The 2010 World Cup and the Imperial Narrative of Racial Prejudice

In what may pass as one of the high points of journalism in post-apartheid South Africa, a controversial article published in the Mail&Guardian nearly two years ago became a must read for students and architects of the new political dispensation. A South African don Malegapuru Makgoba controversially likened the South African white male with the male bonobo, a species of the baboon. The allegory was intended at capturing what he saw as a quarrelsome, unpatriotic white male professional at war with the ‘new South Africa’. Makgoba argued that bonobos ‘are often headed by a dominant male with pretenders to the throne hanging around. The dominant male ensures that progeny are not only his through reproduction, but also that all members of the colony imitate him. He becomes the “gold standard”. Ultimately the dominant male is dethroned by a younger and fitter male, only to repeat another variation, cycle of hierarchy, dominance and imitation’. When this happens, he said, ‘the dethroned male becomes depressed, quarrelsome and a spoiler of the new order until he gets ostracised from the colony to lead a frustrated, lonely and unhappy life. This is our primate heritage’. Noting humanity’s likeness to the primate, he argued that the white male in South Africa was displaying similar symptoms of the dethroned bonobo and that these were ‘evident in the caustic, negative terms in which the debate about black economic empowerment is framed; in the ways in which black executives are vilified; and in the way in which employment equity is always viewed through the prism of its impact on the longevity and well-being of the (dethroned) white male’.
The article predictably drew venomous criticism especially from the accused. From Pretoria to Cape Town, the white male saw Makgoba as the face of black racism. But for keen observers, what seems to have shocked South Africa, both white and black, was the fact that for the first time in the mainstream press a black pundit was drawing an unflattering template within which the white male would be fitted. The ‘gold standard’ had been attacked. There had been no precedence and the criticism was such that even the liberal newspaper ensured the good professor had his five minutes of fame before ‘order’ was restored. I revisit this story for one particular reason; it provides a useful window into discussing the Observer’s punditry especially on South Africa in recent times. A few weeks ago Mercel Berlins talked about South Africa’s new-found desire to obliterate its past expressed partly in what he described as a rampant name change in cities such as Durban. Because of this, Berlins now fears for South Africa’s future. The article was not only inaccurate it was in every bit patronizing and paternalistic. Berlins argued that some streets in Durban are being named after some obscure ANC activists. Berlins failed to appreciate the selective nature of mainstream history; he refused to accept that those who may be obscure to him may not be obscure to Zulus in Durban. He did not for a moment appreciate the fact that what he called an obliteration of the past may very be a recovery of an obliterated history. Durban, Johannesburg, Pretoria and other places all had names before the Boers arrived in Cape Town. Two weeks on, Xan Rice’s article on the preparedness or otherwise of South Africa to host the 2010 world cup raised equally contentious issues. Admittedly, the piece was beautifully written, informative and delightful in its simple but elaborate engagement with both mainstream politics and the often ignored alternative politics of the 2010 World Cup. It revealed the complex nature of a country of two, nay, three nations; one white and affluent, another emergent, black and middle class and the other poor and black, the forgotten citizen of the townships. Yet the story was still defined by the usual imperial narratives, the patronizing attitude where whiteness defines what is right and what is wrong and defends it as though it must be legitimate, and doubly so in this case because South Africa is the writer’s country of birth. He therefore must be right.

