Volume 75 Number 3 Fall 2005 ISSN 0017-8055
An excerpt from
Black Dean: Race, Reconciliation, and the Emotions of Deanship
JONATHAN DAVID JANSEN
University of Pretoria
As I drove through the gates of the University of Pretoria, I was
already tense. Years of living under apartheid had involuntarily
stressed the muscles and sharpened the mind to attack even the
slightest hint of racial aggression when entering unfamiliar, White
territory. It did not help that the entrance was guarded, as if by
design, by one of the tallest buildings on the South African campus -
a cold, white, rectangular edifice that dwarfed any soul entering the
gates. The two security guards at the "boomgate" approached the
car. I felt some relief, as both were Black: "Brothers," I thought.
I announced that I was the new dean of education and that I would
therefore appreciate entrance through the gates. One of the guards
laughed uncontrollably: "Nice one, comrade, I've heard that one
before." I burst out laughing, imagining myself in his shoes. I would
certainly share the same incredulity if a Black man, coming through the
gates of this former bastion of apartheid, suddenly declared himself
dean. I went through the motions of filling out the visitor's form,
having learned a long time ago that you do not argue with the person at
the tail end of an authoritarian system - whether it be a university
or a shop or a church. As I moved through the gates, I said to myself,
"If I struggle with you, comrade, how on earth am I going to make it
with my White colleagues?"
I introduced myself to the vice principal of the university.1 A
wonderful person, I thought, who spoke English (rather than Afrikaans)
and appeared quite genuine in his manner. This relaxed me. Together we
walked over to the faculty of education, where I would take up the
position of dean - the first Black dean in more than 100 years in
this faculty.
I had been invited to serve as dean at the University of Pretoria by
its new and charismatic vice chancellor, who was determined to
transform this former White Afrikaans university into an African
institution that was, as he put it, locally relevant and
internationally competitive. His vision and commitment created the
space and the opportunity for bold leadership in the deanship. In order
to make my decision to accept, I had consulted many friends, most of
them radicals, then and now. Many of them felt that this was a chance
to assist in creating a genuinely South African university rather than
let this formidable institution continue as a White remnant of
apartheid. Others reminded me, correctly, that I had always insisted I
would never work in a White South African university. But surely things
had changed, I rationalized. This was a South African university that
needed to be transformed to serve all South Africans.
With the vice principal, I walked into a meeting of department heads
chaired by the acting dean. All White, all men, all Afrikaners. They
jumped to their feet to greet me. I encouraged the meeting to continue
and left after a few minutes to survey my new office. The meeting with
my secretary was most uncomfortable. She was in a state of panic,
jumping around as the vice principal introduced me. For a senior
Afrikaner woman who had served several White, conservative deans, this
must have been most traumatic. Now I was alone, and I knew I had to
break the tension. I called her in and encouraged her to tell me how
she would like the office organized, and asked how I could best support
her in her role as the dean's secretary. Gradually, we both relaxed.
In those moments, I realized that I would have to initiate grounds for
any toenadering (coming together, meeting to reconcile) with my
colleagues by creating a nonthreatening, nonracial space in which they
would feel free to talk, work, and live with their new dean. But my
historical commitment to "servant leadership," while workable
within the Black university I had just served as dean and vice
principal, created emotional and political dilemmas in this White
university. Seared into my consciousness as a young boy, I remember
watching my father wash the floors in homes of rich White people in
Cape Town, working as, in the language of those days, a servant. If I
remained true to my commitments and values as a dean, servant
leadership would mean sacrificing my time, energy, and emotions for the
sake of my colleagues. On the other hand, this was risky and could be
interpreted as the Black dean "knowing his place" and being willing
to continue servitude in this White institution. I decided to take the
risk, but with a high degree of alertness to any possible
misinterpretation of my service commitments. Thus, in my interviews
with each staff member, I made the point I had made more comfortably in
other places: I am here to serve you.
During those individual interviews, and in the typical slog of meetings
facing an administrator, I realized that to a large extent my fears
about the acceptance of my authority as dean were unwarranted. At this
university, unlike any other I had worked in, the dean was regarded as
a great and formidable authority figure. I found that I was not
expected to discuss things; I was expected to pronounce on things. The
unbridled power of this university's administration and the
efficiency of this cultural system was light-years away from the
University of Durban, Westville, where I had worked as academic leader
for six years.
A typical example of the cultural differences between the two
university environments occurred when I was called on to chair a
selection committee for a new faculty member. The selection panel
included the union representatives of the academic staff and senior
faculty. I listened to the discussions and tried to summarize
individual positions around the table in order to formulate a proposal
that reflected the consensus of the panel. After a majority of the
panel agreed on a candidate, I asked one more time if this person's
name could be forwarded to "admin" for appointment. The panel
agreed. Then a senior professor caught me completely off guard.
"Despite all this," he said, "at the end of the day it is your
decision as dean as to whom you would appoint." I was stunned. The
question ran through my mind: Why have a committee? I stayed with the
majority decision.
My conversations with individual colleagues constituted the richest
form of "data" on the institution, on the deanship, and on the
possibilities for change. One of my standard practices as dean has been
to meet with faculty members to inquire about their current rank as
academics, their career goals, and the support they required from my
office to attain their personal goals. The interviews were difficult,
as colleagues struggled to open up with this stranger in their midst, a
Black dean asking probing personal questions about their careers. At
the same time, most of my colleagues really appreciated what they said
was "the first time ever" that they were asked about their
intellectual goals and what they required from the dean to make these
goals happen in their lives.
Gradually, my colleagues opened up. Women academics were remarkably
consistent as they recollected stories of abuse at the hands of former
deans and department heads. A typical story was the following:
I disagreed with the dean in a meeting. He called me aside and told me
that that was the last time I would ever disagree with him again. He
also told me that my career was over, and that while he was dean I
would never get [a] promotion. Final. I was destroyed, and I learned
that you never, ever disagree with your dean.
If this confidence represented one voice among many, I would have
considered the possibility that the colleague in question was a
difficult person or that the dean in question had had a bad day. But I
heard stories like these over and over again, in various forms, during
those interviews. I tried to contain my anger at this devastating abuse
of women academics (all of them White Afrikaner women). I realized that
this was a systematic attack on women, which helped explain why there
had never been a woman as dean or department head in this faculty of
education's century of existence. It explained the relentless
Dutch-Calvinist logic of the Afrikaners, in which the man was
responsible to God and the woman to the man, "in subjection." It
explained why women simply did not speak in any of the initial faculty
meetings until I insisted on such participation. It explained the
phenomenon of Afrikaner patriarchy.
Race, Gender, Distance, and Emotion
But there was another revelation that came through during these
interviews with women faculty - the difficulty of dealing with a
Black dean in private conversations about careers. The White women,
with notable exceptions, were very uncomfortable in this private space.
