David's Syndrome, JZ's leadership & Christ's servant-hood

The legend of the fall from grace of the great Jewish king David offers sobering lessons for President Jacob Zuma and his government: the ascent to power is a greater corrupting force for a leader than any external stimulus to act unethically.

And yet Easter reminds us of the alternative model of servant leadership lived by Jesus Christ.

David, whose story is told in the Old Testament, does not so much blame his neighbour’s sexy wife Bathsheba, for causing him to sin. But, even within a modern cultural context which does not blame the victim, mitigating features are easy to find, with many, sadly, being resigned to “he’s just a man, a weak one”.

A paper by American academics Dean Ludwig and Clinton Longenecker shows that David was anything but an ordinary, weak man. (The paper, “The Bathsheba Syndrome, written in 1993, resurfaced last year after the resignation of United States Central Intelligence Agency director David Petraeus over an extra-marital affair.)

From a humble background, David was charismatic, a hugely courageous fighter, an astute and visionary leader with great organisational skills who went on to achieve success; a man of high moral character who ultimately was ordained by God as king of Israel.

Yet, despite both the quality of his life and his moral character, say the academics in “The Bathsheba Syndrome”, King David got caught up in a downward spiral of unethical decisions that had grave consequences for both his personal life and his country.

“David's failings as a leader were dramatic even by today's standards and included an affair, the corruption of other leaders, deception, drunkenness, murder, the loss of innocent lives, and a ‘beat the system’ attitude when he thought he had managed to cover up his crimes.”

The record as we know it from scripture starts with David on the roof of his palace observing his neighbour’s wife Bathsheba bathing.

But the impetus for David’s misdeeds starts a long time before he glimpses a naked Bathsheba. His personal and professional success as a warrior-king:

-          allows him to become complacent and lose strategic focus - he enjoys home comforts while his troops go into battle;

-          it gives him privileged access to information, people and objects – including a social status and a privileged physical vantage point from his palace to observe Bathsheba;

-          leads to unrestrained control of resources to commit adultery and the eventual orchestration of her husband’s death;

-          inflates his self-confidence that he can manipulate the situation, including taking Bathsheba as his wife after her husband’s death.

Not unlike the examples of criminality and profligacy by leaders in South Africa both under apartheid and the democratic order, none of this suggests an unfortunate tripping into wrongfulness and sin. On the contrary, David’s are conscious choices flowing from deep consideration and strategic intent.

In modern times, we have witnessed the spectacular fall from grace of many high profile individuals, men mainly, who have been highly successful, acquired wealth and prestige by dint of their skill or acumen and then orchestrated their own version of “the Bathsheba Syndrome”.

Golfer Tiger Woods, cyclist Lance Armstrong, and former presidents Richard Nixon and Bill Clinton espied dizzying levels of hubris, together with those under George W Bush who propagated the so-called war on terror, and global bankers.

The strong men of the National Party ruled South Africa with absolute impunity. Our failure in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to uncover all their gross misdeeds suggests they were more successful than David in covering their tracks. Or maybe TRC chair Archbishop Desmond Tutu was not as adept as the prophet Nathan who confronted David over his misdemeanours.

Since 1994, a swathe of corrupt ANC leaders, have been exposed in the fraught arms deal and elsewhere, while the extent of the Nkandlagate deceit on Zuma’s watch is mind-boggling for its grotesque audacity.

Communications Minister Dina Pule has been singled out for allegedly empowering her lover with money from state enterprises over which she exercises authority. But she is not unusual; time and again, Cabinet ministers have been outed for extravagant personal behaviour with public resources, pointing to the justification of the ministerial handbook when caught out.

SARS commissioner Oupa Magashula’s wrong-footing over an alleged job offer to an associate of a drug dealer is just the most recent example of high-powered if not highly-regarded individuals stepping horribly out of line. He is in good company with Oscar Pistorius, Joost van der Westhuizen, Schabir Shaik, and police commissioners Jackie Selebi, Bheki Cele and perhaps Riah Phiyega, if her appearance at the Marikana hearings is anything to go by.

Against the behaviours of those who have mimicked what should correctly be called “the David Syndrome”, stands the example of Jesus Christ, the servant leader, whose death and resurrection Christians mark at Easter.

His ministry among ordinary people without consideration of their loyalty or hospitality is in stark contrast to politicians, other secular leaders and even ministers of religion.

