20 YEARS OF DEMOCRACY

It is 20 years since the dawn of democracy in our beautiful but troubled land.

Freedom Day was and remains a defining experience in our country. The actual event of voting in the first non-racial, democratic elections was preceded by much hard work by South Africans from opposing political creeds, and with the support of friends around the globe.

History will record the big role played by the ANC in our struggle, even if there were many ancillary forces, both within the country and abroad, that were part of our liberation.

Among those who contributed were compatriots – across the length and breadth of SA – who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. Some died in the streets of barren townships, in ghastly interrogation cells, at the hands of hit squads, or as collateral victims of the struggle for justice. Many succumbed in lonely exile far away from the land of their birth.

In celebrating this day, we pause to remember all these. We acknowledge those who put aside self-interest and principle – honourable or mis-guided - in pursuit of the common good.

Given the decades of antipathy and the prospect of violence mere days before we voted, our country wobbled on tenterhooks right up to the last.

But April 27, 1994, dawned with great anticipation. Millions of us queued to vote, our joy tempered slightly – but never completely – by the fatigue of standing from dawn to dusk.

Our act of voting then was an expression of hope for a future in which peace would triumph and democracy be entrenched. It was a commitment to finding creative, meaningful ways of dealing with the wounds of our racist past, making ‘justice for all’ our mantra - not least the justice required to redress historical and legalised economic inequality.

Through our vote, we trusted that the political parties against whom we placed our crosses would not disappoint us but lead our united efforts for a better future with courage, optimism and integrity.

Twenty years later we must take time to celebrate what we have achieved. Only the churlish and those with very narrow sectarian interests will not acknowledge that South Africa is a radically different country now than it was in 1994.

But this is also a moment to be saddened by the missed opportunities reflected in the failings of our political leaders, the policy shortcomings and bureaucratic catastrophes, the moral depravity and societal degradation, the tentative – at best - move away from a racialised past. And the frittering away of our democratic dividend. - From the Daily Dispatch

Slumbering Church Begins Collective Lament On Easter

PERHAPS the Christian church – in its many local denominational variants – was built for crisis. Or maybe, crises build or form the local church community.

Certainly, the early church – the small, motley group of people who had followed Jesus and who gathered together in his absence – was built by experiencing his agonising abuse and death on a cross, and by the group’s own persecution at the hands of both religious and secular authorities.

OUTSPOKEN FOR JUSTICE: Archbishop Desmond Tutu will lead today’s march

Of course the message of Christ, especially as it is celebrated at Easter, never ends at his death on the cross, so we know the church was also built by the “Good News”, the resurrection of Jesus, by God’s providence at Pentecost and in myriad ways since then and throughout the ages.

But it is in the quick moment or long years of despair and rejection, of having to deal with serious personal or corporate challenges, of experiencing the ways of brutal opponents including religious or secular states – and of the deep lamenting and crying out to God that flows from those times – that the church, maybe, grows most.

But there are good enough reasons to accept the church may also have been intended for crisis: the crisis of the world – crappy, complicated and conflictual.

Christ envisioned his church as a community of believers who would exist firstly to love God and then to love each other. And loving God and each other meant – as an imperative – also loving the world.

Seasons of rebirth and growth in the church have usually followed a time of crisis. But the church needs firstly to recognise there is a crisis. And then to ask: what are we, the church, to do in this crisis?

In South Africa, since 1948 a few Christian churches, along with individuals who felt alienated from their own conservative churches, recognised that the country under legislated apartheid was in crisis, and they felt compelled to do something about the government’s racist policies.

These churches came down firmly on the side of the disenfranchised and oppressed black majority, poor and mostly confined to the semi-independent homelands.

Among the most enduring images of the 1980s, as the struggle against apartheid intensified, were pictures of ministers leading large groups of protesters in marches of civil disobedience.

It is important to emphasise – lest we give the revisionists too much leeway to rewrite our history – that these initiatives were taken by only a few churches, because the formal position of most denominations at the time was support for the apartheid state, to a greater or lesser extent.

Opposition to apartheid was a radical, kairos moment, which most churches were not prepared to align themselves with.

It is now widely accepted that, in the democratic era, faith communities stepped back from – abdicated would not be too serious a charge – their previous, activist approach, as they left the ANC-led government of national unity and let its successors get on with the job of governing.

But that distancing themselves from the issues of the day has led to a church that has become increasingly inward-looking, stuck in the structural and programmatic aspects of being a community of believers, just another organisation keeping itself going.

The effect has been a church that is increasingly moribund, incapable of being the salt of our society in the multitude of ways that salt is now needed.

But all that is changing again. Christians in South Africa are being called to take sides again as the ANC shows its incapacity to deal with the challenges of government, for whatever reasons, honourable and dishonourable.

