Habib Rebels and Rage

Reflecting on #FeesMustFall
1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-86842-897-7
Verlag: Jonathan Ball
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

Adam Habib, the most prominent and outspoken university official through the recent student protests, takes a characteristically frank view of the past three years on South Africa's campuses in this new book. Habib charts the progress of the student protests that erupted on Wits University campus in late 2015 and raged for the better part of three years, drawing on his own intimate involvement and negotiation with the students, and also records university management and government responses to the events. He critically examines the student movement and individual student leaders who emerged under the banners #feesmustfall and #Rhodesmustfall, and debates how to achieve truly progressive social change in South Africa, on our campuses and off. This book is both an attempt at a historical account and a thoughtful reflection on the issues the protests kicked up, from the perspective not only of a high-ranking member of university management, but also Habib as political scientist with a background as an activist during the struggle against apartheid. Habib moves between reflecting on the events of the last three years on university campuses, and reimagining the future of South African higher education. Adam Habib, the most prominent and outspoken university official through the recent student protests, takes a characteristically frank view of the past three years on South Africa's campuses in this new book. Habib charts the progress of the student protests that erupted on Wits University campus in late 2015 and raged for the better part of three years, drawing on his own intimate involvement and negotiation with the students, and also records university management and government responses to the events. He critically examines the student movement and individual student leaders who emerged under the banners #feesmustfall and #Rhodesmustfall, and debates how to achieve truly progressive social change in South Africa, on our campuses and off. This book is both an attempt at a historical account and a thoughtful reflection on the issues the protests kicked up, from the perspective not only of a high-ranking member of university management, but also Habib as political scientist with a background as an activist during the struggle against apartheid. Habib moves between reflecting on the events of the last three years on university campuses, and reimagining the future of South African higher education.

Adam Habib is the Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. He is an academic, researcher, activist, administrator, and renowned political commentator and columnist. Habib has over 30 years of expertise, spanning five universities and multiple local and international institutions, boards and task teams. Habib holds qualifications in Political Science from the University of Natal and Wits, and earned his masters and doctoral qualifications from the Graduate School of the City University of New York. Transformation, democracy and development are fundamental themes of Adam Habib's research and writing.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Habib, Adam

