There were about 10 of us and the minister for arts and culture in what is euphemistically called an “upmarket hotel”, the kind reserved for charterist millionaires (that is black economic empowerment charters, not the Freedom Charter) and MPs who do their bookings through an agency that they would like us to believe is called Gullible’s Travels. The kind of hotel that would have considered it a real coup to host Mark Thatcher and his black-gold friends. Arts types don’t usually hang around such places unless they’re there earning their primary income as bearers of room service.
“Us” included members of civil society who were invited to an informal breakfast to chew the cud (and imported pork sausages) with the minister about “culture and identity”, a broad excuse of a topic to talk about everything under the sun. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were singing beautifully in a Charles Fortune sort of way, a perfect day to engage in anything but the politics of culture, but then, it’s not often that one gets the opportunity to engage with a minister.
Most of “us” had been at a recent cultural indaba where the provincial minister responsible for arts and culture in the Western Cape, Chris Stali, played host to more than 220 stakeholders, so we were getting used to this “Yes, minister” thing (we can be very civil society).
It had been some time since politicians, government officials and “stakeholders” were in the same room to discuss cultural-policy issues, so inevitably the provincial department took a bit of a beating (next they’ll be forming BIG Dada: Brazenly Ineffective Government Departments Against Departmental Abuse).
But to its credit, rather than continuing to sail down the river of De Nial, the department — through its head, advocate Rod Solomons — acknowledged its deficiencies and announced that this indaba heralded the start of a different approach that would include regular consultation and cooperation between the government and the cultural sector, which was like going back to a time when artists first expressed their hopes for a new democratic order, a whole decade ago.
So, yes minister, we were cautiously optimistic that there was a political window of opportunity to reverse some of the anti-democratic practices that had become normal in relations between the government and civil society. And yes minister, we did welcome the variety of new funding sources for the arts. And of course, minister, we too were concerned about the challenge of multiculturalism and language, where a combination of illiteracy and lack of disposable income means that indigenous languages make unattractive markets to writers and publishers and also makes a mockery of our commitment to a multilingual society.
The minister seemed impressed by a description of the District Six Museum, even though it fell outside the national ambit of official support. Here was a museum that did not have to reinvent itself in order to become more relevant, since it already documented and celebrated the histories of the people it served. On top of that, it attracted thousands of tourists and generated half-a-million a year through its little shop that traded in apartheid memory.
With breakfast getting as cold as the hearts of Telkom executives, topics ranged from free-trade agreements and their potentially adverse impact on culture, the tensions between “classical arts” and “community-based arts” that were now all part of our common heritage, and the lack of skilled human resources to sustain cultural transformation.
It was an all too brief interlude as the minister had to rush off to another engagement, but dialogue had taken place. A relationship had been initiated. Listening had transpired. But will it make a difference to the arts and culture in South Africa? Not likely. For this was a breakfast with the minister responsible for arts and culture in Britain.