable excitement that lit up the otherwise worn and gray tournament venue.
While the other volunteers and I waited for our bus to fetch us, the tournament organizer read aloud the additional comments recorded on the learner feedback surveys. Overwhelmingly, the learners thanked the volunteers “for being so nice to us.” As the organizer asked, why wouldn’t we be kind to the students? Common decency may not be so common in the lives of the students. The surveys revealed that the debaters enjoyed themselves very much – and wish they could attend a tournament every weekend. One survey even said, “I want to be perfect at debate just like the adjudicators!”
The surveys also made us laugh, especially the comment, “The food was very good, but I’d like another pear.” Or, “The adjudicators were staring at us too much and it made me nervous.” The students put so much passion and energy into everything they do, and it continues to inspire me every week.
Monday, March 23, 2009
At Home in the Kaplan Centre Library
I visited the Jewish Studies Library at the UCT Kaplan Centre on Upper Campus this afternoon. I am writing a paper on South African Jewish identity both before and after the 1994 transition, so I headed to this quaint and comfortable library halfway around the world. The Kaplan Centre also houses the kosher food canteen on campus -- the same venue where I first ate the deeply unsatisfying South African hamentashen two weeks ago.
Now in the library, I found a helpful and friendly librarian writing a book on South African Yiddish Theatre who spent several years studying at Columbia/JTS in New York. I browsed the generous collection of volumes -- about a dozen fully stocked rows -- and spotted some magnificent finds (for my paper, and for pleasure). Would you believe that a book exists on the Jewish community of Zambia/N. Rhodesia? Sure enough, a title called "Zion in Africa: The Jews of Zambia" caught my eye. And the personal account of a South African Jew's aliyah to Israel during the apartheid era in Let Me Create a Paradise also struck an interest.
I saw so many familiar titles and book covers -- from my personal library in Raleigh and elsewhere -- on Israel and the American Jewish community in particular. But the library's hidden treasure (at least for me) remains the volumes dedicated to little known Jewish communities that few American Jews ever dreamed existed. Only exceedingly resourceful European Jews arranged immigration to such far away lands as Northern Rhodesia, German South West Africa and Angola -- but enough families populated the capital cities of those colonies (from roughly 1900 to the 1950s) to build synagogues, dedicate Jewish cemeteries and arrange for kosher slaughter.
The tale of African Jewry makes the millions who sailed to New York sound ordinary and trite! Lusaka, Zambia, was no Lower East Side.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Feedback Post
I hope that my blog can serve as a dialogue in addition to this one-way direction of updates. Are you out there in cyberspace and enjoying this? Please leave comments!
Quick Updates
Happy autumn wishes from South Africa!
1. The Emory Wheel has resumed publishing after the spring break vacation. My latest article, "Serving the Students, Literally," was published on Friday.
2. I am spending my entire Sunday judging the beginner's tournament at the Township Debate League. I won't be able to judge my own group of learners from Thandokhulu High School due to glaring conflicts of interest, but I do hope to observe them in action.
3. Kim and Rachel are joining the other Princeton students for a field research trip to the Eastern Cape Province from Tuesday-Thursday, leaving me all alone in Rondebosch for a few days. The Princeton students work on an independent task force related to their public policy program at the Woodrow Wilson School.
4. Rachel carved yellow watermelon for us on Friday night! Yellow watermelon is a new tropical delicacy for me -- and I highly recommend it.
1. The Emory Wheel has resumed publishing after the spring break vacation. My latest article, "Serving the Students, Literally," was published on Friday.
2. I am spending my entire Sunday judging the beginner's tournament at the Township Debate League. I won't be able to judge my own group of learners from Thandokhulu High School due to glaring conflicts of interest, but I do hope to observe them in action.
3. Kim and Rachel are joining the other Princeton students for a field research trip to the Eastern Cape Province from Tuesday-Thursday, leaving me all alone in Rondebosch for a few days. The Princeton students work on an independent task force related to their public policy program at the Woodrow Wilson School.
4. Rachel carved yellow watermelon for us on Friday night! Yellow watermelon is a new tropical delicacy for me -- and I highly recommend it.