Leseproben

1
The night on the concourse FRIDAY the 16th in October 2015 was a hot and humid evening, made even more so by the throngs of students who occupied the multi-storey concourse in the middle of Wits University’s main admin block. Hundreds of students hung over the balconies that overlooked the ground floor, surveying us and the events below. The ground floor was also bursting with students, and some staff. We were seated at the chairs and tables on the south end of the concourse, with our backs to the lifts. There were some students behind us as well. The heady atmosphere was made all the more intoxicating by the sounds of ‘Iyho Solomon’, the haunting song that commemorates the life of Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu, a young Umkhonto weSizwe militant executed by the apartheid state in 1979 at the tender age of 22. I had heard the song echo all day, and for many days before. But it seemed to have an even more poignant effect on this humid evening, with the press of students and the cameras. I wondered for a while at the relevance of the song. After all, Solomon Mahlangu was not linked in any way to university struggles. But he was a young man when he was executed, about the same age as many of the students who now sang about him. He too was involved in a noble cause; it is said that, before he was led to the gallows, he uttered to his mother the final words: ‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom. Tell my people that I love them. They must continue the struggle.’ Given this mythology, and his age, it is not surprising that Solomon Mahlangu became the mythological mascot of South Africa’s #FeesMustFall protest. I sat with my executive team and members of the university’s Council. Beatrys Lacquet, Deputy Vice-Chancellor: Knowledge and Information Management, Infrastructure and Operations sat to my left, while the Chair of Council, Randall Carolissen, was to my right. Andrew Crouch, Deputy Vice-Chancellor: Academic was also nearby, as was Pamela Dube, Dean of Students. All three executive members had been with me the entire day. Carol Crosley, our registrar, was also there, but had come in with some of the other Council members in the evening. Randall had come in slightly earlier. When he called earlier and volunteered to join me, I warned him that he would be obliged to stay for hours. Yet he did not hesitate. The other members of Council came after hastily convening a Council meeting. The students had wanted me to overturn the fee increase that had been decided at Council a week earlier. I had refused, informing them that I could not overturn a Council decision. They had then insisted that the Council convene in the concourse, in front of them, and rescind the decision. This did not happen, but members of the Council did meet on the 11th floor above the concourse. Then, after they were engaged and invited down by some of the student leaders, some Council members decided to join us on the concourse. Again, I warned them that, if they decided to come down, they would be with us for hours. And yet they came. Cathi Albertyn, Rob Hamer, Len Sizani, Cas Coovadia, Conrad Mueller and Adele Underhay, all very different individuals with diverse experience and histories, came down and spent the night on the concourse. Some saw this as a way of demeaning the Council. It may well have been, but I could not have been prouder to be sitting beside these individuals. Collectively, we sat that evening, uncowed. Each of us explained – individually, patiently, repeatedly – that the fee increase decision could not be rescinded. If any party were to make a concession, it would have to be the state, whose decision to lower our subsidies continuously was the root cause of the fee increase. I was tired by this time, of course. It had been a long day. I had woken up at 03h30 that Friday in Durban to make a 05h30 flight to Johannesburg. The protest had begun early on Wednesday morning, when students had stood in front of the university gates and refused to let vehicles leave the premises. They lay down in front of the gates and challenged vehicles to drive over them if they wanted to leave. It was an ingenious strategy, which paralysed the university; it was accompanied, of course, by protesters shutting down classes. There had been a curtain-raiser earlier in the week – on Tuesday evening, at our Management campus in Parktown – when students had protested against the expansion of the Wits Business School and the closure of a residence, despite a commitment to source alternative accommodation and ensure that there would be no reduction in the number of beds available to students. They had insisted that I collect a memorandum, which I did, but the evening classes at the Business School had been significantly impacted. The next morning, the students had moved to the campus in Braamfontein; the demand became to rescind the fee increase that had been decided a week earlier at the Council meeting.  Throughout Wednesday, we had tried to negotiate with the protesting students about the fees issue and to allow free vehicle mobility on and off campus. But this was to no avail. We called the police in, but asked them to maintain a discreet presence at the gates so as not to inflame the situation. We managed, eventually, to get all vehicles off the campus by opening additional exits surreptitiously. But there had been massive disruptions not only to our academic programmes, but also to people’s personal lives. Parents had been prevented from picking up their children from school. A staff member who had a serious medical condition had been prevented from seeing his doctor. There were countless other infractions against both staff and students. Towards the end of Wednesday evening, another challenge emerged. I was meant to be in Durban on Thursday and Friday for a ministerial conference on transformation in universities, but how could I leave under these conditions? The executive team insisted that I should go, however, and that they would manage the protests and get the academic programme back on track. And so I left for Durban on Wednesday evening, but I might as well not have gone. For all of Thursday at the conference I remained glued to the phone, keeping track of developments on campus. Students at the conference also read a memorandum from the leaders of the protesting Wits students, demanding that the conference take a position against the fee increase. While this obviously did not happen, developments at Wits continued to overshadow the conference. By Thursday evening, confronting another challenge of staff and students having to leave the campus, the executive team decided to send in the police to disperse the student protesters. But just as the police were to move in, the student leaders petitioned the executive to ask me to return so that they could engage me directly. I agreed, and took the first morning flight to Johannesburg. After a brief stop at Savernake, the vice-chancellor’s official residence, where I quickly freshened up, I went to the campus first for a short briefing with the executive team. By 08h00 we were collectively ready to engage with the protesting students, but waited for Pamela Dube to give us the signal that they were ready to receive us. Just before 09h00, Pamela indicated that the students were ready for us, but wanted to meet at the Yale/Empire Road entrance. I agreed to this and Andrew Crouch, Pamela and I proceeded to walk across campus to the students. We were accompanied by Protection Services officers; as we approached the entrance, protesting students started singing and chanting. Initially, the protesters simply surrounded us, making it hard to get any engagement going with student leadership. Eventually, we collectively agreed to move to the gate itself, where there was an elevated structure on which we could stand and address the students. I was not expected to speak. The student leaders – Nompendulo Mkhatshwa and Shaeera Kalla – wanted to be the only ones speaking, and I was simply to hear them out. For a while, with the crowd’s approval, I even held aloft the loud hailer for Nompendulo. The message, of course, was the same. ‘The students cannot afford the increase,’ Nompendulo said. ‘The fee increase must be rescinded.’ This went on for about an hour, before another group of singing protesters arrived, led by two other student leaders, Mcebo Dlamini and Vuyani Pambo. At that point, Shaeera turned to me and recommended that I leave. But I demurred. After a short period of speeches, chants and toyi-toying, Vuyani turned to me and complained about the heat. He asked whether what was then known as Senate House, now Solomon Mahlangu House, could be opened so that the students could get out of the sun. I agreed to instruct security to open the building. As the protesters turned to march there, Pamela once again recommended that we leave. We were right next to the Yale/Empire Road entrance, with security, and a car was available to whisk us away. But again, I did not heed the advice. It was time to see this matter through, so I decided that we should go with the students. On arriving at the concourse, I was offered a chair. But I deliberately decided to sit on the floor as I had done on multiple other occasions, the most recent having been earlier that week at the Tuesday evening protest on the Management campus. This would become a matter of controversy in the days ahead. What had been a perfectly innocent act was blown out of all proportion by the Saturday Star, which alleged in its headlines that I had been forced to sit on the floor. Not only was this blatantly untrue, but it also provided factions of the student movement with ideas. And so,...