Rise of the tenderpreneurs, the fall of South Africa

The World Cup will create a feel-good factor in South Africa, but when it’s all over, the same urgen

This will be South Africa's second World Cup. The first was much smaller than the impending football jamboree. But the 1995 Rugby World Cup was an extraordinary affirmation of the country's recent transition to democracy, celebrated joyously with the host nation's victory. More important than the result was the masterful moment of reconciliation politics in which Nelson Mandela appeared in the shirt of the South African captain François Pienaar, acknowledging that the newly empowered majority had embraced the game of apartheid, that we were now "one nation, one team". This was the apex of "rainbow nation" symbolism, a new democracy brimming with hope and promise. The country that will host the 2010 Fifa World Cup has lost this illusory lustre.

For though a post-apartheid South Africa will always be an improvement on its racist, oppressive precursor, Mandela, the man-myth, has been replaced by Jacob Zuma, an all-too-human leader whose corruption and rape trials have inflicted permanent damage. Zuma's ineffective leadership of a divided African National Congress party and government has done little to suggest he might yet meaningfully address the huge challenges facing South Africa. The latest UNDP Human Development Index figures rank South Africa 129th out of the UN's 182 member states. The difference between this measure and the country's GDP, as well as its Gini coefficient score, make it the world's most unequal country, a worse position than before the dawn of democracy.

In 2006, it was calculated that just over 34 per cent of South Africans had lived on less than $2 a day during the preceding 14 years. A 2009 calculation shows that almost 43 per cent do now. Even worse, life expectancy has fallen by 13 years in a similar period.

This is not just a consequence of Thabo Mbeki's shameful Aids denialism, which, according to a Harvard University study, resulted in at least 355,000 avoidable deaths. It is also a consequence of the impact of the disease of grinding poverty, and of the continuing high rate of violent crime, which results in roughly 50 murders a day, as well as an ineffectual health and education system.

Far from the people

All this, in turn, is made possible by a largely unaccountable and sometimes corrupt ruling class that has abandoned many of the ANC's founding principles in order to enrich itself. The quality and depth of leadership, so impressive in 1994, is, with a few exceptions, woeful. No one reflects this more than the thuggish leader of the ANC Youth League, Julius Malema, an heir to Mandela in title alone. Malema's racist rants, idiotic pronouncements and intolerance of criticism are usually glossed over by the party leadership, which depends on his support. The most severe and only punishment has been a gentle rap over the knuckles for his vocal support of Robert Mugabe.

While I don't believe his singing of racist songs about killing white farmers contributed to the murder of the far-right leader Eugene Terre'Blanche in April (the latter's brutal treatment of his farmworkers was a far more likely cause), Malema's tirades further undercut the reconciliation gains made under Mandela. The xenophobia that reared its murderous head in 2008 against immigrants from elsewhere in Africa is an even uglier manifestation of how much the country has changed since the early days of democracy.

SGL, an engineering company with which Malema has been associated, has benefited from large state tenders. Malema has denied he is still a director of the firm. The practice of high-ranking members of the party, and those close to them, benefiting from decisions about tenders of the government has become so widespread that the title "tenderpreneur" has been coined to describe the beneficiaries. The tenderpreneur could not be more different from the idealistic, committed activists with whom I was privileged to be elected to parliament in 1994. A minor incident illustrates how far from "the people" some of these activists have strayed. A party cadre I knew in the early 1990s as humble, smart and unassuming spent, after becoming a provincial minister, almost £10,000 of taxpayers' money on a dinner for guests and friends at one of Johannesburg's leading restaurants. That is more than most South Africans earn in a year. When a journalist from one of the country's leading papers asked him what he had to say to members of the public who had complained about the bill, the minister in effect told them to go to hell.

He is now head of the ANC in one of the country's most powerful provinces.

How has the hopeful young democracy that cheered the Springboks' rugby triumph in 1995 become so much like most other countries in today's tawdry global polity? The ANC lost its moral compass towards the end of Mandela's reconciliatory term of office with two signature moments - the decision to spend huge amounts of money on weapons we didn't need and the party's inability to challenge Mbeki's Aids denialism, dating as far back as his tenure as deputy president.