A passing acquaintance with discourse analysis would make you problematise Rice’s introductory remarks about the ‘few white students seated in a sea of black faces’. It may be a useful form of expression, a common sense practice, but in fact it encodes values that stratify society. But to focus solely on this would be to ignore the broader picture. Rice’s article raises the legitimate question about crime in South Africa. The levels of crime in the country cannot be defended. But to equally de-contextualise its roots would be to avoid the very means through which it may be understood and ultimately solved. Tragically predictable, the issue of crime according Rice was brought into sharp relief, its magnitude communicated to the world because David Rattray the acclaimed historian was killed on his lodge in Kwazulu-Natal in January. We are also reminded of the barricaded homes in Johannesburg’s Northern suburbs, mostly domiciles of rich white folk. When statistics indicate that 19,000 are murdered in a year, 99 per cent of those killed usually are black and poor. Yet because they don’t make ‘interesting’ reading, they are often reported as inanimate objects, statistics. Indeed, murdering them by their thousands does not make South Africa unsafe. It is the murder of the one per cent or less, almost always white that makes this country unsafe. It is the security of the hundreds of thousands of white fans who will visit the country during the 2010 World Cup that matters, not the tens of hundreds that are killed in Soweto and Germiston, and in the Cape Flats, every day. But that is the standard narrative for which we may not blame Rice. Indeed, one is reminded of the scholar Jaap Van Ginneken’s theory about numbers in murders. For many western correspondents, the murder of one white man equal 10,000 black lives. And that is a very conservative estimate. This is not racism it is prejudice of another kind.

Rice raises the red flag when discussing the prospects of a ‘fan fest’ in Africa’s crime-ridden cities. Will the white fans be safe? The fact that South Africa successfully hosted the Rugby World Cup or even the Cricket World Cup is simply immaterial, not so much because the numbers involved were perhaps lower but precisely because trumpeting such success would problematise the official narrative of an unstable, violent Africa. Even though it may make uncomfortable reading especially coming from a president, when Thabo Mbeki talked about a section of the white population running scared about the arrival or ‘the coming of the Kaffirs’ whenever an incident of crime is reported, this is also the uncomfortable truth.

Unlike other countries, crime in South African cannot be divorced from the country’s history. The South African black male is not born a criminal. It is his social circumstances that make him turn to crime. This is not an excuse for the murders across the country. But when you have young men whose fathers did not go to school because of apartheid and therefore are either poorly paid laborers who can barely make ends meet, or unemployed in a country that is moving away from being labor intensive to a skills intensive economy and thus see no future for them, when you have township boys who see their age mates from the Northern suburbs drive BMWs to school while they hang on to trains or dilapidated taxis, or miss school because they cannot afford the fare, you will understand the angst and anger that makes crime a survival strategy. Their living conditions have made them feel sub-human; poverty has effectively taken away their humanity. They don’t kill for thrills; they do so because they do not know what it means to be human anymore. History and society has denied them right to be normal. Yes, South Africa must care for its own and the government must address the disconnect that the head of Platform for Public Deliberation, Xolela Mangcu talks about between emergent black middle class and the township folk. But this inclination to describe the South African black male as though he is born a murderer is cruel, stupid and stupendously prejudicial.

But the black male is not the only subject of the imperial narrative in Rice’s story. He very generously uses quotes from Trevor Philips, the outgoing Chairman of South Africa’s Premier Soccer League (PSL). A bully, arrogant man, Phillips finds it credible to advise the South African government to organize a World Cup experience that is uniquely African, a place he describes as perfect for partying and having a people with a generous spirit. It is a place where ‘when a bus comes 10 minutes late nobody gives a toss because they are having such a good time instead!’ The depth of such abuse is unparalleled. Again, the picture painted is of the lazy black man. Does Philips take the bus to work? Does he know just how his fellow white folk deal with their black employees who report to work late because the buses are late? Does he know how black workers are packed every morning in ramshackle taxis like sardines just so they arrive to work on time to keep Philips and white suburbia thriving? What Philips said was not the least humorous and I am still struggling to accept how such prejudice is passed as fact. But that was not all; the World Cup fans are reminded that if they are not murdered, they will get more that what they bargained for from the girls that walk the Durban beachfront! The South African black male is a marauding criminal while the African girl is a diseased flirt, preying on the innocent white folk! Beware fans, either way you will get back home in a body bag!

When Rice talks about costs, affordability and priority, he forgets to mention that in terms of social classes, the British society takes its place as one of the most socially segregated societies both historically and in our times. Even stranger is that it is a segregation that is so tragically put on public display everyday and finds expression for example in football stadia (box seats), in neighbourhoods and other. If you spoke to the poor of South or East London, or even thought about the NHS you would rethink the Olympics as a priority. But while London is allowed to make mistakes, while it is understandable that costs to host the Olympics can balloon, there’s no margin for such error in Africa. It only affirms the continent’s incompetence and lack of priority. Had the arch in the new Durban stadium been smaller than that at Wembley, it would not have been an issue. The fact that it is bigger makes it a story because it affirms the native’s streak of excess and grandeur.