They did not appear relaxed, and they sat far away from me at the
table. I noticed the distance and discomfort. I searched for
explanations even as I conducted the interviews, trying as hard as
possible to create a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere. It struck me
that this was probably the first time in their entire lives, shaped and
molded by apartheid, that my female colleagues had ever occupied space
alone in a room with a Black male adult figure, who also happened to be
their senior authority in the faculty. All those racist myths, I
thought, about pure White women being ravaged by a Black man must have
left indelible marks on the consciousness of these colleagues. I
realized, in those moments, that the struggle would have to be fought
on both sides of the table. My own anger at what I perceived to be a
racial and gendered distancing had to be managed, and their fears about
racial and gendered stereotypes had to be overcome.
Trust was to become the essential ingredient in relationship-building.
I had entered a microcosm of the real-life cauldron of racial
reconciliation after apartheid, something that was difficult, messy,
emotional, and unpredictable. It certainly lacked the glamour and
elegance of Nelson Mandela's celebrated autobiography, Long Walk to
Freedom, or the triumphant mood of the myriad of publications on the
South African "miracle." In my first nine months at the University
of Pretoria, it was women academics who gradually began to open up, to
share, and to commit to a vision of transformation in which I made it
clear that women and Black academics would be readily affirmed in my
tenure as dean.
My relationship with Afrikaner men was very different. Some of them
simply did not show up for the interviews, despite repeated attempts by
my secretary to schedule these meetings. After about a month, this got
to me, and I suspected that there might be real racial dilemmas faced
by these White men (no more than five) in discussing what inevitably
were personal and revealing topics. I decided to call them myself and
insist that they show up immediately for the planned interviews. I did
not want to use that tone as a dean, but I believed that this
situation, bolstered by my intuitive sense that race was the problem,
justified my insistence.
The men, with few exceptions, did not open up during those interviews.
They were "fine." The fact that they were not publishing was not
because they did not know how to do research, but simply because there
was no time. My job, I was told, was simply to provide the space and
the resources, and they would "get on with the job." It was as
simple as that. These interviews were probably the most difficult for
me. It was here that I realized that huge emotional and political
chasms had to be crossed. The men across the table had all done
military service, under compulsion, for the apartheid state. Some, I
noticed from their curricula vitae, were captains in the apartheid
military. Others were members of a secret society of White men, the
Afrikaner Broederbond.2 I had hated these institutions - the visible
and the secretive - as my political awareness developed while I was
an undergraduate student on the politically charged campus of the
University of the Western Cape. Later, as a young teacher in the
volatile townships of the rural and urban Western Cape, I witnessed the
viciousness of the apartheid machinery in the daily lives of Black
people. Now I suddenly felt these emotions awakened as I tried to cross
racial chasms in the face of, at best, the quiet hostility of the
faculty members. Within months and with my encouragement, some of these
reluctant men left the faculty of education, either on early retirement
or resignation. They were not going to change, and I was not going to
allow them to stagnate; a simple and decent way of dealing with this
was for them to leave. Gradually, but after a much longer time than
with the women, several of the Afrikaner men also opened up and became
centrally involved in the administration of the faculty of education.
> From Beleefdheid to Openness
With both Afrikaner men and women, there was another serious impediment
to faculty transformation, something called beleefdheid. It is a
strange Afrikaans word that probably means politeness, but carries with
it a sense of hypocrisy - polite to the extent of being dishonest.
The institutional culture, I observed, was averse to public conflict.
How did this problem express itself during my efforts to democratize
the faculty of education? After undertaking a strategic review of the
strengths and limitations of the faculty, I presented a detailed report
to a full meeting of all academic and administrative staff, together
with an action plan. The report contained some dramatic, wide-ranging
proposals for action, including a one-year forced sabbatical for
eighteen young academics to give them exposure to the best universities
in the world, and a series of steps to build a more diverse faculty
that affirmed Black and women colleagues.
There was, after an hour of presentation, not a single word of critical
feedback from this packed meeting. In fact, the few who spoke said
simply that "this was fine." I realized there was a problem. I
would never know how well or badly I was doing as dean because
beleefdheid insists that you do not confront anyone, tradition requires
that the dean must be right, and past experience suggested that
disagreement with authority could terminate a career. The only
opposition I received to my action plan was my suggestion that the
portraits of those four patriarchs should come down. But it came in the
form of an anonymous letter slipped under my door. This puzzled and
infuriated me. I encouraged and looked forward to challenge and
criticism, but not the cowardice of anonymous correspondence. I sent
the word out on the online bulletin board that such notices were
unacceptable in a democracy. At the next heads of department meeting, I
bemoaned the fact that the only criticism, though couched in a very
beleefd manner, was delivered under my door. Halfway through my
lecture, the former acting dean raised his hand and confessed, "It
was I."
I now was even more determined to change the culture of the faculty by
encouraging greater openness. I used the faculty online bulletin,
called Opforum, to list some provocative ideas for change in the hope
that it would stimulate discussion. Nothing happened. I noted this
silence on Opforum. Very apologetic comments started to come from
younger academics, but at least there were grounds for dialogue. I did
not evaluate those comments or counter proposals, but simply allowed
much of the dialogue to flow. Several comments from the older academics
were intensely angry and awkward, representing the opposite of direct,
intelligent engagement. It was as if after decades of being shut up,
their words were not coming through in the constrained yet challenging
manner typical of rigorous academic exchange. I accepted that it would
take time to modify these angry outbursts into the kind of critical,
informed dialogue that remained riveting in style and content. As new
faculty joined from the outside, Opforum became a regular site for
expressing ideals, for engaging new policies, for challenging the dean.
Faculty Leadership within the Broader Institution
It is one thing trying to change a faculty within a university; it is
another matter when the entire institution is steeped in a top-down,
authoritarian culture that reinforces and replicates this negative
behavior across the campus. The most troubling event in which I
participated as a dean at the University of Pretoria was my first
senate meeting, the senate being a universitywide decisionmaking body.
About 165 persons attended - mainly White, male Afrikaners. A thick
agenda appeared; in less than an hour, the meeting was rushing to a
close. The chairperson, a fine scholar and a graduate of Tukkies, had
done what his predecessors had done before: simply list an item and
make a decision.3 There was no discussion, and even when discussion was
called for, the audience knew not to engage. One of the issues on the
agenda concerned the restructuring of the faculty of veterinary
sciences. Although drastic cost-cutting measures and possible staff
losses were on the horizon, there was still no serious discussion. I
raised my hand and asked, "What is the educational rationale for such
a decision in the vet school?" I explained that while the financial
rationale was clear, the senate, being the highest academic
decisionmaking body in a university, had an obligation to ask questions
about the academic basis for faculty decisions. I was clearly out of
order, and I sensed that immediately from the silence that followed.