The decision to spend between $6bn and $8bn on hi-tech weaponry was driven by an estimated $300m of bribes. Anti-corruption investigators in South Africa and Europe allege that these were paid to the then defence minister, Joe Modise, other officials and the party itself by European companies that were awarded contracts, most of them in highly controversial circumstances. As a senior member of the party's top executive body told me, "We used the money to fight the 1999 election."

Coalition of the disaffected

Even more destructive than this waste of money - at the time that Mbeki was claiming the government could not afford to provide antiretroviral medication to the five million South Africans then living with HIV and Aids - was the undermining of the country's hard-won democracy in order to stop truth emerging. Parliament was turned into a rubber stamp, and has remained one, with ANC MPs instructed to vote in favour of whatever the leadership proposed.

This was in marked contrast to the way in which ANC MPs had challenged the executive, as the constitution envisaged, in the first four years of our democracy. Investigative bodies were undermined by Mbeki instructing them exactly who and what they could and could not investigate. The prosecuting authority was similarly undermined and politicised. The more effective anti-corruption agencies were dissolved. My colleagues in parliament, with very few exceptions, reacted with anger and outrage when I defied the leadership and continued to investigate the arms deal. My removal from the investigating committee and ousting from parliament acted as a salutary warning to anyone who challenged the leadership.

The realisation that they could get away with it, despite the best efforts of investigative journalists and a handful of brave MPs, emboldened the ANC leadership to engage in a series of other suspect deals in the oil, telecoms and power sectors. These always benefited not just individuals, but also the financial position of the party, which at its triennial conference in 2007 boasted a surplus of about £150m.

The abject failure of MPs and other influential ANC leaders to hold the party to account was mirrored when Mbeki's Aids denialism wreaked havoc on the country. Critical debate was supplanted by obsequious support; party loyalty was the only political currency. The key to this change among individuals who had so bravely fought apartheid was either the belief, fostered among ANC exiles, that it was disloyal to speak against the party, or simply the benefits of patronage, which included the fear of losing one's seat in parliament and its attendant material rewards.

It was only the ANC's allies in the trade union movement who spoke out against both the arms deal and Aids denialism. So desperate were they to rid the ANC of Mbeki's autocratic and paranoid leadership that they were prepared to support his nemesis, Zuma, despite Zuma's rape trial and his embarrassing statements about Aids protection and gender relations, as well as the myriad corruption allegations against him.

But the trade unions did not speak out when the 783 counts of corruption against Zuma were dropped in controversial circumstances - or when, using legislation intended only for inmates in the final stages of a terminal illness, Zuma's financial adviser Schabir Shaik was released from prison after serving barely over two years of a 15-year sentence for corruption. South Africa's prosecutorial and judicial system has been further damaged by this cleaning of Zuma's legal slate.

To his credit, Zuma has been open about the mistakes the ANC made on Aids and in other areas. But his government has not yet addressed the desperate needs of the country's poorest citizens. Partly this is because of the limited capacity of the bloated public service, its unaccountability and widespread corruption. Yet it is also a consequence of Zuma's attempt to keep happy the coalition of the disaffected that brought him to power. Ideological differences, along with the president's seeming inability to impose direction on the coalition, have thwarted coherent governance. Zuma's allies on the left are the least happy, charging their man with maintaining economic policies that hinder social change.

This dissatisfaction with the country's inequalities has fuelled ambivalence towards the World Cup, which begins on 11 June. The prominent columnist Jabulani Sikhakhane gave voice to this when comparing the deaths of 17 infants in public hospitals in a fortnight, because of a lack of basic medical equipment, to the more than £90m invested in the health facilities demanded by Fifa for the month of the tournament. "It's a shame," Sikhakhane concluded, "that a country that invests more than R1bn in order to meet the [health] requirements set by the gods of world soccer is incapable of preventing the deaths of its babies."