It is time to take a stand and do something about poor service delivery, corruption and other social problems in our society, from within the church and throughout local communities.

The church has (finally) realised it cannot leave the future of our society in the hands of a secular state. The issues are too critically important to the lives of the vast majority of South Africans.

Today in Cape Town, ordinary Christians and leaders of churches will join with people from other faith communities, in a “Procession of Witness”, a march from District Six to Parliament during which they will call upon government to ensure a better life for all South Africans.

Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who was the bane of apartheid government officials for his outspoken utterances against apartheid, will be among the key religious leaders to take to the streets at the head of the procession.

The event has been called a “collective lament” for all that has been left undone since the official demise of the apartheid state.

Easter is a festival over three days, because it commemorates the passion, the death and resurrection of Jesus.

It is symbolic the march on Parliament today takes place in the in-between “waiting” period of confusion and misery for followers of Christ, between the brokenness and suffering of Good Friday and the triumphalism of Easter Sunday.

It is a time of waiting not because we don’t know about the suffering, or because we don’t anticipate the celebration to come. It is that necessary preparation before we, too, take up our cross to follow Christ.

These acts of orderly protest, of sending a message of concern to the political leaders, of trying to effect change that affirms life and democracy, that says no to corruption, maladministration, and the abuse of the resources of the state by individuals – however many they are – are not guaranteed to elicit the appropriate response.

Expect vilification, even opposition, from the state security apparatus, using tactics from a former era, from the side of those with an interest in maintaining the heinous status quo in our country.

A recent personal experience of being barred from a local church cell (Bible study) group – because of a report I wrote in the Daily Dispatch about a corrupt municipal property transaction – has reminded me of the very personal challenges we all face in taking a stand.

We may find the South Africa of today cannot easily handle the challenge of people in the same family, clan, tribe, community, standing on opposite sides on the issues we need to address if we are to radically change the lives of our suffering citizens.

That may be especially relevant for the Eastern Cape, where our bonds are very strong.

It was, perhaps, easy under apartheid to be a mass of disenfranchised people – different by skin colour, class, religious affiliation, gender, sexual orientation – but similar in our separation from the right to vote for the government of our choice to lead the country in a just manner.

The ruling party today, however, does not take kindly to opposition from any quarter, even from within its own ranks.

This new period of taking a stand against injustice might be a bit more difficult and painful, especially for a Christian church moving from its moribund state.

Henry Chadwick wrote in 1967 about the early Christians that “the paradox of the church was it was a religious revolutionary movement, yet without a conscious political ideology”.

But, history shows us events such as today’s demonstration in Cape Town will gain momentum.

A group of radicals following the example of Jesus can achieve remarkable things. The church in South Africa has been made for this crisis moment, and this moment will build the church too. — From the Saturday Dispatch, Easter 2014

How important is public interest in celebrity trials?