Christ’s entrance to Jerusalem on the back of a donkey as one of the triumphant moments of his ministry is stunningly at odds with the paradigm of leadership – both secular and religious - presented over the centuries. Here humility trumps the elevated status which is the usual mark of those in power.

His lonely walk towards Golgotha where he was crucified to redeem his world is the ultimate personification of sacrificial love.

Christ offers his followers now – as then – a radical turning away from their past lives, a fresh start, regardless of the extent of the sin and brokenness which may have been their lot.

Easter offers a chance even for leaders in our government to eschew the David Syndrome of using power and might for personal gain and to violate the rights of others. Easter is an opportunity for renewed reflection on and commitment to Christ’s example of leadership. - RAY HARTLE

A time to ask 'Who am I?'

Shortly before he goes to appear before the Roman governor Pontius Pilate and the Jewish authorities as a prelude to his crucifixion, Jesus Christ asks his disciples: “Who am I?” or more correctly “Who do you say that I am?”

It is a question which is at the heart of the Christian gospel and, therefore, a question which Jesus continually asks of us, his modern-day disciples. We would proclaim, mimicking the words of Jesus’s disciple Simon Peter 2000 years ago: “You are the Christ, the son of the living God.”

We believe that Jesus, by his life and teaching but especially by his death and resurrection, saves us from a life void of God here on earth and into eternity.

Jesus, of course, never presented himself to the Jewish religious council as the Messiah, although his response to their questioning “you say that I am” the Messiah, must go alongside his other Messianic claims.

He was never tentative in his understanding of his identity. He was absolutely assured of his relationship to God and clear on the vision that his life on earth would follow, as painful as that would be.

We don’t often have that sense of self, that clarity of vision. Significantly, we can easily lose our connectedness to God, as our identities become entangled in the best and the worst attributes of being humans on this earth.

As part of a Lenten course at St Alban’s Anglican Church in East London, we have been exploring notions of identity as individuals and as a community.

The question “Who am I?” is asked in other very specific contexts in scripture.

The book of Exodus tells us of an encounter between God and Moses, when Moses hears God telling him to go to the king of Egypt and to lead the Israelites out of bondage in a foreign land. Some translations of the bible record Moses asking God the question in Chapter 3 and verse 11: “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” God answers: “I will be with you.”

Later on in the first book of Samuel, the young shepherd boy David confronts the same issue when he is sent by his father to bring provisions to his brothers who are with King Saul and the Isrealite army fighting the Philistines. While he is on his way to his brothers, he is confronted by the huge Philistine Goliath, who has brought fear into the hearts of the Israelite soldiers. David, strong in the knowledge that he is fighting in the name of the Lord, shoots a stone at Goliath’s forehead and the man drops down dead. When Saul subsequently offers David the hand of his daughter, David says: “Who am I, and what is my family or my clan in Israel, that I should become the king’s son-in-law?”

Later again, having installed David as king of Israel, God sets out his vision for the king. David repeats his previous query but this time to God: “Who am I, sovereign Lord and what is my family, that you have brought me this far?” It is a question that he will repeat again to God: “Who am I?”

David’s experience also brings into sharp relief the fact that the question “Who am I?” is almost always followed by “Whom do I want to become?” There is almost always an aspirational aspect to issues of identity.

If identity is about being connected to God, it is also about being part of community.

In his book, The Christian Response, the French Catholic Priest Michel Quoist writes about connecting with “The Other”. He says connecting may be about offering a helping hand, a smile, taking someone else by the arm. It may mean asking someone “And how is your baby? How did your plans turn out? And then … what happened after that?”

But in order to really establish contact with another, he notes that first we have to make our way through life a bit more slowly, be genuinely interested in the other’s work, family, recreation, home, likes, aspirations, difficulties and struggles.

The South African writer Olive Schreiner once said that we should emblazon on our flag the words “Freedom, justice, love; great are the two first, but without the last, they are not complete”.

Sometimes, in an attempt to avoid any suggestion that we are racist, we try to ignore the differences between us but, as Canadian Anglican priest Heather McCance has said, “our differences are important. Our differences matter because they are a part of who each one of us is. We are all different, and God created us in such wonderful diversity”.

But she emphasises that what holds us together, is that we are God’s children.