Trouble at home

Fifa has hardly endeared itself to those living on South Africa's margins by creating exclusion zones around the stadiums and parks where the games will be held, thus preventing informal traders from plying their wares anywhere near the showpiece event. Initially excluding local artists from the cultural events that will open and close the tournament was hardly a recipe for local support, either. While a few prominent South Africans have now been included in the line-ups, the event anthem, composed and performed by the Colombian singer Shakira, still irks many South Africans, judging by the numbers of irate callers to phone-ins.

With the World Cup mascots manufactured in China and McDonald's the official restaurant of the tournament, many are questioning whether South Africa will reap adequate economic return on its estimated £3bn investment. Reports that less than half of the anticipated foreign tourists will turn up for the event - with only about 11,500 expected from the rest of Africa - because of cost issues and security concerns, have further depressed the economic picture. The temporary, low-skilled and poorly paid jobs that preparations for the tournament have generated will not constitute a solution to South Africa's unemployment rate, which is calculated at between 27 and 37 per cent. There are already mutterings of contracts going to politically connected tenderpreneurs.

In this sports-mad and once-isolated country, the World Cup will no doubt engender a feel-good factor - even if, as seems likely, the home team struggles, unlike the rugby team of 15 years ago. Just having the eyes of the world on South Africa again will be a reaffirmation of our remarkable transition to democracy. But it will also confirm that our democracy has been tarnished. For when the Fifa grandees (no strangers to allegations of corruption themselves) and the welcome visitors depart, South Africa will be feeling better about itself, but will still face the same challenges, for which there will be slightly fewer resources.

Andrew Feinstein is a former ANC MP

An updated edition of his book "After the Party: Corruption, the ANC and South Africa's Uncertain Future" is out now (Verso, £8.99)

This article first appeared in the 07 June 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The myth of Mandela

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Goodbye to the Confederate flag

After the shootings in Charleston, the Republican right showed it was finally ready to reject the old symbols of the Confederacy.

On 27 June, an African-American activist named Bree Newsome woke up before dawn, put on her climbing equipment and scaled a 30-foot flagpole on the lawn of State House in Columbia, South Carolina. She then removed the Confederate battle flag that flew from it. “We can’t wait any longer,” she explained later in an online statement. “It’s time for a new chapter where we are sincere about dismantling white supremacy.”

After she was led away in handcuffs, the flag was raised again.

Newsome’s protest reflected a growing impatience within America’s black community and anger about liberal inaction. Political rallies by the Democratic presidential contenders Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders have been disrupted by the Black Lives Matter campaign against violence committed on young African Americans and the cultural and legal biases that justify it. While promoting his book on race in the US, the writer Ta-Nehisi Coates argued that, to African Americans, the battle flag represents a lingering attempt “to bury the fact that half this country thought it was a good idea to raise an empire rooted in slavery”.

Yet, on this matter, to everyone’s surprise, the black civil rights movement and many southern Republicans have proved to be of one mind. On 9 July the House of Representatives in South Carolina voted to lower the battle flag for good. It stood, representatives said, for racism. It had to go.

The context of this agreement was a painful one. Ten days before Newsome’s act, a 21-year-old white man named Dylann Roof shot and killed nine black worshippers at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. According to his room-mate, he wanted to start a race war. The TV screens showed a photo of him holding a gun in one hand and a Confederate battle flag in the other.

If the demands for redress made by civil rights groups didn’t come as a surprise, conservative acquiescence did. The Republican Party had built a solid base in the South by courting white voters who cherished the memory of the Confederacy. Yet the party’s presidential hopefuls from both the North and the South – including Jeb Bush, Lindsey Graham, Scott Walker and George Pataki – said that the battle flag ought to be lowered. The most striking intervention was made by the governor of South Carolina, Nikki Haley, who denounced the use of the Confederate flag and signed the bill removing it. Haley is now tipped to figure on the list of potential vice-presidential nominees.

The volte-face of the US right is in part a result of the horror of the Charleston shootings. Yet it also occurs in the context of major shifts within American society. There are still many conservatives who will defend Confederate heritage as a matter of southern pride but the culture wars are changing as the US becomes increasingly European in outlook. This is taking place across the country. It just happens to be more pronounced in the South because no other region has fought so violently and so long to resist the liberal tide.