There was an awkward fumbling as the chair and the dean of the
veterinary school scrambled for explanations outside of the financial
calculus that had come to determine so much of what universities in
South Africa (and the rest of the planet) do under conditions of
managerialism, markets, and globalization. I was tolerated with polite
answers. Then something else completely unexpected happened.
A young Afrikaner actuarial scientist, apparently buoyed by this
unexpected questioning in the hallowed halls of the senate, started to
raise his own series of questions about the restructuring. To put it
mildly, he was eaten alive. He suffered a series of aggressive
counter-punches from the leadership of the institution. To his credit,
he refused to back down. I got the distinct impression that the reason
this young professor was so aggressively treated was that he was
supposed to know better; he was one of the volk and should have known
his place in an authority-driven culture where knowledge, wisdom, and
the final word rested with his superiors. I could be tolerated as the
ignorant outsider - the Black dean who, if challenged, would raise
inevitable racial questions about White aggression in this cathedral of
Afrikanerdom. This experience, more than any other, made me realize how
faculty-based transformation can be impeded and constrained by
institutional inertia with respect to critical issues of dissent,
democracy, and affirmation.
Treurlied vir die dooies
Martiens van Bart 08/01/2006 23:58 - (SA)
KAAPSTAD. - Die hoogtepunt van die naweek se tweehonderdjarige
herdenking van die Slag van Blaauwberg, op 8 Januarie 1806, was toe
afgevaardigdes van vyf lande tydens 'n aangrypende plegtigheid by
Melkbosstrand kranse gelê het ter nagedagtenis van die stryders.
'n Eerbiedige stilte het Saterdag omstreeks 11:00 oor die meer as 500
aanwesiges van talle kulture geheers toe die kranse gelê en 'n enkele
Skotse doedelsakspeler 'n treurlied vir die dooies gespeel het. Kranse
is gelê deur verteenwoordigers van Suid-Afrika, Indonesië, Nederland,
Frankryk en Brittanje.
Die geleentheidspreker, mnr. Ebrahim Rasool, Wes-Kaapse premier, het in
sy toespraak gesê die herdenkingsgeleentheid "gaan nie oor Britse
oorwinning, Nederlandse nederlaag, Khoi-dapperheid of Maleise lyding
nie, maar wel om te begryp dat die verlede aan ons die boustof bied om
'n tuiste vir almal te skep".
Hy het die woorde van wyle hoofman Albert Luthuli, ontvanger van die
Nobelprys vir vrede, aangehaal: "Daar wag op ons die bou van 'n nuwe
land, 'n tuiste vir mense wat swart, wit en bruin is, uit die bouvalle
van die ou benepe groeperinge, 'n sintese van die ryk kulturele
strominge wat ons geërf het."
Rasool het gesê verdeelde gemeenskappe moet byeenkom en erkenninng gee
aan die verskeidenheid, maar ook samehang van ons verlede. Dit kan
bereik word deur te begryp dat diverse groepe mense 200 jaar gelede aan
die Kaap onder die vaandel van die Bataafse weermag saamgestaan het om
te veg vir die opheffing van slawerny, vir godsdiensvryheid en ook vir
die Afrikaanse taal, wat indertyd uit die smeltpot van kulture aan die
ontstaan was.
"Dit is slegs deur die erkenning van ons verlede, al ons verledes, dat
ons dit kan bevry van verwringing, heruitvinding en manipulasie. Deur
die oopmaak van die gesprek oor die verlede, skep ons vir onsself die
werklike moontlikheid, veral as Suid-Afrikaners, om gesond te word, om
mekaar in die oë te kyk en om ons waardering en respek vir wie ons is,
waar ons almal vandaan kom en die paaie wat ons bewandel het om die
titel 'Suid-Afrikaner' te verdien, te verdiep. Miskien sal ons dan na
mekaar kyk sonder die sluiers van wantroue, stereotipering en verwyt,"
het Rasool gesê.
Ook deel van die oggend se verrigtinge was vertonings deur die Habibia
Sidique Moslem-doedelsakorkes en Media24 se Klopse-korps, die Fabulous
Seawind Entertainers.
Die Burger se spesiale bylae oor die Slag van Blaauwberg kan op die
internet gelees word by http://battle.blaauwberg.net.
meer as 500 aanwesiges van talle kulture geheers toe die kranse gelê
en 'n enkele Skotse doedelsakspeler 'n treurlied vir die dooies gespeel
het. Kranse is gelê deur verteenwoordigers van Suid-Afrika,
Indonesië, Nederland, Frankryk en Brittanje.
Die geleentheidspreker, mnr. Ebrahim Rasool, Wes-Kaapse premier, het in
sy toespraak gesê die herdenkingsgeleentheid "gaan nie oor Britse
oorwinning, Nederlandse nederlaag, Khoi-dapperheid of Maleise lyding
nie, maar wel om te begryp dat die verlede aan ons die boustof bied om
'n tuiste vir almal te skep".
Hy het die woorde van wyle hoofman Albert Luthuli, ontvanger van die
Nobelprys vir vrede, aangehaal: "Daar wag op ons die bou van 'n nuwe
land, 'n tuiste vir mense wat swart, wit en bruin is, uit die bouvalle
van die ou benepe groeperinge, 'n sintese van die ryk kulturele
strominge wat ons geërf het."
Rasool het gesê verdeelde gemeenskappe moet byeenkom en erkenninng gee
aan die verskeidenheid, maar ook samehang van ons verlede. Dit kan
bereik word deur te begryp dat diverse groepe mense 200 jaar gelede aan
die Kaap onder die vaandel van die Bataafse weermag saamgestaan het om
te veg vir die opheffing van slawerny, vir godsdiensvryheid en ook vir
die Afrikaanse taal, wat indertyd uit die smeltpot van kulture aan die
ontstaan was.
"Dit is slegs deur die erkenning van ons verlede, al ons verledes, dat
ons dit kan bevry van verwringing, heruitvinding en manipulasie. Deur
die oopmaak van die gesprek oor die verlede, skep ons vir onsself die
werklike moontlikheid, veral as Suid-Afrikaners, om gesond te word, om
mekaar in die oë te kyk en om ons waardering en respek vir wie ons is,
waar ons almal vandaan kom en die paaie wat ons bewandel het om die
titel 'Suid-Afrikaner' te verdien, te verdiep. Miskien sal ons dan na
mekaar kyk sonder die sluiers van wantroue, stereotipering en verwyt,"
het Rasool gesê.
Ook deel van die oggend se verrigtinge was vertonings deur die Habibia
Sidique Moslem-doedelsakorkes en Media24 se Klopse-korps, die Fabulous
Seawind Entertainers.