As Christians, we believe that are drawn closer to God through our faith in Jesus Christ and to each other as a consequence.

We seek to live in peace with each other and in harmony with the world. And we desire to live holy and whole lives.

The message that comes through forcefully at Easter is the horrible, agonising death that Jesus experienced. Many Christians suffer for their faith. Most of us suffer despite our faith.

And it will continue to be an integral part of our identity in Christ, following each painful station as Christ carried the cross to Golgotha where he was crucified.

It will mean serving God, loving all, standing firm in our faith, speaking the truth sincerely, doing good work, being kind, compassionate and forgiving, and boasting in nothing except that we, together with the entire universe, are the recipients of Christ’s redeeming and prodigal love.

In Christ, suffering and death co-exist with resurrection and life.

Who am I? Who are we?

We are the sons and daughters and followers of God. – RAY HARTLE

Please just SHUT UP so I can chew properly

It has to be one of the special spaces on a hot Cape day – the piece of real
estate running along the railway line all the way from Muizenburg down to
Simonstown. Today is particularly special, with a steam train coming past,
the unmistakable rumble of the engine and coaches – so different from the
electric version - felt through your body long before the hooter has been
sounded down the line.

““I like this salad. I'm glad I got the salad. I like the sauce not the
liver. I never eat, babe, when it comes to liver and mussels, just the
sauce.”

Sitting on the narrow deck of an iconic Kalk Bay restaurant, the cool breeze
will compliment the refreshing drink I’ve ordered. Across the tracks and
about 10 paces of sand, a few families are paddling in the warm-ish water.
It’s midday, but neither the restaurant nor the beach is busy yet, Cape Town’s
notoriously slow start only just kicking in; except for them, three tables
away, every monotone, nonsensical word tearing through me.

“You know what my best is? She wakes up and then I watch her go back to
sleep,” she says of the infant asleep in the carry cot next to her. You
polish your food, hey - gone, nothing there? It looks nice though, hey babe?
Very nice. Have you tasted the bread, babe? It’s got a lot of spice in it -
some sort of spice, cinnamon, allspice, like nutmeg maybe, some kind of
spice.”

Boring, vulgar, nasty, obsessively drilling down into every detail – over
two, three, even five courses, loud conversation has replaced smoking as the
bad habit of choice in restaurants, says a loved one. Too right; go into any
restaurant – actually, any public space - and there will be some idiot going
off at an unnecessary decibel level, about silly, arbitrary things.

Some will describe every morsel crossing their lips, killing any interest
you may have had in that particular dish.

There are the lovesick talkers, out with their best friends, hanging out all
the dirty linen.

There’s another kind who’ll turn on their lunch partner right there: “Why do
you ask if I'm gay? It’s this frickin white hair.” And then proceeds a
diatribe about how he has this gay look but he really isn't. Do I care? Do I
look like I care?

Sometimes, patrons on cellphones will step out of line, like the guy in the
beachfront coffee shop yesterday closing a deal on a nearby house, but
they're easily swatted away.

Meanwhile, she drones on, her inanities interspersed with sweet pet names
for her partner. We don’t hear his responses, so some understanding is lost.
Sadly, we’re forced to hear her.

“It doesn't even phase me. I’m bringing it up cos it happens all the time.
You’re such a liar. And you didn’t tell me. You didn't tell anybody else.
You told Ed.”

“I didn't tell,” he begins, but she cuts him off.

“She told me. In your stupidity you told someone else and you’re lying even
now. And now that she knows the whole world knows.

“Why am I going on about this? Because I'm catching you out, that’s why. You’re
not even telling the truth now. That's what so infuriates me about you, my
love.”

Her partner tries to be sarcastic but her rant continues to roll over him.
Eventually, he switches off, an option sadly not open to the rest of us
diners.

Most restaurateurs care little for the bad acoustics patrons have to endure,
even when there are ways of putting a lid on obtrusive ambient noise. And
managers care even less about protecting us from customers who don’t know
how to keep their lips zipped when out on the town.

Apart from the obvious, like telling them to shut up, we have the choice to
move to another table.

Or move to another restaurant entirely. - RAY HARTLE

"Non-white political" lawyer retires from Bench

Bhisho High Court Judge Yusuf “Joe” Ebrahim remembers going into the offices of small-town white magistrates during the apartheid era to greet them before appearing in their courts on behalf of clients in criminal or civil cases.

