In a rare extended interview, Desmond Tutu speaks of his illness, race relations, SA’s ”allergy” to debate and the role of a post-apartheid opposition and the church. Drew Forrest interviewed the 71-year-old Nobel laureate at his office in Cape Town.
How is your health?
Fine — I think they’ve zapped the cancer. My PSA [prostate specific antigen] is zero, which is good news. God must have said, ”Gee, I’m getting too many prayers about this guy — I’d better do something.” All the well-wishers … it’s been heart-warming. I go into a shopping mall and dear old white ladies step up and ask: ”How are you?” It’s an indication of the sea-change in attitudes to oneself.
Has the illness changed you?
Nothing is more designed to concentrate the mind — you get an unambiguous message that you’re destined for six feet under. Leah [his wife] and I were on a high when the initial investigation appeared to find no malignancy. Then the urologist came in 24 hours later to say: ”There’s bad news.” That brought us back to terra firma.
You seem to be withdrawing from public life into one of prayer and meditation …
Very few people will believe me when I say that I’ve always had a longing to be quiet; that it’s not my temperament to be abrasive. One of my weaknesses is that I love to be loved; it was the greatest heartache — agony, in fact — to be identified as an ogre by white people when I was calling for sanctions. I’m very much more a person of instinct and feeling than a cerebral person. In the absence of many of our leaders I became a leader by default.
I enjoyed the limelight. It was incredible to go into any black community and get that reception. I was harassed and got death threats, but I didn’t suffer as other people suffered. Being in the truth commission made that very clear to me.
I still have involvements, partly because I feel we owe a great deal to the international community. But I’m learning to say that wonderfully potent little word ”no”. I’m devoting more time to the other kind of work …
Where are we South Africans, eight years after the 1994 election?
We’ve accomplished much more than we give ourselves credit for. We have major, major problems, but the recent bombings are a reminder of where we could have been. It’s mind-boggling to walk into Parliament and see a Verwoerd on the African National Congress benches. In Russia, which is also in transition, assassinations seem to be the order of the day. I’m concerned, a little saddened by your newspaper — I respect your desire to be independent, but when last did you have a poster that wasn’t negative?
And yet … to some extent we’ve forgotten why we got involved in the struggle, the altruism and idealism of the struggle. How many people say: I’m not in this for what I can get out of it? The struggle was not just about changing a regime, but about a new kind of society that says people matter, that cares for people.
The Black Consciousness movement was about setting ourselves standards — it’s extraordinary how, come freedom, we’ve emulated the wrong standards: a big house, a smart car … We’re generating a black elite, many of them stinking rich, while others are in grinding poverty.
And the government?
I think the ANC government is doing very well when you look at things like housing, water provision, school-feeding programmes. Apartheid devastated Southern Africa, which is why some of us were talking about an international Marshall Plan for the region. The government cannot be expected to deal overnight with, say, the legacy of Bantu education. Even the fact that we are no longer a pariah is an important achievement.
But one of the attractive features of the struggle was the level of debate; people were constantly arguing about things. We seem to have become allergic to discussion; the impression of sycophancy is worrying. We’re at an early stage in our freedom, and people are scared of undermining unity — wrongly, I believe. I hope we all want a truly open society, where loyalty is earned. Our democracy will be defined by how much we can differ without fearing the consequences.
What is your assessment of the opposition?
I think the official opposition has not been as effective as it could have been. Its abrasive, confrontational style has alienated many black people.
What about racial reconciliation? Did the truth commission achieve anything on this front?
South Africans lack perspective. Look at the tensions between East and West Germans, who had the same history until 1945 and have the same language, skin colour and ethnicity. If they’ve found reconciliation so difficult, how much harder must it be in a country with 11 official languages?
[Former Finnish president] Martti Ahtisaari has sent me something about a global truth commission. They’re seriously looking at the viability of this and how to mesh it with the International Criminal Court, saying the truth commission established a kind of benchmark.