Die Burger se spesiale bylae oor die Slag van Blaauwberg kan op die
internet gelees word by http://battle.blaauwberg.net.
Ruiter in Swart wrote:
> Domgat boERE pisvelle.
>
> Julle stink soos hoera se doose.
>
> Jillis kak werd blikskottels.
>
> FOK julle almal
Ennnnnnn vanmiddag hier op Nuweland is dit 'n PRAGTIGE middag
en ons sê 'n hartlike welkom aan Mnr Brad Jessness,
welbekend as Die Grootste Doos Van Alle Tye (Internet Afdeling).
Ek sien in die kort rukkie wat ek met vakansie was het Gloudina verander in
Hessie, en ons vuilbek vriend wat die bOEre so haat trek nou by alias 50+
naamlik "Ruiter in Swart"
In elk geval, ek is bly julle is nog hier, en ek hoop julle het die feestyd
geniet waar ookal julle was.
Moordklag teen boer wat glo 'aanvaller' skiet
Jan 09 2006 11:35:19:843PM - (SA)
Druk artikel
E-pos storie aan 'n vriend
Verwante Berigte
a.. Plaasaanvalle: Nou is dit oorlog, sê boere
a.. Boer dalk aangekla ná 'inbreker' se dood
Marietie Louw
Musina (Messina). - 'n Boer van dié omgewing in Limpopo gaan aangekla word
van moord nadat hy glo 'n aanvaller op sy plaas doodgeskiet het.
Supt. Ailwei Mushavhanamadi, polisiewoordvoerder in die Vhembestreek, het
gesê die 54-jarige boer sal later in die Musina- landdroshof op 'n klag van
moord verskyn.
Die polisie het geweier om die boer se naam te verstrek voordat hy in die
hof verskyn.
Volgens Mushavhanamadi was daar gister omstreeks 03:10 twee mans op die boer
se plaas.
Die honde het begin blaf en die boer het gaan ondersoek instel.
Die boer is na bewering met 'n ysterstaaf aangeval.
"Die boer sê hy is aangeval, maar ons kan dit nog nie bevestig nie," het
Mushavhanamadi gesê.
Dit is nie seker wat presies daarna gebeur het nie, maar die boer het glo
een van die vermeende aanvallers met sy pistool geskiet.
Die vermeende aanvaller se "kollega", soos die polisie na hom verwys, is
steeds op vrye voete.
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Maandag 9 Januarie 2006 bl. 1
Beeld
Johannesburg Finaal
'Dit vloek teen Grondwet'
Staat wil hof se mag stroop om oor wette te besluit
Philip de Bruin
Die regering beplan om alle howe in Suid-Afrika - selfs die konstitusionele
hof - te stroop van hul mag om die inwerkingtreding van enige wet van die
sentrale of 'n provinsiale regering - hoe ongrondwetlik ook al - te verbied.
Die plan is om alle howe selfs te verbied om net gedinge oor die
inwerkingtreding van wette aan te hoor.
Dié bepaling is vervat in die Veertiende Wysigingswet van die Grondwet wat
vir kommentaar in die Staatskoerant gepubliseer is.
Regslui het gister met kwalik bedekte woede en teleurstelling daarvan kennis
geneem.
Een van hulle, prof. Marinus Wiechers, oudhoogleraar in die reg aan Unisa
wat 'n prominente rol in die grondwetlike onderhandelinge gespeel het, sê as
dié bepaling wet word, is dit 'n "fatale verkragting van die
legitimiteitsbeginsels in die Grondwet".
"In praktyk beteken dit dat 'n wet ongrondwetlik kan wees of ongrondwetlike
bepalings kan bevat, maar dat geen hof die inwerkingtreding van die wet op
grond van die ongrondwetlikhede kan verbied nie.
"Selfs die konstitusionele hof, die opperbeskermer van die Grondwet, sal dit
nie kan doen of selfs net so 'n versoek kan oorweeg nie.
"Wat die regering eintlik sê, is dat 'n wet wat hy in werking wil stel,
voorrang kry bo die legaliteit van die wet. Dit herinner sterk aan die
situasie in die ou bedeling. Dit vloek teen die Grondwet."
Die hooggeregshof en die appèlhof (met bekragtiging daarvan deur die
konstitusionele hof) en die konstitusionele hof behou hul reg om wette en
wetsbepalings ongrondwetlik te verklaar.
. Wiechers verwys na nóg 'n omstrede bepaling in die betrokke wetsontwerp:
dat die konstitusionele hof amptelik en statutêr as die hoogste hof in die
land omskryf word en dat dit dus nie op gelyke voet met die appèlhof sal
wees nie.
"Die appèlhof is, soos almal weet, 'n baie sterk hof en was tot dusver die
hoogste hof in die land oor alle sake behalwe grondwetlike sake.
"Nou bepaal die konsepwet dat die konstitusionele hof die hoogste hof in die
land sal wees in alle grondwetlike sake 'n in 'enige aangeleentheid waarin
die konstitusionele hof 'n appèl sou toestaan'.
"Daar is frustrasie aan die opbou by die appèlhof oor sy status en ek meen
hierdie beoogde artikel is totaal onnodig."
. Nog 'n nuwigheid in die konsepwet is twee pleks van die huidige een
adjunkpresidente vir die appèlhof.
As rede word aangevoer dat een adjunkpresident hom sal toespits op
arbeidsgedinge met die beoogde skrapping van die arbeidsappèlhof.
. As die konsep wet word, sal pres. Thabo Mbeki voortaan self die
regters-president en adjunk-regters-president van die hooggeregshowe aanstel
aan die hand van 'n lys kandidate wat die Regterlike Dienstekommissie aan
hom sal verstrek.
Net meer as 100 jaar gelede het 'n diepe angstigheid die
"republikeinse allerheiligste" - die stad Pretoria - beetgepak.
Juis hier is Kerkplein se balkonne volgepak terwyl Union Jacks regoor
die stad gewapper het. Swart inwoners was ekstaties oor die
moontlikheid van 'n beter bedeling as dié wat hulle onder die Boere
te beurt geval het. Britse onderdane het suurlemoene uitgedeel om die
inkomende troepe te verfris. Johanna Brandt het die Vierkleur om haar
hoed gebind terwyl sy gadegeslaan het wat sy beskryf het as "...the
soul-sickening display of imperial patriotism". En 'n plaaslike
inwoner het in haar dagboek aangeteken: "This afternoon the troops
marched in in thousands. It was a sight we will never forget. There
seemed no end to them...Its all over. Pretoria belongs to England"1
Minder as tien dae gelede het 500 Afrikanerstudente na die
Administrasiegebou van die Universiteit van Pretoria gemarsjeer. Hulle
het beweer dat hulle tradisies ondermyn word, dat Afrikaans
gemarginaliseer word en dat onbevoegde buitestaanders (lees: swart
mense) stadig besig was om bevoegde binnestaanders (lees: Afrikaners)
te vervang. Hulle het lustig die apartheidslied, Die Stem, gesing
terwyl 'n nie te onaansienlike getal werknemers by die administrasie
so ewe vanaf die balkon by hulle ingeval het. Wat hierdie groep wit
nasionaliste betref, behoort Pretoria aan die swartes en wil dit
voorkom of daar geen einde is aan hulle nie. Dis nogeens alles verby.