A Day at Camps Bay
I journeyed to Camps Bay with Mike and Kim (two of many Princeton friends) this afternoon for a few hours of attempted study on the shores of the South Atlantic. Camps Bay is an exclusive beach town 30 minutes from my apartment in Rondebosch. We took two public taxis, amounting to R12 for the entire fare (approximately $1.20). In Africa, large mini-buses with sliding doors that seat 16 or more passengers make up the base of the public transport sector. Some have five rows of seating with a small aisle or fold-able chair on the side. The mini-buses function with a driver (always a good sign) and a shouter who proudly proclaims the destination of the mini-bus. From my living room, I hear the mini-buses passing by on Rondebosch Main Road all day. The shouters on board the south-bound mini-buses scream, "Wyneburg," and the north-bound mini-buses proclaim, "Cape Town!" Once on board, you pass your fare to the shouter who counts out your change while shouting to passers-by on the street.
The shouters have a tough job. They seek to keep the mini-bus full of customers for the entire length of the route. An empty mini-bus makes no revenue. A mini-bus may leave Cape Town full, but passengers exit at various points along the route by yelling, "Thank you, driver." The shouters aggressively recruit people to take their mini-buses. I was once walking along the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the adjacent lane of traffic. Even though I was walking away from the mini-bus, a shouter tried to convince me I really intended to go to Wyneburg.
Important etiquette governs mini-bus traffic: count out your fare before boarding and watch your pockets. And prepare to be squished. The shouter will fit as many customers into the mini-bus as possible with little regard to your comfort. Additionally, the structural integrity of the mini-bus will vary. I sat on the back row of a mini-bus just this afternoon -- and the row of seats were not fastened to the bottom of the van. At every intersection -- either stopping or accelerating -- we would bounce like a rollercoaster. Remember, TIA. This. Is. Africa.
For today's beach trip, we took a mini-bus from Rondebosch to the central mini-bus depot in Cape Town. We transferred to the second mini-bus of the day bound for Camps Bay. Unfortunately, the ocean water along Cape Town's beaches is freezing. The Antarctic sea melt keeps the water frigid year-round. But the warm air temperatures allowed for a pleasant day on the sand and the ocean provided cool -- and brief -- relief to hot feet and ankles.
Camps Bay itself is nestled below the highway between the western face of Ta
ble Mountain and the Atlantic Ocean. The front of Lion's Head -- which I climbed during the last full moon -- marks the north end of Camps Bay and the Twelve Apostles Mountain Range runs along the east and south coast, enclosing Camps Bay entirely between mountains and rolling hills and the chilly shores of the Atlantic. My universe (Rondebosch and UCT) is directly across the mountains from Camps Bay! Not far at all. Clifton and Sea Point are other prime beachfront suburbs that ring the coast and attract thousands of European retirees/pensioners for the mild weather and beautiful views.
I read a few chapters about the Bengal famine of 1943 for my Economies of Feasts and Famine class while noting a few observations:
1. My friend Mike is Chinese. I obviously knew Mike was Chinese before today. But his heritage is important because Mike would not be able to swim at Camps Bay with me during the apartheid regime. Under apartheid racial classification, Mike would be called as a "coloured" and would have to swim somewhere else.
2. I noticed that the family with a dog behind us barked quite frequently. I started to watch the dog and quickly deduced that the dog only barked at black beachgoers. That's right. The owners had to restrain their dog from running up and molesting passing black people. Either the dog was trained to bark at blacks, or he sees blacks so infrequently at home that he mistakes them for danger.
South Africa's troubled and complex history can never be escaped -- not even during a Saturday afternoon at Camps Bay. Needless to say, Camps Bay was classified as a white's-only area during the apartheid era. A dizzying system of pass laws permitted black or coloured labourers (usually from townships or informal settlements) to visit Camps Bay during the day in order to run the shops, clean the homes and maintain the yards of local residents (the same pass laws applied to Rondebosch where I live). Many such labourers relied (and still rely) on the mini-bus public transport routes that we took ourselves.