GAUTENG high court judge-president Dunstan Mlambo will hand down his decision today in the application for television cameras to be in court when the murder trial of Oscar Pistorius starts on Monday, March 3.
Much white heat has been generated in court already over the issue of bringing the cameras in.
On the one hand the debate has been couched in the catch-phrases of media freedom and “open justice” principles, that it is “in the public interest” to have wall-to-wall television coverage of every word uttered, every gesture from the witness box, every argumentative rant from a lawyer, every grunt from the public gallery.
That is unfortunate because, of course, the media will have access to the court.
 Except not all the media because not everyone can be accommodated, so media outfits have agreed to a lottery to secure places in court. Those who don’t get a prime seat will be able to view proceedings from a separate courtroom via a closed-circuit television link.
On the other hand, it is argued that the right of Pistorius to a fair trial will be jeopardised by the intrusive cameras, with potential witnesses intimidated by having their statements relayed live around the world.
But courtrooms are intimidating spaces anyway, even for the innocent, perhaps more so than any television camera can be.
Nineteenth century libertarian philosopher and legal theorist Jeremy Bentham had an extremely healthy dose of scepticism about the ability of legal systems to operate ethically at all times.
His strident “where there is no publicity there is no justice” remark remains an important yardstick for any court system sensitive to public oversight.
It is the basis on which most democracies apply the principle of open justice and access to the courts.
In theory, the libertarian idea is that the search for truth is better served by open justice. Importantly, a transparent process promotes the accountability of all those participating in the legal process, not least the presiding officers.
The media often make the mistake of claiming special rights in relation to matters of public interest such as reporting on court trials. It is rooted in the idea of the media as a fourth estate in relation to the three arms of government – the executive, legislature and judiciary.
The media may well see a victory in a decision today if cameras are allowed into the Pistorius trial.
But the fact that the public is almost perversely interested in what happened that fateful night when Pistorius shot Steenkamp doesn’t make anything that happens in court over the next month in our interest.
In so-called mature democracies – Britain, Canada and some parts of the United States spring to mind – the media may even enjoy a relationship of mutualism, where joint committees of editors and jurists or prosecutors co-ordinate the interaction between the media and the court system.
But, while there is merit in an approach that facilitates the media’s mass communication and watchdog functions in society, we should be wary of arguing for journalists having a better right than any other citizen to access information and, in that way, diminishing the agency of ordinary citizens. Open justice must be attached to freedom of expression rather than freedom of the media.
Our own now-deceased chief justice Pius Langa drew a neat distinction between the responsibility borne by the courts to ensure that justice is done, and the power of the media to determine whether justice is seen to be done.
“Judges and magistrates have little power outside of the courtroom to explain or defend their positions and are uniquely reliant on journalists to convey their decisions to the broader population,” said Langa. “With this power comes responsibility ... to report on the work of the courts accurately and fairly, but not uncritically.
“It is vital for the proper administration of justice that the public is correctly informed about what the courts do.”
Given our apartheid-era history – and the growing tendency even among mature democracies – to use secretive judicial and extra-judicial measures against opponents of the state, we should be less concerned about the public interest associated with celebrity trials.
In the 1980s, the state security apparatus built a high security special court at Kenton-on-Sea, literally to hide the terrorism and related trials of anti-apartheid activists. I was one of a couple of journalists who, over a year, covered the first terrorism trial to be convened in Kenton, which offered very little hope that a fair trial could emerge from the secretive, brutalised environment, out of the public eye, away from human rights proponents.
But for the commitment of reporters and editors (the latter sometimes grudgingly so because of their innate conservatism or concern about resources being soaked up by allocating staff to cover these cases) the public would have been none the wiser about the parade of people who appeared in this special court and the outcome of the cases.
This is the critical role that Bentham had in mind for the media 200 years ago, not a voyeuristic journey into people’s broken and sordid lives.
Our courts hold the line against a state with an authoritarian bent, although there are disconcerting examples – even in the Dispatch area of circulation – of court officials attempting to stymie media efforts to shine the spotlight on the powerful, monied and popular, who find themselves on the wrong side of the law.
 Bizarrely, in a number of cases in East London, women court officials have played key roles in shielding male rape accused from the glare of publicity.
Promoting these key principles in support of open justice are of little benefit for Pistorius, as his every gesture and utterance will be scrutinised by the media assembled in court and possibly (we shall know for sure later today) beamed into living rooms around the world.
The public should not expect scintillating legal cut-and-thrust, although the evidence leading will be carefully orchestrated and the cross-examination stultifying. It’s unlikely that any of the lawyers will plumb the turgid depths.
But wall-to-wall court coverage will prove not to be as exciting as an episode of your favourite reality TV programme.

• From the Daily Dispatch

What can we do?

What are we to do and where do we start - to correct the ongoing poor state of education in the Eastern Cape? Yes, of course, this is not simply about matriculation, but the annual focus on matric results is an opportunity to stand still and ask: what in the name of all that is good is going on? Why is there such a gemors? And what can you and I do to make things different - and better? What do we do, whether we are (take your pick and leave a comment):
Learners / pupils?
Teachers?
Parents?
Grandparents?
Education officials?
Other Government officials?
Academics?
Policy developers?
Politicians?
Activists?
Business people?
Professionals?
Pen pushers?
Unemployed?
What do we do? 

On Tweede, third and fourth New Years

On Tweede, third and fourth New Years

By RAY HARTLE

I cannot trace exactly my roots back to the slaves who worked on farms and estates in the Western Cape 300 years ago. If truth be told, the family history is misty even around three generations ago - it may have had something to do with hiding from some ancestors. Like Uncle Japie, officially a fisherman, but one of the original bootleggers, living on the coast somewhere between Cape Town and Mossel Bay. Japie always just happened to be in the vicinity when a huge hessian bag of goods somehow came unstuck from its deck moorings in the rough seas somewhere off the coast. Or disavowing certain bloodlines in an effort to land on one side of the population registration laws of early legislated apartheid.  

But the slave ancestry is not in dispute; the connections to Khoi, Malay and even St Helenian forebears are rock solid, even if I don't have a ghoema bone in my body. So I take full ownership of the Western Cape's Tweede Nuwejaar (Second New Year) celebration, the modern-day carnival through the streets of Cape Town  from District Six to the Bokaap marking the one day of freedom in the year slaves enjoyed on January 2, after toiling to ensure the slave masters had a "heppy" (sic) 364 other days. Today, after a journey of a thousand miles on New Year's Day itself, that second unofficial holiday allows me to figure out just the right combination of reflection and get-up-and-go voema I need to set myself up for the year ahead. 