Ek noem hierdie waarnemings enersyds om aan te toon dat Pretoria nog
steeds 'n simbool is van 'n langdurige stryd tussen mense uit 'n
diep verdeelde samelewing en andersyds om te suggereer dat vrae oor
identiteit, mag en eienaarskap vandag net so lewend is as wat dit 105
jaar gelede was.
Dit is vir my baie moeilik om oor "die Afrikaner" (of, vir
dieselfde prys, oor Zoeloe- of Kleurling-identiteit) te praat, want ek
glo nie dat hierdie identiteite essensieel, permanent, universeel of
onskuldig is nie. Effe anders gestel, ons praat hier van onlangse
identiteite; hulle is polities gekonstrueer, hulle neem veelvuldige
betekenisse aan en dit is onwaarskynlik dat hulle die verskyning van
nuwe nasionale identiteite in Suid-Afrika, maar veral ook in die
konteks van 'n geglobaliseerde wêreld, sal oorleef.
'n Mens hoef maar net die Afrikaanse pers op Sondae en op weeksdae te
volg om 'n diepe angs by wit (en ook sommige swart)
Afrikaanssprekendes te bespeur oor wie of wat 'n Afrikaner is ...
'n Afrikaan? 'n Eurokaan? 'n Suid-Afrika(a)n/er? Ons het hier te
make met belangrike bakens van 'n identiteit onder die druk van
verandering en, vir my, 'n baie belangrike geleentheid om die
rassistiese mites van kolonialisme en apartheid te destabiliseer en ons
gemeenskaplike menslikheid te herstel.
Maak egter geen fout nie. Dit gaan vir Suid-Afrikaners baie moeilik
wees om af te sien van ons apartheidsidentiteite. Ek het dit terdeë
besef toe ek onlangs besoek afgelê het by die museum langs die
Grondwetlike Hof in Hillbrow. Vier van die oorspronklike houers waarin
kos aan gevangenes uitgedeel is, is daar uitgestal: 'n groot pot vir
wit gevangenes, 'n effens kleiner een vir Indiër-gevangenes, 'n
nog kleiner een vir gekleurde gevangenes en dan die kleinste een vir
swart gevangenes. Ek het toe verstaan hoe hierdie vals identiteite 'n
konkrete, letterlike betekenis aangeneem het. Meer nog, ek het verstaan
hoe die voorwendsel van 'n "hoër" identiteit 'n wesenlike
verskil kon maak ten opsigte van die ware essensie van oorlewing en
welsyn - met ander woorde, om genoeg te hê om te eet. Dit help nie
juis wanneer die nuwe amptenary steeds daarop aandring om mense in
terme van hierdie verdelende identiteite te kategoriseer nie - dit,
elf jaar ná die wettige beëindiging van apartheid - via die sensus,
via gelyke-indiensnemingsvoorleggings, via die aanteken van
eksamenuitslae.
Maar daar is nog 'n rede waarom ek skepties is oor hierdie
veronderstelde inklusiewe of allesomvattende etiket, die Afrikaner.
Afrikaners verteenwoordig meer as ooit tevore 'n ryklik diverse groep
mense in terme van óf ideologiese óf politieke oriëntasie; in terme
van ekonomiese en sosiale status; en in terme van godsdienstige of
siviele verbintenis. Die immer lendelam aanname dat Afrikaners 'n
kulturele en politiese monoliet is, veral op die kruin van
Afrikaner-nasionalistiese regering, kan nie langer verdedig word nie.
Ek sal waarskynlik nie so ver soos Chris Brink gaan en praat van
Afrikaner-agnostisisme in my poging om hierdie veelvuldige en
gefraktureerde identiteite te beskryf nie, maar sy observasie rakende
'n groeiende diversiteit binne hierdie groep Suid-Afrikaners is
korrek.
Dit is dus belangrik om te verstaan dat my algemene opmerkings nie
gekonstrueer moet word as veralgemeenbare aansprake rakende die gedrag
van 'n groep mense nie - in hierdie geval, Afrikaners.
Dit is een ding om die halsstarrigheid van hierdie gekonstrueerde
identiteite te herken; dit is egter 'n heeltemal ander saak om te
aanvaar dat die simbole van konfrontasie dit waarop hulle aanspraak
maak, verteenwoordig. Een van die kragtigste simbole van 'n opkomende
Afrikaner-nasionalisme ná 1994 is die Afrikaanse taal. Dit was die een
ding wat sowel sagte as harde wit nasionaliste gemobiliseer het om die
aansprake van die Afrikaner te bevorder - vanaf Afrikaansmedium skole
tot Afrikaanse klasse aan voormalige Afrikaanse universiteite.
Maar die probleem is juis hierin geleë. As ons hier besig was met 'n
ernstige debat oor Afrikaans as 'n taal, kon die probleem sonder veel
ophef gehanteer word. Die media, en nie slegs enkele analiste nie, het
die tekens in hierdie opsig heeltemal verkeerd gelees. Die handhawing
van Afrikaans is nie 'n stryd om taalregte nie; dit is 'n handige
banier waaragter sekere persone die verlies van mag, die verlies van
voorregte, asook die verlies van plek kan bekla.
Daar is 'n diep en tasbare bitterheid te bespeur by die giftiger
element Afrikaner-nasionaliste oor wat in 1994 gebeur het. Hoewel ek
reken dat die meerderheid Afrikaners in wisselende grade van
akkommodasie die nuwe regime aanvaar het, tel hulle nie onder diegene
wat die nasionalistiese agenda belig nie. Vir hierdie raserige en
sigbare minderheid wit Afrikaners is die verlies van dominansie 'n
onafgehandelde saak wat nie soseer in die vorm van vrugtelose
sabotasie-kampanjes deur regse fanatici te voorskyn sal tree nie
(hoewel hierdie aspek natuurlik nie ten volle uitgeskakel kan word
nie). Dit sal eerder die vorm aanneem van intense openbare veldtogte
rondom die een ding waaroor die regering sensitief voorkom - die
Afrikaanse taal. Kru gestel: die protes sal nie die bosagtige voorkoms
aanneem van AWB-tipe aggressie nie, maar wel die skoongeskeerde gesig
van kwasi-intellektuele oproermakers en hul manlike studentesurrogate.