The story of the battle flag is the story of the South. The first official Confederate flag used in the civil war of 1861-65 caused confusion during fighting – through the haze of gun smoke, its design of 13 stars and red and white bars was hard to distinguish from the Stars and Stripes. An alternative blue cross was rejected for being too sectarian; the racist Confederacy was anxious not to offend its Jewish citizens. So the cross became a diagonal X. This flag was never officially adopted by the Confederate army. In the years after the war its use was infrequent.

There was little need to visualise southern difference in a flag. It was self-evident in the physical signs of racial segregation: separate schools, pools and drinking fountains; black people confined to the back of the bus. Political displays of the battle flag of Dixie (the historical nickname for the states that seceded from the Union) only really resurfaced when that racial order was challenged by northern liberals. In 1948, the Democrats – then the party overwhelmingly in control of the South – split over modest calls for civil rights. The conservatives who refused to support that year’s presidential ticket, the “Dixiecrats”, triggered a rev­ival of flag-waving across the region.

The old battle flag suddenly appeared on private lawns, on cars and at political rallies. Supposedly ancient cultural traditions were invented overnight. For instance, the 1948 student handbook of the University of Mississippi confessed: “Many Ole Miss customs are fairly new; they lack only the savouring which time brings . . . Ole Miss has adopted the Confederate flag as a symbol of the Mississippi spirit. Each football game finds the scarlet flag frantically waving to the rhythm of the Rebel band.”

I can confirm that this “tradition” was still going as recently as in 2005. That year, I attended an American football game at Ole Miss and was surprised when the band played “Dixie” at the end. White boys and white girls stood up and belted out the folk song of the Confederacy, while black students filed out.

In 1958, South Carolina made it a crime to desecrate the battle flag. Three years later, on the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of the civil war, it was hoisted above its Capitol building in Columbia. That day, there was a struggle in the US Congress to keep federal funding going for segregated schools.

So clear is the link between the postwar white resistance to civil rights and the battle flag that many see it as the symbolic equivalent of the N-word. Jack Hunter, the editor of the conservative website Rare Politics, says: “Some people insist that it’s not about racism, not about slavery, not about segregation. But it’s about all those things.” Hunter grew up in Charleston and used to skateboard in the car park of the church that Dylann Roof attacked. When he was a young journalist, he appeared on local radio as a rabidly right-wing masked character called “the Southern Avenger”. His past was exposed in 2013 while he was working for Rand Paul, a Republican presidential candidate, and Hunter stepped down from his position. He publicly renounced his youthful association with racial conservatism. He now eschews any romanticism about the Confederate cause and its demand for states’ rights. “States’ rights to do what?” he asks: the right to discriminate against African Americans? He is glad that the State House flag is gone. He ascribes its longevity to ignorance, which was corrected by Roof’s rampage: “It was the first time that [southern Republicans] were able to see a different perspective on this symbol.”

Not everyone agrees. Richard Hines – a former South Carolina legislator, Reagan campaign state co-chair and senior activist with the Sons of Confederate Veterans – insists that the flag is “an enduring symbol of the southern fighting man”. Indeed, a poll in July found that 57 per cent of Americans think it stands for southern heritage, rather than racism. Yet that heritage has a political dimension. “Southern people are proud of who they are and there is a leftist assault to destroy the best part of America,” Hines says. “The Trotskyite elite in control of the establishment wants to root out the southern tradition” – a tradition of religious devotion, chivalry and military honour. It is possible to cast the battle flag as a pawn in a much larger cultural conflict.

In 2000, civil rights activists lobbied hard to get the battle flag removed from the top of the South Carolina Capitol and succeeded in having it shrunk in size and relocated to the grounds of State House. The issue came up in that year’s Republican presidential primaries – an unusually poisonous contest between George W Bush and John McCain. Supporters of Bush put out a false story that McCain had fathered an interracial child out of wedlock. McCain added to his woes by opining that the battle flag was “a symbol of racism and slavery”. An organisation called Keep It Flying flooded the state with 250,000 letters attacking him and he lost the crucial competition here to Bush.

