“Get ready mama prepare for your freedom. Freedom is coming tomorrow!” So went the lines of one of the songs in the hugely successful Sarafina musical. It’s a catchy tune too. In terms of the imagery of this Mbongeni Ngema song, freedom comes hurtling towards us at the speed of light, unstoppable and inevitable. Yet the idea of freedom rushing in, arriving by bus, train or plane is preposterous. Even more ridiculous is the idea that all mama needs to do for her own freedom is to prepare for it. And so have we lived with the idea that freedom is some finished product that is delivered fully packaged at our doorstep one sunny day. Bamboozled by the idea of freedom arriving as a fully-clothed adult one day, we have neglected to do what needs to be done for the attainment, nurturing and sustenance of freedom. Is that the reason why we sometimes sit back and wait for freedom to arrive, for freedom to be granted and for the special benefits of freedom to accrue automatically?

But how have we come to the place where freedom has been understood as a destination rather than a journey? We have been hoodwinked by some political leaders who go about pretending that they gave us our freedom. Such claims seem plausible especially when they come from leaders with “struggle credentials”. Over the past 16 years we have seen attempts by the government and many political parties — in search of votes and patronage — to sell freedom as something they either can deliver or have delivered already. In these contexts, freedom tends to be reduced to “service delivery” — an equally problematic notion in terms of which politicians and public servants deliver and the rest of society consume the services. Have you noticed how passively conceived society is in most understandings of service delivery being broadcast? Service delivery is important. It is the right of all citizens to have access to basic services. But the idea that the citizenry must sit and wait for someone to bring a truckload of services one Monday morning is debilitating. When people engage in service-delivery protests, I think they are also revolting against this understanding of service delivery. Many of these protests are also a cry for acknowledgement and inclusion. Through these protests, citizens voice their dissatisfaction with being turned into mere objects and receptacles of preconceived programmes and schemes thought out without them.

Yet freedom cannot and should not be reduced to “service delivery” commonly understood. Freedom is about our aspiration to the attainment of the highest values and promises of our Constitution. It relates to the possibility and ability to “live” freely within the framework of a South Africa which “belongs to all who live in it”. Freedom pertains to the embodiment of “democratic values”, social justice and the freedom to pursue, proffer and claim fundamental human rights for one and all. Freedom is therefore not merely what can or has been done for me. Freedom is not only what I am able to do for myself either. It entails what I can and will do to advance myself and my fellow human beings. Freedom entails my obligation to continue to imagine a country better than the one I see and experience here and now. Above all my freedom should give me space and the wherewithal not merely to imagine, but to work for that country.

Sixteen years ago, millions of South Africans voted for the first time. For the first time all South Africans voted together in one election for one country. Sixteen years ago, the South Africa of dreams, dreams of hundreds of years, took concrete shape. For these dreams, many of our predecessors died. The dream of a democratic South Africa was not the only dream on the agenda. There were many contending dreams. But 1994 saw the eventual triumph of the best of all the competing dreams — the dream of one united and democratic South Africa. The long queues of April 1994 told the story of a great people who, in the presence of well-known and well-beaten paths nevertheless chose a road never travelled. It was fraught with difficulties, but 16 years later, we can confidently say, it was the correct road. With more repression and more brutality, the Afrikaners could have held on to power a few more years — in the process helping to bring the country to its knees. Similarly, the liberation movements could have continued to wage their multifaceted “war” of making the country ungovernable, calling for sanctions and cultural boycotts and guerrilla warfare. We could have spilled a few more kilolitres of South African blood and we could have wrecked the economy a little more thoroughly than we had already done by 1994. But in 1994, we chose a different path. Our leaders assisted us greatly in this regard. There were detractors. There still are.

I hear many — from both extremes — who say Codesa sold us out. There are many who decry the South African “obsession with compromise” — compromise for the sake of compromise. In reality this tends to be compromise in favour of whites, some argue. It is true that the most spectacular failure of the first 16 years of democracy has been in the redistribution of wealth and resources. We now know that over the 16-year period the gap between rich and poor has not narrowed — despite the admission of a few black elite into the fold. In fact the gap has grown. Both our macro and micro-economic policy interventions and strategies have failed to narrow the gap and improve the lot of the poor. Despite the much-celebrated eight years of unprecedented economic growth, we have failed to use that growth for the benefit of the poor. That is the consensus and that is the verdict. We also know that our land reform policies have not quite managed to deal with the problems of landlessness and poverty. Nor have we been able to avail education — especially higher education — to the previously excluded and the marginalised. To say that our education system is in crisis is not only to state the obvious, it is also to underestimate the true extent of the mess we find ourselves in. Though access to education may have improved somewhat over the past 16 years — success in education, especially for Africans has been dismal. The best and the worst educational institutions in the land have one thing in common — Africans do not succeed in them. Nor are learning conditions and cultures in townships and the so-called historically black institutions anything to write home about. There are problems — huge national problems which will soon become ticking bombs if they are not exploding already.

And yet we do have things to celebrate. It could be worse. We are today in a place far better than we were 16 years ago. Four peaceful, free and fair national elections are no small achievement. We should not sneer at that. Nor should we allow the tremendous implementation problems take away from the fact that we do have a good Constitution. Our constructive role in Africa should also be lauded. But clearly a lot remains to be done if we are to retain the moral foundations of the new South Africa. Speaking to senior public servants the other day, Jacob Zuma suggested than in four years’ time we will not be able to blame apartheid for our problems. I would like to amend that. Those with power, authority and the wherewithal to effect change for the better for most of the people, have long lost their right to blame apartheid. It is neither enough nor helpful for cabinet ministers, parliamentarians, senior public servants and leading politicians to blame apartheid. The question is, knowing what they know, given the power that they now have, what have they done to reverse the legacies of apartheid for the poorest of the poor?

As long as those to whom we have given authority and power continue to fudge their responsibilities and weave webs of lies and excuses perhaps Mbongeni Ngema is not so mistaken after all. Freedom is coming tomorrow. For as long as those with the power, resources and authority to make freedom a reality for all do not do take up their responsibilities, we must sing today and tomorrow alike the song “freedom is coming tomorrow”. Comprehensive freedom will forever and always be coming tomorrow.

Author

  • Tinyiko Sam Maluleke is a South African academic (currently attached to the University of South Africa [UNISA]) who suffers from restlessness, intellectual insomnia, insatiable curiosity, a facsination with ideas, a passion for justice, a crazy imagination as well as a big appetite for music, reading and writing. He has lectured briefly at such universities as Hamburg in Germany, Lausanne in Switzerland, University of Nairobi in Kenya and Lund University in Sweden - amongst others.

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Tinyiko Sam Maluleke

Tinyiko Sam Maluleke is a South African academic (currently attached to the University of South Africa [UNISA]) who suffers from restlessness, intellectual insomnia, insatiable curiosity, a facsination...

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