A journey across the Atlantic and back into time

Excitement turns into anxiety as I enter Manchester International Airport. This is a modest, almost strictly functional airport. But after 9/11 and later 7/7 the queues are often fairly long and slow especially on transatlantic flights. Not surprisingly then, the queue on the Delta airlines flight to New York’s JFK airport is a long stretch of humanity. Moments after I join the queue, a security officer comes over and requests for my passport. She is accompanied by a young intern and very courteously requests to ask me a few questions in the intern’s presence. I’m not sure it would make any difference should I decline so I casually nod my affirmation. I’m not surprised I am asked to be the security ‘case study’ for the young trainee. I am the only black man in the queue. I am aware that in official circles, I am more likely to have the wrong papers, to have no good reason to visit America, or live in Britain. I am potentially an illegal alien, a potential tabloid story sucking the National Health Service dry or perhaps doing the unthinkable elsewhere. Although with a fairly thorough interview at the US embassy in London I certainly wouldn’t have been granted a visa, the security officer still asks for my letter of invitation to the US. Well, having traveled to major European cities, I know this is standard practice. But then she demands that I produce my driving license and a document to confirm my residential address. Carrying a council tax bill or a gas bill to the airport seem outlandish to me but I ask no questions. She then asks for my business card, which I provide without fuss. I am aware of the stares around me. But I’m African and black. The gazing is a life I am getting used to in multicultural Britain. When the security officer reads my business card and realizes that I hold a PhD, her shock is palpable. I suddenly become a ‘Sir’ and she quickly wishes me the most pleasant of journeys. I respond with a wry smile.

Aboard the flight, I am seated next to an old English couple on their way to Bermuda on holiday. The old man can’t hide his enthusiasm and we quickly engage in a hearty conversation. His wife, whom he proudly introduces, isn’t as enthusiastic and watches us keenly, looking bemused. I look around and it’s the usual odd story. Whenever I stand to stretch out or visit the restroom I can feel the uncomfortable stares, some vicious and unrelenting. But then again I know I may have been conditioned by my experiences as a black man living in the West to think the way I do. When you live in a world where you look different and where you are treated differently, you begin to believe in your difference. You become an Other, one whose very existence, whose reaction to social experiences is defined by that Otherness. One of the stewardesses, a lovely young girl provides me unsolicited extra attention. Like me, she is black. For once, I experience privilege and understand why humanity finds it so difficult to change, to accommodate the Other.

