In an attempt to find an excuse to incarcerate the then Archbishop of Cape Town, the apartheid regime inquired whether Desmond Tutu was speaking as a bishop or a politician in his consistent and predictable critique of the apartheid system.
In a perhaps divinely inspired response, Tutu implored the government to focus on whether the issues he raised were true or false, rather than on the capacity in which he spoke. For Tutu, the object of his engagement was “speaking truth to power”.
Tutu’s response makes nonsense of those who measure black intellectual work on how often and consistently it is in support of, or against, the ruling elite. The debate on the role of black intellectuals reflects the extent to which the discourse is trapped within apartheid thinking. It is also an expression of a dilemma faced by those who are desperate to be seen maintaining a critical and objective distance from the ruling elite, while remaining close enough to enjoy the fruits of being part of it.
To disabuse ourselves of and transcend the apartheid-informed template of “for and against”, we need to posit the role of an intellectual as including the search for truth, the interrogation of the meaning and implications of both public conduct and policy decisions. In carrying out this function, the intellectual seeks an audience with the public.
How frequently one’s engagement embarrasses government becomes irrelevant and is subordinated to whether there is merit to the issues raised. It is pertinent, for instance, to explore the moral questions raised in “Winnie’s amazing letter”, especially in the light of the accusations levelled at this paper for publishing some of its contents. It might help to approach this in a conjectural manner.
The use of fiction, parables and conjectures to explore ethical challenges is as old as human history. They are powerful devices because, while they are not based on identifiable people, they are nevertheless recognisable in terms of the human problems they present. They therefore allow the objective distance necessary for the exploration of the improbable, or that which threatens the social order or our assumptions.
Given the moral high ground that our leaders claim, it is safe to assume that the recent allegations about the private activities of the president are not only absurd but also preposterous. It is precisely because of their seeming absurdity, and therefore their improbability, that we can use them as a basis to explore ethical questions that should underpin our democracy.
In some democracies, allegations that a head of state is involved in impropriety would send the government reeling. The public would be treated to bouts of denial, and the public and the press would have called for an investigation. Any attempt by government or its officials to gag a newspaper from exposing this would exacerbate the controversy.
Indeed, not long ago the president of the most powerful country faced impeachment on the question of whether he lied under oath. Starting from the premise that these allegations cannot be true, this conjectural exercise is important because we do not as yet have a common set of values as a country.
In a normal society the private conduct of individuals is irrelevant precisely because it does not affect policy decisions. It is another matter when such private conduct might affect the government and its policy decisions. For example, in her letter to the deputy president, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela writes that President Thabo Mbeki accused her of telling Linda Zama that the president “had taken Comrade Shilowa’s wife one evening and brought her back at 5am”. The letter not only refers to “Mrs Shilowa, but four other women, one of whom was Linda Zama, the others, ministers and deputy ministers!”
If these improbable claims were to be taken seriously, would we treat such engagements by those wielding power and authority as mere cases of “consenting adults”? Were a president to be allowed to engage in such activities, where would the abuse of power start and end? How would stalking differ from the head of an institution engaging in multiple relations with those who report to him, and/or the wives of those who report to him? Would compliance become a greater recommendation for appointment than competence? These questions do not raise issues of conventional ethics regarding a public figure engaging in multiple relationships. That is a different question altogether.
Secondly, what recourse would exist in this fictional account for those aggrieved? Taking the case of a premier or a minister, would he or she be able to take action against the president, and with what repercussions? Would he or she be able to count on the support of his or her comrades, or would party members rally around the president?
In our political arrangement, no premier or minister could contemplate actions against the president without being recalled by the president. Furthermore, a premier or a minister without the expertise and skills that higher education brings would find the prospects of being gainfully employed extremely dim. Faced with the prospect of unemployment, diminished status, and stripped of any human dignity, few would be likely to take any steps against the president.
The third issue relates to the reluctance of the press and the religious community to confront these challenges in terms of the widely circulating rumours. Is this because they have dismissed the rumours or because they shy away from dealing with complex ethical problems?
The press has, instead, found it convenient to wallow in speculation on the censure that awaits the president of the African National Congress’s Women’s League. The organisation’s representatives have been quick to dismiss any immediate or public sanctioning. They find nothing wrong as Madikizela-Mandela raised her concerns within party channels.
This is a deft move by the ruling party: for one it restrains Madikizela-Mandela from exposing more details regarding the issues contained in the letter. At the same time it provides the ruling party an escape route to deal with these matters internally, away from public scrutiny.
This conjectural trajectory, the asking of “what if” as it relates to those holding public office, is not an exercise in moralising or an attempt to blur what should be private and what is public, but to carefully ask questions about what is of public ethical significance within the sphere of the private.