In pure South African fashion, we conspired this year to push the Tweede to a fourth New Year's - for ostensibly religious reasons deciding that we couldn't march on January 2. The majority of we irreligious "New-Year's-a-jorl" types would have happily taken the extra holiday on the 2nd with not a thought for our religious sensitivities or sensibilities. But, thanks nonetheless to the Muslim community in this instance - apparently - for the unofficial Vierde Nuwejaar celebrations. It got me out having the ball of the year on the streets of Cape Town on the Tweede, third and fourth days after New Year. It also allowed more time to consider my past year, my ancestors passed (sic) and contemplate  the jorls in 2014 I would yet be let loose for from the drudgery - if not the slavery - of my usual existence. 

Cape Town mayor Patricia de Lille was even more South African, however, "decreeing" that politics has no place in the cultural expression that is the Cape Minstrel carnival. Culture arises from who people are, where they are and how they are. It is inherently political and seldom is this seen more clearly than in the minstrel annual celebration. Historically, the minstrels' poignant celebration of life and freedom was rooted in and reflected the lived experience of black slaves of the Cape. It was a hugely politicized moment. They sang, danced, laughed on this one day despite - or, perhaps, because of - the oppressive conditions under which they found themselves. This one-day political expression continued throughout the decades-long legal oppression of apartheid. It is there today on the carnival streets, bright, colourful, raucous, cheery, yet painfully showing off the racialised historical disadvantage evident throughout the Cape flats. How can that carnival not be a political expression? 

But Aunty Pat's ban on ANC armbands during this year's minstrel procession also shows a naïveté about how politics is more than simply the accoutrements and symbolic expressions of party politics. Politics - even in a democracy, nay, especially in a democracy - is more than the formal rituals like voting for public representation. In this context, any democrat must be aghast that a city government can ban anyone - whether or not that individual is a recipient of city resources -  from expressing publicly a view with which it corporately disagrees - and even if that view favours a rival political party. 

I have an affinity with the minstrel parade because something in the depth of my soul remembers and responds to its affirmation of part of my ancestry. That does not apply to every South African. But, for non-black South Africans who have never known the chains of oppression and enslavement, and for new South African blacks who have forgotten in the move from the ghetto to the plush suburbs, cultural moments like these provide an opportunity to reconsider injustice. They must not be quietened.  -RAY HARTLE

Mike van Graan still causing us to pause

The honour bestowed on Mike van Graan as 2013 Festival Playwright allows us to see a compendium of work by this important South African writer. Four of his plays are presented by Artscape this year and Van Graan, who has a long history as a struggle artist under apartheid and cultural activist since democracy, still causes South Africans to pause. In Brothers in Blood, he presents a very tight script which takes an up-close and personal look at the politics, economics and social intercourse of Cape Town a few years after democracy. It is a community whose lives interact in diverse ways as apartheid, cross-cultural prejudices, social consciousness, religion, gangsterism and drug abuse all impact on the lives of ordinary people. It calls to mind Hollywood director Paul Haggis' 2004 movie Crash, as it interweaves racialised experiences of people who, on the surface, have no connections to each other. The acting in Brothers is superb across the cast but the youthful competence of Aimee Valentine and Harrison Makubalo as Leila Abrahams and Fadiel Suleiman must be highlighted. First produced in 2009 at the height if xenophobic and gang violence, some of the material may appear dated but one senses these issues are still very much a reality for Capetonians. Rainbow scars is a looser script which examines white mother Ellen's adoption of black child Lindiwe. Lindiwe has to deal with the questioning which most adopted children experience at some point about their place in their new family, with the added complication of dealing with alienation from her former extended family across South Africa's racial and class divides. On the surface, Rainbow throws up all the challenges of defining identity in a post-apartheid era. But typically of Van Graan's work, there is much more happening at an underlying level within the characters' lives. Ellen is divorced from her fraudster husband who is shortly due to be released from prison. Lindiwe's cousin Sicelo comes back into her life to expose the individual and family conflict hiding below. The other Van Graan plays at this year's festival are Panic with Siv Ngesi and the world premier of Writer's Block, directed by Jenny Rebelo. - Ray Hartle

Grahamstown does a damn fine job

It used to be a perennial one but I haven't heard this suggestion for ages - the National Festival is outgrowing Grahamstown. Or at least, the Standard Bank Jazz Festival is outgrowing Grahamstown, as it was presented to me last night.

It came at a packed out session by trombonist and virtuoso player of sea-shells Steve Turre and a bunch of other brilliant musicians. 

"I think it's time to have a debate about whether Grahamstown can still accommodate the festival," said a mate, looking across the packed hall.

That suggestion has been raised in different ways at different times - sometimes for political reasons, at other times for purely commercial interests, maybe because we've had a particularly arduous trek from the big city to this cold former garrison town, and, as an artist, we really do feel that our creative talents and the audiences appreciation of them may find better expression in another venue.