After a few hours on the beach, we found a brilliant and famous ice cream parlor recommended by many other students (and adults!) called Sinful Ice-cream Emporium. I ordered two scoops of "Very Yummy!" and "Aero" ice cream -- a combination of dark chocolate and a chocolate mousse/malt milkshake for R16 (approximately $1.60). The ice cream lived up to its name -- and with the Pope currently on the African continent, I think everyone could use a little more sin in their ice cream. Mike, Kim and I quietly inhaled our ice cream before taking the mini-buses back to Rondebosch.
While driving down Sea Point's Main Road, I spotted "NEW YORK BAGEL." My eyes grew big with excitement. I must remember to go back and try the bagels.
The shouters have a tough job. They seek to keep the mini-bus full of customers for the entire length of the route. An empty mini-bus makes no revenue. A mini-bus may leave Cape Town full, but passengers exit at various points along the route by yelling, "Thank you, driver." The shouters aggressively recruit people to take their mini-buses. I was once walking along the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the adjacent lane of traffic. Even though I was walking away from the mini-bus, a shouter tried to convince me I really intended to go to Wyneburg.
Important etiquette governs mini-bus traffic: count out your fare before boarding and watch your pockets. And prepare to be squished. The shouter will fit as many customers into the mini-bus as possible with little regard to your comfort. Additionally, the structural integrity of the mini-bus will vary. I sat on the back row of a mini-bus just this afternoon -- and the row of seats were not fastened to the bottom of the van. At every intersection -- either stopping or accelerating -- we would bounce like a rollercoaster. Remember, TIA. This. Is. Africa.
For today's beach trip, we took a mini-bus from Rondebosch to the central mini-bus depot in Cape Town. We transferred to the second mini-bus of the day bound for Camps Bay. Unfortunately, the ocean water along Cape Town's beaches is freezing. The Antarctic sea melt keeps the water frigid year-round. But the warm air temperatures allowed for a pleasant day on the sand and the ocean provided cool -- and brief -- relief to hot feet and ankles.
Camps Bay itself is nestled below the highway between the western face of Ta
ble Mountain and the Atlantic Ocean. The front of Lion's Head -- which I climbed during the last full moon -- marks the north end of Camps Bay and the Twelve Apostles Mountain Range runs along the east and south coast, enclosing Camps Bay entirely between mountains and rolling hills and the chilly shores of the Atlantic. My universe (Rondebosch and UCT) is directly across the mountains from Camps Bay! Not far at all. Clifton and Sea Point are other prime beachfront suburbs that ring the coast and attract thousands of European retirees/pensioners for the mild weather and beautiful views.I read a few chapters about the Bengal famine of 1943 for my Economies of Feasts and Famine class while noting a few observations:
1. My friend Mike is Chinese. I obviously knew Mike was Chinese before today. But his heritage is important because Mike would not be able to swim at Camps Bay with me during the apartheid regime. Under apartheid racial classification, Mike would be called as a "coloured" and would have to swim somewhere else.
2. I noticed that the family with a dog behind us barked quite frequently. I started to watch the dog and quickly deduced that the dog only barked at black beachgoers. That's right. The owners had to restrain their dog from running up and molesting passing black people. Either the dog was trained to bark at blacks, or he sees blacks so infrequently at home that he mistakes them for danger.
South Africa's troubled and complex history can never be escaped -- not even during a Saturday afternoon at Camps Bay. Needless to say, Camps Bay was classified as a white's-only area during the apartheid era. A dizzying system of pass laws permitted black or coloured labourers (usually from townships or informal settlements) to visit Camps Bay during the day in order to run the shops, clean the homes and maintain the yards of local residents (the same pass laws applied to Rondebosch where I live). Many such labourers relied (and still rely) on the mini-bus public transport routes that we took ourselves.
After a few hours on the beach, we found a brilliant and famous ice cream parlor recommended by many other students (and adults!) called Sinful Ice-cream Emporium. I ordered two scoops of "Very Yummy!" and "Aero" ice cream -- a combination of dark chocolate and a chocolate mousse/malt milkshake for R16 (approximately $1.60). The ice cream lived up to its name -- and with the Pope currently on the African continent, I think everyone could use a little more sin in their ice cream. Mike, Kim and I quietly inhaled our ice cream before taking the mini-buses back to Rondebosch.
While driving down Sea Point's Main Road, I spotted "NEW YORK BAGEL." My eyes grew big with excitement. I must remember to go back and try the bagels.
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