The landing is rough and I watch the old couple I am sharing a seat with hold onto each others arms, terrified. I have no one to hold on to but my memories of the strange 8 hour flight. Everybody claps as the plane hits the runway at JFK airport. As we disembark, two US homeland security officers request for our passports. One picks up mine and quickly motions his colleague. The zealous requests for the passports suddenly end and everyone else but me is quickly welcomed to America as I am told to accompany the officers. “There’s no problem Sir, just a routine security check”, I am told. Why a routine check would mean singling out an individual who also happens to be African and black seems an interesting coincidence to me. One of the officers is carrying a piece of paper and I quickly glance at it and see a name that resembles mine. “Just doing our job Sir”, they explain even though I do not protest. They ask me about my final destination. “Austin, that’s a great city. It’s the only place in Texas that voted the Democracts”, one says excitedly. I mull over why that makes Austin great. When I tell him I am attending an academic conference, he tells me the city is “a very intellectual city”. I wonder what that means. I am then showed to the immigration desk. It is at this point that I realize an interesting irony; that the face that welcomes you to America’s JFK is black. Immigration desks are manned almost exclusively by black officers. As a black man, you therefore cannot possibly accuse anyone of racial profiling, of racism and other. The immigration officer orders me to stand still and takes my mug-shot after which I am ushered into a room, the two officers in tow, grinning sheepishly. “Just doing our job, Sir”, they say in unison as though to remind me. I can sense a feeling of pride in their talk. My fellow passengers are on separate queues. I see the old couple I shared a seat look at me and whisper to each other. Some fellow passengers seem to sympathise, others seem curious while others remain indifferent. My documents are taken by another officer and I am motioned to a seat and told to wait. The room is poorly lit, stuffy and my immediate impression is that you cannot be here unless something is wrong. In the room are a bunch of foreigners. From their accents, I can tell the white ones are from Eastern Europe and the two black men from West Africa. A gentleman whose accent I guess is either Nigerian or Ghanaian, panicking, asks me who is usually brought into this room. I look for answers but find none. But then I look at the walls and see mug-shots of America’s ‘most wanted’. There lies his answer. He shakes his head and forces a smile. Going through our papers are three black homeland security officers. Perhaps the nature of their jobs is such that they don’t smile, and certainly have no time for niceties such as greetings. They simply stare, ask questions, expect answers and make decisions. One by one we are rudely called for questioning. Where are you from? Where do you live? What do you do? Why have you come to America? Have you ever lost your passport? Where’s your letter of invitation? How long are you staying here? Have you ever visited the Middle East? Have you ever trained as a soldier? Please speak up I can’t hear you Sir? Despite taking all my documents, including my business card, I am asked whether I hold a High School diploma! For a PhD holder to be asked about a High School diploma is a question I find most insulting. Popular contemporary lore has it that few of us make it past High School. Is the officer simply bigoted or painfully ignorant? And to know that the officer is black makes me realize how the victim also internalizes the prejudices that confirm her victimhood. The officer moves over to a different office, leaving the door ajar, intentionally perhaps just so we know higher powers are being consulted. After nearly waiting for two hours, I am motioned to the officer’s desk, given back my passport and wished a safe journey to Austin. I am not told why my passport was confiscated in the first place or why I am in this room. But this is not the time to ask. In any case, I am not sure they are obliged to giving any answers. This is America but liberty is relative and certainly not extended to all.
At the baggage claim, I am fearful my bag may be lost. I see two men of Latino origin openly solicit for bribes to carry or find bags for travelers. Yes, this is JFK. One woman threatens to report them to the airline but then quickly agrees to part with $5 for the service. Heavily pregnant and with a 4-year-old running around, I believe she realizes the odds are stacked against her. After a frantic search, I find my bag and head off to the domestic terminals. As I take my flight to Austin 18 hours later, I begin to reflect on my experiences. I realize I have a potential paper for my next conference. I even have a tentative title; The Paradox of Liberty: Black Otherness and the World Post 9/11. I realize it is only in inconsequential academic conferences that I’m I allowed to engage and unpack prejudice. It has been a long journey back into time.

Castro and Vero: Cementing Kenya's Plutocracy in Marriage

Raila Odinga's son Fidel Odhiambo Castro has just married Veronica Wangunyu, a beautiful lass related to the Kenyatta family. It was a source of excitement but equally of supressed 'aahs'. The question asked in whispers was, how could Agwambo's son marry from a family of his political nemesis the Kenyatta's and by extension the Kikuyu? Did I hear one mention Delilah? Well, such suspicions and grunts of disapporoval fail to recognise one thing; that tribal tensions in Kenya are more vertical than horizontal. The Kenyan political elite largely belong to the same class where the source of friction is not tribe but that very class. For Agwambo's son to marry from the Kenyatta family thus does not in any way point to the detribalisation of Kenyan social or political life among the Kenyan youth as Agwambo's statement seemed to suggest. The marriage simply undelined the nature of Kenya's pluctoracy now being expressed in various other institutions such as the family.

Kenyan schooling creating a caste system

The brouhaha meeting the release of the KCSE exams was as loud as it is traditional. Even more exciting was the news that the leading candidate wants to president! Good luck lad. But the general performance should raise questions about a range of issues most notably how access to schooling does not necessary mean much today. It appears that unless one is able to put his or her kid through the hallowed halls of the top national schools or the obscenely expensive private schools, there's no hope of joining university which to many may be the only viable access to higher education. Form four school leavers around the country are now forced into the boda boda business, a venture that often leads them to drug use and early graves. Kenya is gradually creating a caste system where born poor you die poor. The schooling system is certainly not improving, rather it is exarcabating the gulf in class. Universal primary education is important but a critical mass with this basic education cannot sustain an economy. This may appear to change but will in fact remain the same.