Yes, of course it gets a bit tight, and you may have to walk across town , squash yourself into nooks and crannies to see shows, and sometimes you have to stand in long queues for tickets or food, and there's no indoor venue big enough for the arts and crafts markets.

But this city offers itself once a year to the country and bits of the world. And it does a damn fine job!

 Where else in South Africa can you experience a mid-morning set by some of the best jazz exponents from0 Europe, the Americas and Africa (on the hill at DSG), walk down into the town centre for stand up comic (Riaad Moosa, Siv Ngesi or Boet en Swaer) then go across the university campus for a recital in the chapel of Benjamin Britten's choral songs (the Chanticleer Singers with Young Artist Award Winner Runette Botha).

The total walking time is 25 minutes, leaving aside a stop at the Village Green or a plethora of venue coffee bars for a quick snack (good food at a fraction of what you will pay anywhere else in the country), let alone the world.

And that handful of performances is among more than 150 productions running from 9am to 11.30pm - on one day. Multiply by 11 days and you get an idea of the tapestry which is woven each year by the festival.

That tapestry would be incomplete in any other setting. So, whatever may motivate a desire to take the festival out of Grahamstown, my view is its meant to be here. - RAY HARTLE

Our fucked up history!

Madonna of Excelsior. PACOFS production at the National Arts Festival.

Our fucked up history! That’s the gut-wrenching sense with which one walks away from this production, based on a story by Zakes Mda which itself was based on the Immorality Act case involving residents of Excelsior in the Free State.

In the 1970s, 14 black women became involved in illegal relations with five white men. When the women gave birth to fair-skinned “coloured” babies, they were arrested with the men under the Immorailty Act, which forbade sexual intercourse across apartheid colour lines.

The charges were later withdrawn, presumably because of the prominence of the white townsfolk implicated in the case.

Kobus Moolman’s script for this production comes alive around the identity quest of Popi, one of the “coloured” babies and now a councilor in the democratic Excelsior town council: Who is she and, perhaps more importantly, who is her real father?

Despite her achievements in the new South Africa, Popi is hobbled by her physical appearance - the fair skin, straighter hair and hairy legs – and the whispers within the community about her ancestry. The "boesman meit" (Bushman maid) slur from the white racist Tjaart cuts deep. Popi’s mother, Niki, was one of the women arrested in the Excelsior Immorality case but, together with the other women in the community, she has buried the past away deeply. Now Popi forces her mother to reveal all.

It is a painful story which reflects on the worst aspects of our past and brings into sharp relief the pain which affects all South Africans almost two decades after democracy. The chorus singing across languages is haunting and moving and a number of the actors stand out, although other characters require perhaps a more nuanced handling, especially where the power interplay between Boer men and African women is reflected. Most disconcertingly was the audience's laughter during extremely painful moments in the script.

Moolman's script needs to be tightened - I think fully 20 minutes can be shaved off quite easily without losing the sense of the story. The set is well-conceptualized but presents a hugely dysfunctional scene as the play progresses - I don't think this was director Roel Twijnstra's intention, although it becomes a clever metaphor for the "mixed Excelsior" storyline. - Ray Hartle

National Arts Festival 2013

So day 1 (Thursday) of this year's National Arts Festival in Grahamstown was a bit of a wash-out, mainly as a result of the growing concern that former president Nelson Mandela was on his way out.
The question most often asked by one festino of another is: What have you seen? This year, most people are asking me: Have you heard anything qbout Madiba?
Apprehension wasn't helped by a patently false Guardian report about life-support machines having been switched off and the ailing statesman having died on Wednesday night.
The presidency hasn't quite got the message yet that a daily (perhaps twice-daily), pre-arranged media briefing by a real person who is able to speak with authority on behalf of both family and state is the only way to manage the extremely high interest in news of Madiba, beloved here at home and hugely respected globally. Of course that requires a little creativity, perhaps, in dealing with the challenge of not having anything to say today which is different from yesterday. And creativity is not another word for spin-doctoring. it means telling the truth, giving credible information, no matter how meagre the circumstances demand.
But it is essential. Instead, we get regular reprimands about how the media are not respecting the privacy of the former president and his family.
Returning to the substance of the festival, it amazes me that, true to past iterations when it was on cue with what was happening in our country, the 2013 festival has managed to weave Madiba, his life and dying, into the programme.
In both considered as well as more unconscious ways. Mandela is very much a part of this year's festival. - Ray Hartle

Steenkamp: Chequebook journalism clouds ethics

Chequebook journalism, the practice of securing exclusive rights to information from a news subject by paying them handsomely for it, is practised increasingly in some media quarters, despite ethical concerns about it.

