As a middle class South African I cannot hide from the fact that my relative wealth is associated with the exploitation of fellow citizens. Sure, I have been careful to respect all around me. But the economy within which I participate is based on mining, brewing and manufacturing. Even with 20 years of political transition my access to health, education and infrastructure is secured by an ongoing imbalance of service. My private medical aid receives a state subsidy and my neighbourhood grass is trimmed far more regularly than that of the township nearby. It would be comforting to think that my relative privilege has emerged from hard work, skill or even good luck, but in reality it has been supported by systemic cumulative wealth and advantage over generations accrued through slavery, colonialisation, apartheid and capitalism. What can I do to change this?
Apartheid was driven by an economy of exploitation where labour was secured through the violation the national social contract to enable an exploitative state meet the needs of capital. Migration, health, education, transport and housing were all controlled to fortify both capital and state. Even today I benefit from Apartheid policies as I draw on my tertiary qualifications, my power within social situations and my social networks. The nation continues to prioritise the needs of capital in its economic and social decision making, thereby marginalising the majority. Is it possible to change what seems to be the natural order of things? Am I just being idealistic?
Justice demands accountability and acknowledgement. My humanity must be bound with the humanity and experience of my neighbours. As long as I continue to benefit from exploitation and the warping of our South African social contract, I am implicated.
So how do we create a new social order? “Charity” is a dirty word. The term speaks of placing people into disempowered positions in order to assist them – or worst still — to appeal to others to support you to assist them. We speak of “the poor”, “the poorest of the poor”, “the street kids”, “the teenage mothers”, “informal settlements” in easy terms, eliding their stories and power into a disembodied poverty. This is a poverty that impoverishes us all, increasing our feelings of power, but decreasing our humanness.
Until recently I placed trust in the tools of community development where we “create opportunities” for people who have been disadvantaged by society, so that they can work hard and step out of poverty to join our comfortable life. Yet increasingly this focus on creating opportunities “for them” to access prosperity – albeit in partnership with “them” is not sitting comfortably.
A one-sided view, focusing only on those who are in need is just one side of the story. If my relative wealth and advantage is intrinsically bound with exploitative, unfair competition and systematic injustice over generations, then I must be integrally connected with the process of redress. I need to be factored into this story of development. This needs to move further than economic empowerment to a real realigning of relationship that has been so twisted over such a long time.
The devastation of apartheid was of a magnitude that cannot be restored, yet some effort at repair must be attempted. The misuse of power has been such that I need to make myself vulnerable in the process of remedy. History needs to be recognised and acknowledged. Stories need to be told and heard. And someone needs to be accountable. I must express my deep regret about what has happened. And I need to participate in thoughtful strategies to share my access to wealth in order to repair our social contract. My side of the social contract with other South Africans now has to be bound into real redress of deep social injustice – not social development or heavens forbid, charity.