UN report points to systematic marginalisation of Nyanza

The UNDP's report revealing that life expectancy in some parts of Kenya is now only 40 years is most unsettling and doubly so coming at a time when the Kibaki government keeps vaunting the turn-around in the economy. In many ways this is a false economy. The report also puts into perspective the deliberate marginalisation of Western Kenya principally Nyanza. It is not for good reason that poverty levels in Nyanza are only matched by those in North Eastern Kenya. The region's marginalisation has been so systematic over the past two decades to the extent that it is now systemic. To be persecuted for a political belief when this belief actually hurts no one is most unfortunate. Our democracy is flawed, the economy flawed, the political system flawed... everything is so flawed there's urgent need for an overhaul of the very fabric that constitutes the Kenyan nation, otherwise to borrow the words of Benedict Anderson, Kenya will simply be an imagined nation that demands no allegience whatsoever, especially to those from Nyanza.

Residual colonial hang-ups and the Kenyan Parliament

Just read about proposals meant to radically change Parliamentary traditions in Kenya. It does seem bizzare that some of these practices have been followed nearly 43 years after independence. Apparently it was against parliamentary rules for women MPs to carry their handbags into the chambers. And even as mainstream English dropped the mouthful 'thous' and 'thys', our MPs sang them out like lullabies! Incredible. No wonder we were taught as late as the 1980s when I was in primary school about the white men who 'discovered' the source of River Nile and those who discovered Mt. Kenya! Anyway, I don't quite agree with the Speaker chairing the House Business Committee though. For once the often tactless Norman Nyagah has a point. Wrestling Parliament from the control of the Executive is a good move yet deciding for it how it runs itself may be a step too far. But even as we applaud the changes, for the Speaker to call these changes a 'thorough job for the 21st centrury' is a bit rich- certainly not when you have MPs still stuck in 20th century.

Latter day sainthood preposterous

It would have been laughable were it not so serious that former president Daniel Moi and his political scion Biwott are now preaching peace. They are supposedly wondering why brothers are killing brothers. Kenya is on a meltdown with regard to crime, a notable failure of the Kibaki regime. It is incredible that the administration is so ready to trump up its economic achievements while doing nothing to make those achievements secure. But it would equally be important to locate this upsurge in crime and ethnic tensions within its proper historical context. Ethnic jingoism was the hallmark of the Moi regime. If Jomo Kenyatta planted the seeds of tribalism in Kenya, Moi watered the sprouting plants. To therefore stand up in Church and claim sainthood regarding ethnic tensions and crime is at best preposterous. Moi and Biwott must first take ownership of the problem. Only then can we believe they are genuine.

Kibaki creating ten orligarchs and a million paupers

Just read Martha Karua's rants justifying Kibaki's refusal to consult widely on the appointment of the ECK commissioners. It reeks of despicable arrogance. She is clearly inebriated with power. I have argued elsewhere that for a long time Karua was Kibaki's best kept secret, the only good pie in a storehouse going bad. Today, she's become a footsoldier of the admin whose only allegience is to power. Oh, and the other day Prof. Kibwana, one of the worst things that ever happened to academia, talked about Kibaki's economic miracle! How a professor can be so vain beats me. This so called economic growth is creating orligarchs and millions of paupers. What we are seeing is the annihilation of the middle class who are perhaps the only ones able to keep political power in check. This mirage, now the so-called economic miracle sounds more and more like a well orchestrated attempt by the political elite to keep the restless population quiet. In the post colony, you simply have to populate the public space with such lies. Eventually they take the form of a fetish. The only consolation however is that they dont last forever. History tells us it won't last long. As for Karua, well, I'm cringing at the fact that I have in fact dignified her rantings with this.