While many look askance at the practice, there is sympathy for those caught in the middle of a so-called media circus and who succumb to the pressures of interacting with journalists seeking an exclusive interview.

In a statement issued through their lawyers last week, Barry and June Steenkamp, the grieving parents of slain model Reeva Steenkamp, spoke about the difficulty of dealing with many media organisations across the world “who wanted to interview us about our life and precious time with Reeva”.

They had been “overwhelmed” by the number of media requests and as a result had elected to appoint a British agency to manage the dissemination of their story for a fee.

Paying for stories has always been an option open to journalists, albeit frowned upon by many practitioners.

Competitive British journalists especially are notorious for using any tactic to get “the story”, going back to the early political scandals of the 1960s, using lines such as “you can tell your story in your own words”.

The most significant payment in recent years of more than R10 million reportedly went to Rebecca Loos, who allegedly had an affair with soccer star David Beckham. The practice has also thrown up a cottage industry in media advisers and negotiators like Max Clifford, who work to get the best payment deals for their clients.

But whipping out a chequebook to pay a news source or subject for a story is not without controversy. As an incentive to perform, chequebook journalism can degenerate into a race to the bottom of journalism ethics.

There is a sense of emotional blackmail associated with the practice. The subject buys into the deal in the hope that they can preserve their dignity in the face of whatever traumatic experience they have gone through. Their hope that they can somehow control the story by using a paying contract with one media house often ends in tatters since the one who pays the piper generally dictates the tone of the coverage that emerges from the exclusive deal. And while it is hard to prove, those critical of paying for stories point to the danger of news subjects embellishing or even inventing accounts of their experiences to curry favour with a sponsor, especially where the story must fit the sponsor’s news genre or agenda.

And there is likely to be little comfort for the subject who thought that “giving in” to a media house dangling a big cheque would keep other media off their backs. The converse is that the rest of the media pack may take a less sympathetic reporting stance towards a subject who has cut an exclusive deal with one journalist, digging into the story angles that may not have been told, or have been glossed over. Having agreed to an exclusive payment deal, the news subject is regarded as fair game by other journalists.

In some instances, payments to news subjects potentially risk affecting the outcome of criminal proceedings where those subjects may be called on to testify. Lawyers have challenged the validity of a witness’s testimony in court on the basis that they had been paid to tell their story – or a version of it – outside court.

On the other hand, pointing to Rupert Murdoch’s empire, some argue that these media companies make huge profits off the stories of ordinary people and say it is entirely appropriate that subjects share in the financial rewards of having their story told.

A critical nexus is “the public” who, despite suggestions that they are appalled by dodgy conduct by journalists seeking an exclusive story, lap up every sensational episode of the story.

Chequebook journalism is not widely practised in South Africa, although celebrity weddings have been targeted by print and broadcast media with money to offer – and the enticing prospect that an exclusive deal will get the rest of the media pack off the celebrity’s back.

Various professional codes guiding journalists and media organisations in this country prohibit payment for stories to persons “involved in crime”. But where professional practice codes exist, more often than not they are ignored. It’s unlikely the practice will simply disappear, as some journalists argue that the end may justify the means, especially in a story which, allegedly, has strong public interest.

Invariably, however, news that may be in the general public’s interest is confused with news which may simply be interesting or even titillating to some.

The case of a newspaper paying racist killer Barend Strydom for an interview in 1988 is often raised as the most significant example of chequebook journalism in this country.

Wits University journalism researcher Susan Stos suggests though that the limited examples of paid-for news stories points to South Africa’s relative protection by virtue of its distance from international markets, where the practice is the norm, or the “relative lack of competition” among media organisations in this country.

She has argued that local journalists need to reflect on “their responsibility to be accountable, encourage dialogue about methods used and educate the public about the process of journalism”.

- Ray Hartle, Weekend Argus

Naming and shaming only part of battle

“Finally” may well be the response of the vast majority of South Africans who have no vested interest in corruption and fraud, to government’s “name and shame” initiative to expose fraudsters.

On Sunday, Justice Minister Jeff Radebe released the names of 42 people from across the country who have been convicted of fraud against the government. Given what the public has come to know through media reports about the extent of the fraud by government officials, those named represent the tip of the iceberg of the scourge of criminal activity by those in positions of trust in the public service.

Radebe’s department says the 42 were linked to priority cases which were fast-tracked because of the huge amounts involved. But a staggering 3600 government officials have been convicted of defrauding the state in the past financial year alone, with a combined financial value reaching R1 billion.

Such a tsunami of corruption in the public sector – and focusing on corruption in this sector does not exonerate private sector fraud - has serious consequences for our country. The analysis underpinning the National Planning Commission’s work identifies “rising corruption” as among key indicators of a declining country.