Maar Afrikaners maak in hierdie opsig 'n reusefout deur iets ernstig
te lees in die oënskynlik ernstige pogings en bedoelings aan die kant
van swart nasionalistiese politici om daadwerklik iets substansieel te
doen om Afrikaans te bevorder of te beskerm. Dit is baie moeilik om die
President se oproep by (van alle plekke) die onlangse Algemene
Nasionale Raad van die ANC te verstaan, naamlik om aandag te gee aan
Afrikaans - buite-om die politieke behoefte daaraan om beskou te word
as versoenend jeens 'n groep wat hul dominansie meer as 'n dekade
gelede op so 'n dramatiese wyse verloor het. Toe die President
hierdie oproep gemaak het, was ek geamuseer deur die skreeuende
opskrifte wat in 'n Afrikaanse Sondagkoerant gevolg het, en waarin
'n lang lys voorskrifte aangebied is van moontlike maniere waarop hy
sy mondelinge verbintenis kon implementeer.
Die ANC het geen voorneme om Afrikaans ernstig op te neem nie, en wel
om twee redes. In die eerste plek: Afrikaners onderskat oor die
algemeen totaal en al die diep-, diepgesetelde bitterheid wat steeds
voortduur by swart inwoners suid van Pretoria oor die onderdrukkersrol
van Afrikaans, by uitstek gedurende die 1970's. In die gemoed van
gewone en magtige swart mense is Afrikaans en Afrikaners onlosmaaklik
verbind - ten spyte van argumente wat aangaande die diverse
oorspronge van hierdie taal gemaak kan en behoort te word. In die
tweede plek: dit is hoogs onwaarskynlik dat die ANC enigiets sal belê
in 'n taal wat vir 'n groot deel van die vorige eeu oorheersing met
Engels gedeel het, terwyl dit inderwaarheid geen betekenisvolle
beleggings gemaak het in daardie ander tale wat vir eeue op groteske
wyse afgeskeep is in terme van wetenskap en vakkundigheid nie.
Afrikaans is dus selfs vir die regerende party 'n simboliese
"middel" waardeur breër politieke doelwitte van verdraagsaamheid,
indien nie versoening nie, bereik kan word.
Dit is egter belangrik om die onlangse eskalasie in openbare protes by
aktiviste onder die Afrikanerminderheid te verstaan - dringende
ontmoetings wat deur die President in sy kantoor toegestaan word of met
sy afgevaardigdes iewers in die bos - en veral op
universiteitskampusse in antwoord op die sluiting van plek en voorreg
in die publieke domein. Politieke mag is effektief verlore. Afrikaners
wend hulle nou tot die paar instellings wat oorgebly het waarbinne
kultuur, taal, voorreg en witheid steeds gelaer kan word. Maak nie saak
watter ander voordele sulke instellings mag inhou nie, hierdie ruimtes
maak voorsiening vir die kweek van skeiding en uniekheid. Die
instellings waarna ek verwys, is die kerk, rugby, openbare skole en
universiteite.
Dit is duidelik dat die kerk en ander vorme van kulturele organisasie
oorgebly het as die enigste vrywillige assosiasies waarbinne Afrikaners
steeds kan opereer op wyses wat ander tipes mense effektief uitsluit,
selfs wanneer Christelike, Afrikaanssprekende kulturele organisasies
- soos een prominente groepering - uiteindelik instem om toegang
tot nie-Christene te verleen, op voorwaarde dat die organisasie
Christelik bly.
Ek moet nog uitmaak wat Afrikaners bedoel met die term Christelik.
Wanneer Tukkie-studente van die Voortrekkerkoshuis (in Hatfield) 'n
vlag hys wat proklameer dat hierdie koshuis (slegs) vir Manlike, wit,
Afrikaners en Christene is - begin ek verstaan waarom Christen vir
talle (hoewel sekerlik nie vir alle nie) Afrikaners deel is van 'n
pakket, iets wat onskeibaar is van witheid, afsonderlikheid, Afrikaans
en die kerk. Dit is 'n ontstellende wanvoorstelling en verdraaiing
van Christus se boodskap, 'n begrip van Christelikheid wat lankal
geskei is van Skrifwaarhede ten einde 'n hardnekkige rasse-arrogansie
te voed.
Maar die wit, hoofstroom Afrikaanse kerk bly een van die min plekke
waar sulke rassemites nie slegs verdra word nie, maar inderdaad
bevorder en geseën word, dikwels sonder dat dominees of selfs die
gemeentes bewus is van die feit dat hul praktyke en diskoerse aanstoot
gee. Ek het onlangs die begrafnisdiens van 'n dierbare kollega
bygewoon in 'n Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk iewers in die weste van
Pretoria, en in hierdie eksklusief wit gemeente het ek volkome ontuis
gevoel. Maar die boodskap was warm, die diens was informeel en die
mense vriendelik. Ek het egter net tuis genoeg begin voel in hierdie
gemaklike ruimte om te rou oor ons kollektiewe verlies toe die dominee
skielik en sonder waarskuwing 'n "grap" probeer maak het, een wat
borduur was met rasse-paternalisme oor "die Kleurlinge in
Stellenbosch". Hierdie "grap" het 'n gelag onder die groot skare
ontlok - en die dominee het bloot voortgegaan met die diens asof niks
gebeur het nie. Ja, dit is wat rasseskeiding 'n volgende geslag
gelowiges kos.
Die probleem met rugby, aan die ander kant, is dat die kwotastelsel die
sport effektief getransformeer het tot 'n gaandeweg meer
verteenwoordigende demografie, ten spyte van die infantiele gedrag van
die spel se administrateurs. En namate meer Habanas en Mmametsas na
vore tree en deur hul vertonings die mees gekoesterde leuens van die
wit nasionaliste verwoes, sal daardie simpel vrae oor bevoegdheid of
standaarde inderwaarheid verdamp.
Die probleem met universiteite is dat die dae toe Afrikaner-dominansie
en voorreg volgehou kon word, eenvoudig gestel, getel is. Dit is
nêrens duideliker nie as by plekke soos die voormalige RAU, die
voormalige UPE en die Universiteit van Pretoria. Die Universiteit van
Pretoria, geleë onder die waaksame oog van die Uniegebou, binne
loopafstand van die meeste nasionale regeringsdepartemente, by die
kruising van die grootste wêreld-ambassades, en in die hart van die
diplomatieke hoofstad op die kontinent Afrika, sal, as niks gedoen word
nie, binne minder as 'n dekade 'n Engels-medium universiteit word.
Dit is insiggewend dat die "voorkeurtaal" (die taal waarin die
meeste van ons 40 000+ studente onderrig wil word), Engels is - en
hierby is 'n betekenisvolle basis Afrikaans-eerstetaalsprekendes
ingesluit.