The battle flag has retained a strong emotional power for a long time. This makes the Republican establishment’s abandonment of the flag all the more surprising. Then again, those who run the South are probably the people most likely to grasp how much the region has changed in just a decade.

***

In 2010 I took a trip through North Carolina. The landscape told a story. Dotted along the roadside were abandoned black buildings, the old tobacco sheds. The decline of the rural economy had rendered them obsolete. Over the fields that would once have been full of farmers were freshly tarmacked roads, stretching out to nowhere. My guide explained that these were supposed to be cul-de-sacs for new houses. North Carolina was going through a property boom. But who was going to buy all those homes, I asked? The answer: damn Yankees.

Demography is destiny. This once agri­cultural region developed fast from the 1960s onwards by keeping union membership, taxes and regulation as low as possible. Yet capitalism proved disastrous for southern conservatism. Northerners flooded in, seeking work or retirement and bringing their own values. The forecast is that North Carolina’s Research Triangle – the South’s Silicon Valley – will grow by 700,000 jobs and 1.2 million people in two decades.

White migration was accompanied by an influx of Spanish speakers as the service sector flourished. Between 2000 and 2010, the white share of the population of North Carolina fell from 70 to 65 per cent. The black proportion remained at roughly 21 per cent. The Latino proportion, however, jumped from 4.7 per cent to 8.4 per cent. Today, the proportion of people who are non-white and over 60 is about a third. But it’s approaching nearly half for those under 18. As a result, politics in the South is no longer biracial: a contest between white and black. It is increasingly multiracial and uncoupled from the region’s complex past.

The impact of these changes is reflected in voting patterns. In 2000, the South was still overwhelmingly Republican in presidential contests. Even the Democratic nominee, Al Gore, a southerner, lost his home state of Tennessee. But in 2008 and 2012, Barack Obama took those states with the fastest-changing demographics: Florida and Virginia. He won North Carolina in 2008 and lost it in 2012 – but by less than 100,000 votes. It is true that the Republicans won back control in the 2014 midterm elections, with the result that the Deep South now sends few Democrats to Congress; but the region’s political masters are not quite as traditional-minded as they once were.

The Republican relationship with the Confederate past is complex. As the party of Abraham Lincoln and the Union, the GOPs’ southern support was historically small. But in the 1960s the national Democratic Party embraced civil rights and alienated its once loyal southern following; the Republicans took the opportunity to steal some conservative white voters.

The growing southern Republican vote had a class component. Its success in local and congressional races was built more on winning over middle-class moderates than on appealing to the working-class racists who filled the ranks of the Ku Klux Klan. The southern Republican Party did enthusiastically embrace the Confederate battle flag in many quarters. But some office-holders did so only with ambiguity, while large sections of the party never identified with it at all. The period of Republican ascendancy in the South was, in reality, linked with a softening of the area’s racial politics.

Two of the Republicans’ current southern stars are Indian Americans: Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana, and Nikki Haley, the anti-flag governor of South Carolina. There are just two black people in the US Senate and one of them is a Republican, the Tea Party-backed senator for South Carolina, Tim Scott. Marco Rubio, the Floridian senator and presidential candidate, is Cuban American, and the former Florida governor Jeb Bush is married to a Mexican-born woman and speaks fluent Spanish. Bush has tried to push a more moderate line on immigration, in deference to how the GOP will struggle to win the White House if it appeals only to angry white voters. The Kentucky libertarian senator Rand Paul, Jack Hunter’s former boss, has called for legal reforms to correct the trend of keeping far more black than white people in prison. And he is not the only Republican to have been moved by recent race riots sparked by police violence.

***

Violence on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, and Baltimore, Maryland, confirmed that there still is a culture war in the US. Yet its character has changed. In the past, civil disturbances were typically leapt upon by conservative politicians as evidence of social decline. The 1992 LA riots were blamed on single parenthood and rap lyrics. In contrast, conservative leaders today are far more likely to acknowledge the problems of white racism. There is no place in their ranks for the likes of Dylann Roof. White supremacists are tiny in number.