The truth commission legislation was clear — it aimed to promote reconciliation. Reconcilation is a process. A commission, no matter how successful, cannot accomplish it alone.
Is the government promoting reconciliation?
Our situation could be a great deal worse — and better. Our leadership sometimes needs to be as laid back and relaxed as you would expect from one with such overwhelming support. I said to the president that one of his best moments was when he went round communities and just sat there. Even if he did nothing else, just coming and holding a baby was a tremendous thing.
If we could just get the impression that there is vigorous debate, and we are not being treated to sycophancy … A true friend must sometimes say things that are uncomfortable to hear.
I would think that we could have had far more impact on HIV/Aids. And I’m saddened and appalled by the way we’ve dealt with Zimbabwe. It was right to try quiet diplomacy, but when it failed we had to show where we stand — not because we want that country to go down the tubes, but precisely because we don’t.
That we could play linguistics over something as flawed as Zimbabwe’s presidential election, tight-roping about whether it was ”legitimate”, undermined our own freedom. It was a huge blot on our copybook. We would have been saddened if something similar had happened in 1994 — if the international community had said: ”We’ll accept this because we have to, but it was not free and fair.”
How do you assess the government’s stance on the work of the truth commission, and rumours that it is contemplating a general amnesty or special amnesty for KwaZulu-Natal?
Somebody who had not read the report took the erroneous position on the issue of the just war and criminalising the struggle. Anyone who had read the report would have been thrilled at how well the ANC came out of it.
I think they now realise the TRC is one of the best things to have come out of South Africa, and that it was largely their baby. They are, I think, far more enthusiastic about reparations than formerly and were upset by the Inkatha Freedom Party court interdict that postponed action on reparations.
I think a general amnesty would fall foul of the Constitution. The Constitutional Court ruled amnesty was acceptable because of the delicate nature of the transition, but also because while victims would be denied the right to sue perpetrators, they did get the truth and reparations. Under a general amnesty, truth would be missing.
People who were denied amnesty could argue that they were unfairly discriminated against if there was a special amnesty for KwaZulu-Natal. Why there and not universally, and if universally, what was the point of the truth commission?
You’ve espoused the prophetic idea of the church. How do you see the role of the church now?
The religious community faces a very difficult situation — it is far easier to be against something, as we were under apartheid. It was the same during the Cold War. The West, particularly the United States, didn’t realise how much its identity was tied up with an identifiable enemy.
Having an enemy enables you to focus, to get support from overseas. Now the churches have a problem — NGOs are dealing with poverty, the government is dealing with poverty. We say we are for gender equity; the government says we are also for gender equity. There’s a scramble for a smaller and smaller cake, and it’s not easy to see what’s distinctively of the church.
I said then that the rule should be one of critical solidarity, giving as much support as you can to what you believe approximates as closely to the kingdom of God as you can have on Earth. When things are inimical to this, you must speak up.
It is imperative that the religious community does not become a party at prayer, that it maintains its critical distance, so that it can address the powers that be.
This is easier said than done. I once found myself sitting next to Nelson Mandela at a dinner. Then I stood outside myself. ”Tutu,” I said, ”when you used to ask the Afrikaans churches why they did nothing about apartheid, they said they were talking to the government behind closed doors. Here you are talking to the government behind closed doors.”
But I must take my hat off to my successor [Archbishop Njongonkulu Ndungane]. He’s identified HIV/Aids and international debt as key issues. He wants to be able to talk to the government, while having the freedom to say: This is not right.
How positive do you feel about South Africa’s future?
I’m a prisoner of hope. I think we are a scintillating success waiting to happen. I look at the many whites involved in Aids work, when most victims are black. After the bombings, there was a beautiful image — white police officers helping to repair damaged homes. That speaks volumes for what’s beginning to happen in terms of race relations.
We really are an incredible country, with fantastic people. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.