Na my mening sal hierdie uitkoms uiters betreurenswaardig wees en ek
sal pogings steun om te verseker dat Afrikaans prominensie geniet -
let wel, nie dominansie nie! - in die lewe en kultuur van hierdie
formidabele instansie.
My probleem ontstaan wanneer die stryd om Afrikaans gekoppel word aan
die strewe na Afrikaner-dominansie in die tradisies, seremonies en
klaskamers van die universiteit. Dit raak 'n probleem wanneer die
protagoniste van Afrikaans die terme van die debat probeer omraam as
'n politiek wraaksugtige respons tot Engels, of, meer pertinent, die
Engelse. Soos een student se plakkaat verlede week lees: Slegs Engels
is erger as Slegs Blankes.
Hierdie soort vensters op die gedrag van die taalprotagoniste
ondersteun Mariana Kriel ('n doktorale student aan die Londense Skool
vir Ekonomie en Politieke Wetenskap) se siening dat dit steeds
onmoontlik is om oor Afrikaans te praat sonder om oor
Afrikaner-nasionalisme te praat. Wanneer dit gebeur, raak dit baie
moeilik om die saak vir Afrikaans te bevorder op grond van sy ryk
sosiale en literêre nalatenskap, en sy potensiaal om brûe oor kulture
en gemeenskappe te bou. Die protagoniste verstaan nie dat wanneer dit
gebeur, die stryd om Afrikaans effektief verlore is nie.
Die mees intense gevegte het hulle onlangs onder die vaandel van
Afrikaans in wit skole uitgespeel. By die eerste blik wil dit voorkom
of dit bloot gevegte is oor eksklusief Afrikaanse skole wat Engels wil
uithou, terwyl die landswette ewe liberaal aangehaal word. Maar dit
gaan bepaald nie om die uithou van Engels nie - dit gaan om die
uithou van swart studente. Daar is weliswaar Afrikaanse skole wat
dubbelmediumskole geskep het wat die toelating van swart studente tot
hul sterk akademiese kulture fasiliteer. Maar die oomblik dat hulle dit
doen, haas middelklas- en selfs behoeftiger Afrikaners hulle na wat ek
noem kontrapunt- (counterpoint) skole, dit wil sê, daardie leliewit
skole op die heuwel. Hierdie hoofde protesteer bitterlik; en selfs
wanneer ons aantoon dat ons slaagpunte in matriek gehandhaaf word en
dat daar trouens selfs daarop verbeter word, neem hierdie ouers steeds
hul kinders uit ons skole.
Ek praat, by wyse van beklemtoning, van skole waarin daar 'n baie
sterk akademiese kultuur bestaan en waar daar 'n baie sterk
konsentrasie van Afrikaans neffens Engels in die skoolkurrikulum
bestaan. Dit sou selfs vir die mees geharde taalprotagonis baie moeilik
wees om te redeneer dat ouers bloot van Engels af wegvlug; waarvan
hulle ook weghol, is die sosiale en intellektuele benadeling van hul
kinders, is die onsmaaklikheid van rasse-integrasie en die verlies van
rasse-eksklusiwiteit. Dit is hoe eenvoudig en hoe kompleks dit is.
Waarheen gaan ons van hier af?
Watter strategieë ook al gekies word - hetsy polities of
opvoedkundig - dit is belangrik om nie Afrikaans uit te sonder as die
hoofprobleem wat die Suid-Afrikaanse gemeenskap en instellings
konfronteer nie. Ek herhaal: hierdie is nié die primêre dilemma
waarrondom 'n hernieude nasionalisme geloods word nie.
Die eerste stap is om 'n positiewe ingesteldheid jeens veeltaligheid
te koester wat die rykheid en diversiteit van al ons tale sal bevorder.
Deur die debat aan die voormalige Afrikaanse universiteite af te water
tot 'n Afrikaans-Engelse tweestryd laat ons nie net sinlose
Boereoorlog-vyandighede herleef nie, ons verbrou ook die geleentheid om
hiervan 'n taaldebat eerder as 'n bedekte politieke debat te maak.
Die tweede stap is om in elk geval, so ver moontlik, 'n positiewe
omgewing te skep waarbinne dit moontlik gemaak word vir studente om
toegang te hê tot onderrig in hul moedertaal, insluitend Afrikaans.
Maar daar dit onwaarskynlik is dat die staat die bron van nuwe
toegangsroetes gaan wees, móét sulke toegang deur instellings self
verskaf word, óf direk, óf deur eksterne of private bydraes. Sodoende
kan in twee praktiese behoeftes binne die voormalige Afrikaanse
universiteite voorsien word: die behoefte aan meer Afrikaansvaardige
onderwysers en dosente, en die behoefte aan die vertaling en
duplisering van materiaal in Afrikaans.
Die derde stap is om die werklike materiële vrese en besorgdhede onder
Afrikaners aan te spreek. Soos ek elders aangetoon het, demonstreer die
effektiewe uitsluiting van jong Afrikaners, en jong mans in die
besonder, van owerheidsektordienste 'n gebrek aan basiese
welwillendheid en meelewing en verhoog dit die risiko van politieke
vervreemding in ons jong demokrasie. Simboliese gebare rondom Afrikaans
het weinig waarde; die staat het 'n plig om na alle landsburgers om
te sien en hulle in te sluit in terme van werksekerheid.
Die vierde stap is om deur ons lewe as onderwysers en leiers in watter
dissiplines ook al, die kwaliteite van respek, openheid, dialoog,
betrokkenheid by en toegewydheid aan alle mense te betoon; wanneer 'n
mens dit doen, hoef jy nie te bekommerd te wees oor die risiko van
taalvervreemding nie. Ek weet uit ondervinding dat wanneer mense weet
jy werk vir hulle, dat jy aan hulle toegewyd is, dat jy namens hulle
lei, word vooroordeel weggekalwe en begin jy bou aan 'n wedersydse
begrip van die toekoms.
Ná vyf jaar in Pretoria is ek nou van een ding oortuig: die oorgrote
meerderheid van Afrikaners in ons land is ordentlike mense, opgewonde
oor ons nuwe demokrasie, met 'n sterk toewyding aan opvoeding. Ja,
hulle worstel met die taal en die vinnige tempo van verandering; ja,
hulle is dikwels ongemaklik in hul omgang met ander landsburgers op
'n billike en gelyke grondslag; ja, hulle vind dit soms moeilik om te
aanvaar dat die ander-rassige aanstelling vaardiger is; en ja, hulle
gly soms terug in negatiwiteit.
Maar is dit nie waar van almal van ons nie?
1.Ek het hierdie notas, met inbegrip van al die aanhalings in die
eerste paragraaf, saamgestel uit Bridget Dieron (2000) se fassinerende
boek, Pretoria at War, 1899-1900, gepubliseer deur Protea Boekhuis,
Pretoria.