Jack Hunter claims: “The KKK is like 12 guys in a telephone booth. Liberal groups will use their threat for fundraising but it doesn’t exist. It hasn’t properly since the 1960s.” Roof’s actions say more about gun control, mental illness and the angst of the young than they do about popular, largely liberal views on race, as polling shows.

We can see a similar liberal shift in other areas of the historic culture war. In May 2015 Gallup released the results of a “moral acceptability” survey charting changes in national attitude across all age groups, from 2001 to 2015. Approval of gay relationships jumped from 40 to 63 per cent; having a baby out of wedlock from 45 to 61 per cent; sex between unmarried men and women from 53 to 68 per cent; doctor-assisted suicide from 49 to 56 per cent; even polygamy went from 7 to 16 per cent. Abortion remained narrowly disapproved of: support for access has only crept up from 42 to 45 per cent. This is probably a result of an unusual concentration of political and religious opposition and because it involves a potential life-or-death decision. But the general trend is that young people just don’t care as much about what consenting adults get up to.

Why? It might be because old forms of identity are dying. One way of measuring that is religious affiliation. From 2007 to 2014, according to Pew Research, the proportion of Americans describing themselves as Christian fell from 78 to 71 per cent. Today, only a quarter of the population is evangelical and 21 per cent Catholic, down despite high immigration. Then there is the decline in civic or communal activity. Since 2012, the organisers of Nascar, the stock-car races, have not published attendance figures at their tracks, probably because they have fallen so sharply. The decline of this most macho and working class of sports parallels the fall in conservative forms of collective identity such as southern traditionalism.

The old culture war was, like the racial politics of the old South, binary. In the 1950s, around the same time as the South invented its tradition of flying the battle flag in colleges, the US constructed an ideal of the “normal” nuclear family unit: straight, white, patriarchal, religious. On the other side was the “abnormal”: gay, black, feminist, atheist, and the rest. The surest way to get elected in the US between 1952 and 2004 was to associate yourself with the economic needs and cultural prejudices of the majority. The approach was once summed up by a Richard Nixon strategist thus: split the country in two and the Republicans will take the larger half. But that is changing. The old normal is no longer the cultural standard but just one of many identities to choose from. The races are mixing. Women want to work more and have children later in life, possibly without marriage. Many religious people are having to rethink their theology when a child comes out as gay. And the enforcers of the old ways – the unions, churches or political parties – are far less attractive than the atomising internet.

***

Politicians are scrabbling to keep up with the diffusion of American identity. Democrats got lucky when they nominated Barack Obama and chose a presidential candidate who reflected the fractured era well: interracial, non-denominational Christian, and so on. In the 2012 presidential race the Republicans got burned when they tried to play the old culture war card on abortion. They won’t repeat that mistake. After the Supreme Court legalised gay marriage across the country in June, the right’s response was not as uniformly loud and outraged as it would have been in the past. Some protested, but serious presidential contenders such as Jeb Bush grasped the implications of the defeat. There is a cultural and political realignment going on and no one is sure where it will lead. It’s encouraging caution among the Republican top brass. It is time, they think, to abandon lost causes.

The death of southern traditionalism is part of the ebb and flow of cultural history. Identities flourish and die. As political fashions change, you find the typically American mix of triumph on one side and jeremiad on the other. Richard Hines stood vigil as the battle flag was lowered in Columbia and noted with disgust the presence of what he described as “bussed-in” activists. “They pulled out all these gay pride flags and started shouting, ‘USA, USA, USA!’ It reminded me of the Bolshevik Revolution.”

Hines reckons that more southerners will now fly the flag than ever before and says he has attended overflow rallies of ordinary folks who love their region. He may well be correct. The faithful will keep the old Confederate standard fluttering on their lawns – an act of secession from the 21st century. But in the public domain, the battle flag is on its way down and in its place will be raised the standard of the new America. The rainbow flag flutters high. For now.

Tim Stanley is a historian and a columnist for the Telegraph

This article first appeared in the 20 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn wars