It was a notable feature of earlier post-apartheid governments that the policies which were developed took account of global best practice. This is best exemplified by our constitution, the envy of democrats in many jurisdictions. It became patently clear, however, that government’s ability – and desire - to apply policy evenly and consistently was sorely lacking.

An example of good policy is the law which probably underpinned the convictions thatRadebe disclosed, the Prevention and Combating of Corrupt Activities Act. This legislation has many useful features, including the register of tender defaulters. It was passed in 2004, yet apparently it has taken almost a decade for it to have any significant, widespread effect.

Sadly, today, it cannot even be argued that government policy will always be in the best interests of the majority – and fully recognise all the basic rights of minorities. Special interests, perverse self-aggrandisement and party political policy blind spots have put paid to that. As a result, it is not unreasonable to fear that weak policy formulation will combine with feeble application of the policy to ensure continued, wanton plundering of State resources.

Radebe’s department has correctly stated that these corrupt officials earn huge salaries even as they defraud the government entities employing them. As disgusted as we must be by the direct loss to the fiscus of their actions, it is the potentially more deleterious impact on the progress of service delivery in our country which must alarm all South Africans.

When resources are diverted into the pockets of crooked officials and their associates, it is the poorest of the poor who suffer, as the provision of a host of services is severely curtailed or completely dumped.

Absent the schemes to steal obscene amounts of money from the public purse, our citizenry way well have been more understanding – up to a point - of government’s faltering efforts to change their parlous conditions. But the large-scale evidence of fraud and corruption over almost two decades of democracy has seriously undermined the faith of ordinary citizens in our democratic process and put paid to any patience that disadvantaged South Africans mayhave had that their lot will change.

An ethical disposition was at the heart of the Batho Pele (people first) principle which government applied for a period and then booted out and there must be renewed efforts to promote virtuous service in our public sector.

In addition, there are signs – for example, Transparency International’s Corruption Perception Index – that South Africa’s international standing – not least as an investment destination - has taken a serious knock since 1994 as a result of the endemic fraud and corruption in our public sector.

In his Budget speech this year, Finance Minister Pravin Gordhan made an astoundingly defeatist admission: Efforts to combat corruption in the State procurement system had “too many points of resistance” and officials’ failed efforts to staunch the illegal outflow of State funds had “yielded rich pickings for those who seek to exploit it”. Well, of course it had. Did he or anyone else in the democratic government seriously think fighting corruption – like any other initiative of a post-apartheid regime - was simply going to be a walk in the park?

(Ironically, that speech also linked corruption and the need to address employee grievances in the R71.4 million allocation to the Public Service Commission.)

Human Rights Watch has raised the importance of governments holding all representatives of the state subject to the rule of law. In South Africa, until now, there has not been a reasonable expectation on the part of crooked officials that their misconduct would land them in court.

So, there are sufficient reasons to fully support signs of a flexing of muscles by government towards those who willy nilly divert resources from the poorest of the poor to their own well-lined pockets.

However, a caveat to this support is necessary:  Unless corruption is tackled at the highest levels of the government and not simply confined to functionaries in the bureaucracy, efforts to change our society through naming and shaming or any other initiative, will be hamstrung.Governments – to coin a phrase – rot from the top. And, yes, Nkandlagate in all its aspects,does come to mind.

Importantly, politicians must also be held accountable for incidents of crime which happen on their watch within their ambit of responsibility. Self- or party-serving executives at local, provincial and national levels who pursue vulgar cronyism must be held accountable.Anything less will not rid our country of this collective shame of corruption.

Gordhan also said in his Budget speech that there are “too many people who have a stake in keeping the system the way it is”.

Damn right. - Ray Hartle

I'm really not that into you

You think it’s just a simple click of the button but the buggers have set it up to ensure that you stay connected until they’re ready to let you go.

I’ve learnt that unsubscribing from unsolicited email services and newsletters takes, on average, at least three clicks. And just when I think I’ve nailed the unwelcome intruder, even after “they’ve” sent me a mail confirming that I’ve been unsubscribed, the very next day I’ll get another email offering me the latest gizmo or get-rich-quick-scheme.

For many years, Reader’s Digest magazine made a virtue of direct marketing using free gift trial offers sent to you through the post. The free gifts made you believe that somebody was really thinking of you. Trying to return the cloying gift at the local post office was another matter entirely.

 “Spam” seems a way too innocuous-sounding word for the maximum frustration caused by those who invade one’s email inbox, ala Digest, to market their businesses directly.

Some email updates, I concede, I elected to receive years ago when I had some obscure interest in those activities. But I’ve grown on since then.

Others were clearly recommendations (read: sales leads) from someone who claims to be a friend and who hopes to secure X number of loyalty points for including my email details. Or from my internet service provider, who have their own commercial reasons for distributing addresses.