Prof. Jansen is dekaan van die fakulteit Opvoedkunde aan die UP.
Luister ( sê Don Espejuelo) die breinblom van 'n hemel 'n
Anderplek
blom in bykans alle gelowe uit - en wat is geloof anders
as 'n oorlewering? ... skeef of krom ....
- is die saadjie ons gemeenskaplike onsyn
ons gesamentlike geheue?
want baie verligtes beweer dat van ons voorsate
uit Oorbo afgetuimel het lank en lank gelede:
reisigers van die binneruim, Meesters, ballinge, Dorslandtrekkers,
verdwaaldes, soldate van die versuim, bakterieë, uitvarendes,
krygsgevangenes van Sint Helena en Ceylon, sendelinge,
gebrandmerktes, rebelle, terroriste, vlugtelinge uit 'n strafkolonie,
vryheidsvegters -
en met ons en met hier het hul hul kom meng
met die stof en die slym
die roosblare in die klei
kleidrome
is dit hùlle uitgehunkerde heimwee na 'n land
waar almal pêrels in die kroon is
of die harde besef van 'n retoer
wat ons tot in der bloute toe
besmet het met 'n skuiwergatdroom?
is die hemel inherente erfgoed?
is die hemel 'n Atlantis of 'n Thoel?
is die hemel in ons bloed?
Who were the heroes of the Battle of Blaauwberg, the bicentenary of
which falls on 8 January 2006, just 16 months from now? It's a sure bet
that no Capetonian will be able to answer that question, because the
Battle of Blaauwberg has been allowed to vanish into such obscurity
that at most we have a vague recollection that this was when the Cape
became a British colony. Were there, in fact, any heroes that day?
The answer is yes, there were heroes at Blaauwberg, probably the most
important battle ever fought in Southern Africa because of its
long-term consequences.
In brief, the battle took place because the British, who were mid-way
through their long, fierce struggle with France, saw possession of the
Cape - then controlled by the revolutionary French-leaning Batavian
Republic which had been proclaimed in the Netherlands - as a
commercial and strategic necessity.
As early as 1795 Sir Francis Baring, chairman of the English East India
Company, had pointed out to the then Secretary of State for War, Henry
Dundas, that the Cape "commands the passage to and from India as
effectively as Gibraltar does the Mediterranean ". Equally
trenchantly, Dundas 's own Under-Secretary noted that although the Cape
was "a feather in the hands of the Dutch" it would become "a
sword in the hands of France ".
So early in January 1806 a massive British invasion fleet of more than
60 men-of-war and transports anchored in Table Bay during a howling
south-easter, waited for it to abate somewhat and then sent about 5 000
soldiers, sailors and marines wading ashore at Losperd's Bay, today's
Melkbosch.
The British set off for the Blaauwberg while Lieutenant-General Jan
Willem Janssens, Governor of the Cape, did the same from the opposite
direction with his small scratch force of about 2 000. The British
reached the heights first, and on the morning of 8 January battle
commenced on the Cape Town side of the mountain.
Within a matter of hours it was over: vastly outnumbered and failed by
his best regiment, Janssens withdrew towards the Hottentots Holland
mountains and the British were preparing to march on Cape Town . A
turning-point had been reached in the history of Southern and Central
Africa , although no-one realised the extent of it.
To know who the heroes of Blaauwberg were, it is necessary to know who
fought there on the Batavian side. Janssens had five groups of
professional soldiers: the 5 th Battalion of the Regiment Waldeck, a
mercenary unit in Batavian service; the 9 th Battalion of the Batavian
Rifles; the 22 Regiment of Foot, a Batavian infantry unit; a small
group of Batavian dragoons (mounted riflemen); and a detachment of
Batavian artillery under a Lieutenant Pellegrini.
He also had something over 200 French marines and sailors who happened
to be available at the Cape, plus a contingent of locally born men made
up the Hottentot Light Infantry, a full-time regiment, and two
part-time volunteer units, the light dragoons from Swellendam and the
Javanese Artillery Corps, recruited from the sizeable population of
freed slaves at the Cape .
The villains of the piece were the Waldeckers. Janssens had expected
much of them; but they were the only one of his units not to cheer him
enthusiastically before the battle, and they cut and ran almost
immediately. This caused the Dutch battle-line to crumble, with units
withdrawing because their flanks were exposed.
And the heroes? The French were heroes: they held out for as long as
possible and then withdrew after suffering heavily. So were
Pellegrini's horse artillerymen, who fought to the bitter end and only
withdrew when Janssens personally ordered them. So were the three units
of Cape men, who stood and fought to the last moments, and paid the
price.
What they bought with their blood was a breathing-space that enabled
Janssens to withdraw with the rest of his army and his slow-moving
supply wagons. As a result there was no unconditional winner-takes-all
surrender, but a carefully negotiated treaty of capitulation that
benefited the people of the Cape .
The motivation of the Frenchmen and the Batavian artillerymen are
obvious enough, but what of the local men? They had very little in
common as regards material things or even religion. But one has to look
beneath the surface.
For one thing, all or most were born and bred at the Cape , and all
spoke the language that would later be called Afrikaans. Then again,
their status had changed. For more than 150 years they had not had what
we would regard as citizenship of anywhere. But the Dutch East India
Company was long gone, and since early 1803 they had been citizens of
the Batavian Republic , which was no mere token status.
In less than three years Janssens and Commissioner-General A J de Mist
had wrought great changes at the Cape according to the tenets of the
Batavian Republic , which modelled itself on the egalitarian ideals of
the French. To mention only two, they had forbidden the importation of
slaves and planned to emancipate all those in bondage, and had extended
official recognition and protection to all faiths, including Islam
(which under the DEIC had been tolerated but not officially
recognised).
It might not be going too far to say that the Cape men were fighting
for a vision of a better future, knowing that the British were the
mortal enemies of the ideals of both the French and Batavian Republics
. Right or wrong? Well, it appears very likely that if the Batavian
rule had not ended in January 1806 the Cape 's slaves would all have
been freed two decades before it actually happened.
It stands to reason that we should honour Janssens and De Mist, two
great reformers, especially by the standards of those times. It stands
just as much to reason that we should honour the Swellendam light
dragoons, the Hottentot Light Infantry and the Javanese Artillery
Corps, who laid down their lives not just for the ideals of the
Batavian Republic but also to allow a negotiated capitulation. Not to
mention the Frenchmen and Batavian gunners.
But we don't. There is no memorial to them anywhere in Cape Town , no
wreaths are laid to their memory, nobody - and this is the ultimate
insult - even remembers what they did or where they are buried. The
heroes of Blaauwberg deserve better.
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