But they rebuffed Ebrahim, presumably because they regarded him as a “non-white” political lawyer from the big city, Cape Town.

“I would go into the magistrate’s office to introduce myself. I would extend my hand and my hand would hang there. He wouldn’t take my hand because he saw me as a different colour or as an enemy because I was representing these people.”

He realised from discussions with colleagues in the National Association of Democratic Lawyers (Nadel) that his experience was not an isolated incident but the norm.

“My attitude in all the days that I’ve been practicing was to ensure that my conduct in court would give me the moral high ground. No matter what the other did, I wasn’t going to sink to their level,” says Ebrahim, who retires soon after 16 years on the bench in the Eastern Cape, in a career in the legal profession that has spanned 40 years.

When he took up his position on the bench, says Ebrahim, he was reminded of how he had been treated by other presiding officers.

“I couldn’t possibly act in the same way. I was also mindful of an unarticulated premise on the part of people who come from a privileged background that I was perhaps incapable of doing the work.

“I had a certain resolve that I was not going to allow myself to feel that I was on trial, that everyone was watching me to see what I could do. My resolve was to render service in the best possible way and in the manner which I felt was true to what I believed in.”

In this, he says, he was aided by the strict prescripts of South Africa’s progressive constitution, which make it easier for presiding officers to dispense justice fairly.

Ebrahim completed five years of articles while studying part-time towards a diploma in law from the University of Cape Town. He qualified in 1970, while working in the law firm of the late Dullah Omar, who became South Africa’s Minister of Justice after democracy. Later, he established his own attorney’s practice.

In 1996, Ebrahim was approached by Nadel to make himself available for a position on the Cape bench but, he says, he realised he was not going to get the nod from the Judicial Services Commission.

“I went to the interview and discerned early on, from the questions asked by Judge-President Gerald Friedman that he was not keen on having me on his bench. He thought my qualification was inferior because I had a diploma in law and not an LLB.”

As he walked from the hearing, Ebrahim was approached by then Ciskei Supreme Court judge-president Bobby Pickard and invited to act as a judge in this division, which was subsequently made a part of the Eastern Cape High Court.

Initially hesitant to accept the appointment because of the demands of his practice and perceptions of the former homeland, he later “came to accept that it would be good experience”.

Despite coming from radically different social and political backgrounds, Ebrahim and Pickard established an easy rapport immediately and Ebrahim talks highly of Pickard’s reception of him.

“Being in Bhisho broadened my knowledge no end because he gave me work that I thought  a senior judge should do but he thought I was quite capable of doing.

“The work that came across my desk would not have arisen if I’d been in the Western Cape because the more senior judges expected to do the more complicated matters, often for good reasons.”

In 1997, he was overlooked for a second time by the JSC for a seat on the Western Cape bench.

“(Being overlooked) sent a very clear message to me. My nomination by Nadel was a day late. No one else put in an application for the Western Cape seat. Theoretically I should have been invited for an interview. I said to Nadel they were backing the wrong horse (for the Western Cape).”

Shortly thereafter, a vacancy arose in Bhisho and Nadel successfully nominated Ebrahim again.

As an attorney, he also represented community activists, trade unionists and ordinary citizens targeted by the apartheid administration, across the country but especially in the Western and Eastern Cape. A notable case was his role as instructing attorney in the private prosecution for murder of policemen involved in ‘Trojan Horse' shooting incident of October 1985. The case was prosecuted in the Cape High Court on behalf of families of the victims.

He says that while clients under apartheid often chose legal representatives based on the attorney’s perceived political affiliation, “my clients didn’t see me as being in a particular political camp. I had relationships with people across the political spectrum of the oppressed – ANC, New Unity Movement, Azapo, PAC”.

One of the more painful moments in his personal life occurred while he was in detention in the mid-1980s when he received word that both his sons had also been detained for activism within student organisations.

“My own detention was an effective consequence of my political and legal work (but) it was very disconcerting to know my two boys were in detention as well.”

His experiences in detention have made him more understanding of others who find themselves in prison, regardless of the reason for their incarceration.

On transformation of the legal profession in the context of the controversial Legal Practice Bill, Ebrahim says the state has no place prescribing every aspect of the profession although government must find the means to get professional organisations to be receptive to transformation.