In my inbox currently is an alert from Women’s Health telling the in-shape modern woman how to keep all her bits firm and in place. Often, there’s something about “how to keep him interested”, which amounts to keeping all the bits firm and in place or “how to interview for a job”, which somehow also relates to bits being firm and in place.

I have deleted missives from Homemark, FedEx, Imagine Cruising, Johannesburg Stock Exchange, Brian Williams, Kishore, Groupon, and a string of lenders.

I get a newsletter of karaoke playlists, another on EC news (usually two-week old articles from local papers), mails on courses from project management, through to photography and marketing.

I have offers to work from home – the online equivalent of putting your spit on envelopes. And political parties think they’ll get my vote by dumping weekly garbage on me.

I get invited to enjoy freebies including Apple technology launches – pity they didn’t throw in a free flight to the event in northern California; that would have been a great email deal.

There was the company selling new skins for laptops. Bizarrely, this mailing was actually useful as, just a couple of weeks earlier, a loved one had asked if I knew how to replace the Barbie glossy pink lid of her laptop, without trawling church fetes for crocheted laptop covers in vibey colours.

On Fridays, I get a long list of weekend show houses from estate agents with whom I’ve had the slightest cursory contact over the years, some of whom object when I spam them back.

Yes, I know there are ways of restricting access to your inbox, blocking mails from certain addresses or hiding unwanted mail so that you don’t “see” them. But there is always the danger that some important mail ends up being hidden by your internet service’s spam blockers.

The modern, online version of returning your free Digest gift at the post office is the “opt out” button which often means having to answer questions on why you’re leaving, hence the average three clicks to unsubscribe.

There’s seldom a tick box for “Because I’m flippin peeved off with all the rubbish you push through my mailbox and, by the way, I never asked you to mail me in the first place!” – RAY HARTLE

Crap driving in the 'wild East' is the pits

Crap.

It’s easy to think that sums up how road users in the Eastern Cape go about their business.

But the trick is to adopt a regal stance, as if you are a passenger in a king’s carriage and not driving the skedonk you usually go around in.

Such a disposition will allow you, literally, to waft through the madness like a blue light motorcade with motorbike outriders and remote buttons to switch the traffic lights on your way.

In this guise, you can afford to be kind.

Other drivers are not foolish bumpkins who should never have left their villages for the annual jaunt to the market. They’re loyal subjects who, notwithstanding some idiocy, do your unspoken bidding, including pulling over to the side of the road, in awe that you’re on the throne and all is well with their world.

You reciprocate with good grace, showing your homie a smart royal high five, not by asking “Whoa fool, what were you thinking back there?”

At the four-way stop street, you understand that mere mortal local driver subjects will take a wee bit longer than you did but eventually, they, too, will get the “first come, first go” rule, so no need to shout at the next dawdler.

Egg them on at traffic circles, gently, without reference to moving-anytime-this-year. They’ll realise they really can go, they don’t have to stop or yield to you. The same rule applies here as it does at all circles - yield to the right - except at those circles which have a big notice board indicating ‘first come, first go’.”

And never shake your imperial mace when the traffic lights are out and other motorists have forgotten that the intersection reverts to a four-way stop. Simply rely on the majestic four-wheeler’s accident avoidance design to get you out of trouble in the middle of the crossroads.

As for slowcoaches going at 15k’s an hour, don’t ponder the eternal question “why do slow drivers drive slowly?” or point out to them with your middle finger that you decreed 60k was a safe speed limit. Just enjoy the extra time to gaze upon your kingdom from the comfort of your cab.

And, they’re way better road hogging vassals than inveterate lane changers.

Sometimes, the limo will be a bit too big for rush-hour traffic. Don’t tailgate from your throne, or hoot. A kind nudge to the cars ahead of you will open up the extra inch you need to squeeze through.

A similar stately approach will work for those who stop slap bang on the “keep clear” road marking at the start of your driveway. Granted, they’re imbeciles, but they’re your imbeciles.

Indicators on cars are like your inheritance – carefully hidden lest people think you’re a show-off - don’t reprimand those who turn without indicating.

If others have not seen the arrow giving them right-of-way, don’t ask (through your open window): “What the hell are you dreaming about?” Wave them through with the ceremonial flag you keep on the dashboard.

Remember, these are like last-second indicators, slow exiters of parking spaces, the ubiquitous cellphone-users, those who lack the ability to anticipate what’ll happen next on the road - bad drivers but good subjects.

Cyclists are a challenge for any monarch. But they’re your followers too, despite riding all bunched up instead of single filing, not stopping where they should and taking their obscenely bulging lycra attire into half-decent coffee shops at the end of their rides.

So too with pedestrians, who may cross roads with a never-say-die impunity.

If you can, like Kipling, then ride with royal decorum with your fellow travellers. - RAY HARTLE

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