It was essential to get checks and balances in place “so that nobody can abuse any situation. We come from a past where people said ‘we know what has to be done and what we do is for your own good’”.

Ebrahim is concerned that excellence in the legal profession is being compromised by the “ideological trap” of an affirmative action policy that is preoccupied with making opportunities available without a concomitant focus on service standards to remedy the ills that exist.

“Some legal practitioners appearing before us certainly don’t have the skills to be representing people at this level,” he says, arguing that additional support such as mentorship programmes should also be given to newly-appointed judges.

“I would have appreciated a mentor when I came into the legal profession.

“I don’t know how anyone with limited experience can cope in a situation where they’re handling a busy motion court roll in a big centre. That is simply setting up people for failure.

“A judge has a lonely job – you sit there alone, it’s (solely) your decision and you suffer the consequences of whether it’s the correct decision or not.”

Ebrahim suggests that anybody younger than 45 should not “even consider coming to the bench”, adding that he has “taken flak in my own family” for his views on this.

“It’s not that I think young people are not capable of being judges but I think you need far broader life experience as well as the experience of practice.”

Ebrahim has a long track record in sport administration and community organisations, including Glenville, St John’s and Trafalgar cricket clubs; Heathfield Tennis Club; Wynberg & District Civic Association; Parent, Teacher & Student Association of Livingstone High School; SA Lawn Tennis Union; SA Table Tennis Federation and SA Council on Sport.

He was a founder-member, executive member, and vice-president of the Democratic Lawyers Organisation DLO in the Western Cape, which was the forerunner to the National Association of Democratic Lawyers  or NADEL.

He was also a trustee of the Legal Resources Trust from January 1997 to April 2009. - RAY HARTLE

What I've learnt from being fired

A new page, new beginnings, a new opportunity and privilege; of course, before you start, best to remember what you’ve learnt from the last couple of times you were fired.

You may be fired even before you turn up for work. One time, I was invited by a conservative church to address their congregation. It turns out they decided even before they’d heard me that they were too conservative for my message and canned the invitation.

Sometimes, it’s really not too bad getting the sack, you realize especially after the school run to drop the kids off, and you’re lingering with the paper over a cup of coffee. For a period; then you have to find something worthwhile to do.

Life is about seasons, a season to work a particular job and a season not to. It’s okay not to be a lifer. The fact that, on average, the people at your former workplace have spent between 10 and 20 years working there doesn’t mean you should have spent that amount of time behind bars too.

Principle matters, if only to you. But sometimes it won’t matter to anyone. That soapbox you stood on just before your boss decided to let you go, will be taken out with the next day’s office shredding.

Some people will avoid you, like the plague, fearing that the madness in your head that caused you to get the boot may just be contagious. Ex-colleagues especially will be wary of this affliction; the long nights you worked side-by-side preparing the next day’s board presentation will be long forgotten. And they’ll take collective preventative measures to avoid being contaminated. Standing together against a common enemy will be the new corporate mantra.

Of course, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, because the biggest mistake you can make is trying to go back to your old job vicariously by calling ex-colleagues or hanging out with them over Friday lunch.

You’ll learn entrepreneurship, how to row your own boat and make your own luck. You’ll marvel at how you survived with so much mollycoddling in the corporate world and reliance on someone else. Your new middle name is Opportunist.

You and your cutesy idiosyncrasies will be erased. If you’ve managed to get your name or mug up on a wall somewhere – real or virtual - expect to have it taken down soon.

Seriously, forgetting is tough and forgiving is even tougher. But even as you allow yourself to feel the pain of being shafted, you learn that the gangrene that is unforgiving will eat away at your inside and make you utterly useless to yourself and your next boss.

Family matters. And real friends – even the ones who have your back on social networks and those you haven’t met yet.

Don’t be afraid to tell your next potential boss that you were fired – in fact, this level of honesty may stand you in good stead.

It really may not be your fault. You may have been axed because of some butterfly flitting around a corporate office on the other side of the world. Ask the 69 000 people in the Eastern Cape who lost their jobs before Christmas last year.

Ex-banker Sallie Krawcheck suggested after she was pushed out by Bank of America that if you don’t get fired at least once, you’re not trying hard enough. 

But I think the most important thing to remember is: Don’t call the boss anything that ends in h-o-l-e; even if he or she is a free speech proponent. And especially not in the weekly column you’ve just been given. - RAY HARTLE