TOWARDS A POOR PEOPLE’S MOVEMENT? A SURVEY OF DURBAN ACTIVISTS’ VIEWS ON STRUGGLE, UNITY, AND THE FUTURE

November 2006

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Jessica Harris

Introduction

In 1994, apartheid came to an end with the election of ANC candidate Nelson Mandela to the office of President under the campaign slogan, “A better life for all.” Yet, nearly 13 years after the ANC’s 1994 victory, unemployment in some parts of South Africa is nearly 50 percent, and many thousands are living without housing, electricity, or water. These conditions, combined with the co-option of many of the “old avenues of opposition” (ANC, COSATU, SACP, etc) into the new government, gave rise to a new generation of social movements in South Africa.

In this paper, I argue that while there is great diversity within post-apartheid Durban’s CBOs and social movements, the organizations I examined effectively utilize openings in political opportunity, framing, and resource mobilization in such a way that enhanced unity is possible. However, I qualify this argument by contending that the movements will not coalesce until they cultivate agreement on a common political project.

I begin by reviewing a sample of relevant literature in order to establish a theoretical framework. Then, I turn to the research. Interviews with members of two Durban CBOs, Westcliff Flat Residents Association and Wentworth Development Forum, and one of the few remaining Durban social movements – Abahlali baseMjondolo – underpin my findings. I examine the ways in which activists frame their demands (in the language of rights and as reminders to the government to keep its promises), their organizations (as powerful community guardians and as democratic voices of the poor), and their enemies (local and/or national government).

I then explore the matter of unity. I find that while there is near unanimity among activists that increased unity would be valuable, there is much dissension regarding the forms it should take. My interviews expose a great deal of infighting within communities and among organizations, shattering the romanticized portrait of social movements so many authors have put forth.

I examine the debate over two possible forms of unity, centralization and forums, with specific emphasis on a forum in which each of the organizations I have investigated once participated – the Social Movements Indaba. Finally, I discuss two logistical obstacles activists face, lack of resources and political divisions, as well as a structural issue that may well be at the heart of the difficulties in achieving unity: disagreement over a common political project. However, my interviews reveal that despite conflicts, activists are optimistic about their future.

The Birth of the Struggle

Westcliff Flat Residents Association

Westcliff Flat Residents Association (WFRA) was formed by community members of Unit 3 in Chatsworth, a historically Indian township created by the infamous Group Areas Act during apartheid. Residents live in flats owned by the municipality, built by the apartheid government 44 years ago. The flats are in “a state of gross disrepair,” brandishing peeled paint, cracked walls, and leaky pipes. They were not renovated for 42 years and when they were, the repairs were superficial.

The WFRA was established after the attempted eviction of an unemployed woman and her five children. The whole community rallied together, and with the help of a local ANC member, they were able to stay the eviction and eventually win an interdict in court. According to a WFRA leader: “That was the beginning… It was a true chance of mobilizing in the communities around Chatsworth” in which about 60% of residents were facing eviction. Local activists took advantage of the space created by the community’s outrage over the eviction, and they formed WFRA. WFRA later joined a movement called the Concerned Citizens Forum (CCF). Though most of the CCF’s composite organizations still exist separately from each other, the CCF soon collapsed amidst racial acrimony, for reasons no one in the WFRA seems to grasp.

Activists in WFRA remember their founding moments well. One member recalls forming a human chain in front of the door and refusing to allow security in. Several indignantly recount the brutality with which the police handled the situation, letting loose dogs and tear gas into the crowd. Many proudly remember one of their leaders getting bitten by a dog but standing her ground. The event is well-entrenched in activists’ memories, a founding legend they all know well.

Abahlali baseMjondolo

Abahlali baseMjondolo is a movement of shack dwellers. It began in the Kennedy Road shack settlement that houses nearly 7,000 people in only about 1,200 shacks. Richard Pithouse writes: “There are 4 official taps for drinking water and another (illegally connected) tap for washing hands, 6 poorly maintained portable toilets, and no refuse collection…” Abahlali members complain that when it rains, everything is muddy. They worry about the health of children who grow up in a place that is always wet. Worse, because they lack electricity, they are forced to rely on paraffin which has led to many deadly fires. Members say they were promised houses long ago and have tired of waiting.

Abahlali was formed in March 2005 when angry residents of Kennedy Road decided to take action upon learning that they would not receive land near Elf Place that they had been promised. Over 700 shack dwellers filled the streets, burning tires and blocking traffic. Fourteen protestors were arrested, and in the fury that followed, Abahlali was born.

Like the WFRA, Abahlali utilized an opening in political opportunity structures. Before its formation, few if any organizations directly addressed the needs of shack dwellers. Pithouse argues that “this was because shack dwellers [unlike flat dwellers], lacking access to housing, water and electricity were not at risk of eviction and disconnection.” Thus, Abahlali was formed to fill a void, to represent the needs of a neglected segment of society. Jacob Bryant argues that Abahlali also successfully created its own opportunities, taking full advantage of the press it received at its first march, effectively mobilizing other shack dwelling communities, and constantly holding the threat of protest over the councilors’ heads.

All of the Abahlali members I interviewed knew the story of the Elf Place protest. They recalled their first march with pride. Most members mentioned that the 14 activists who were arrested have become known as “the 14 Heroes,” a framing that will forever memorialize Abahlali’s founding martyrs.

The Wentworth Development Forum

The Wentworth Development Forum was established in the historically “Coloured” township of Wentworth in the South Durban basin. Many of the Wentworth residents live in flats that are in similar conditions to those of Chatsworth. Community members complain of overcrowding, with up to 15 people living in a one-bedroom flat. Drug and alcohol abuse, high unemployment, and crime (especially rape) have plagued the community for years.

To fight these problems, community activists formed a number of development organizations during apartheid, but although they were all working on development, activists recognized that “there was no development happening.” So, in 1994, activists created a political space by collapsing the various inefficient organizations into the Wentworth Development Forum (WDF). It was to be “one structure to deal with all of the development issues.”

Unlike WFRA and Abahlali, most Wentworth activists do not recall a single mobilizing event or even the year that WDF was founded. But, they do remember the creation of WDF as the birth of unity in the community, a first step in a long struggle. One member described the beginning of WDF as a moment of “coming together,” of the community saying, “enough is enough.” The fact that most WDF activists do not remember its formation may indicate a weak internal culture in the organization, but I suspect the explanation lies rather in the fact that WDF is 13 years old.

This section has explored the circumstances in which WFRA, Abahlali, and WDF emerged. The next examines the ways in which they frame their demands.

Building Diagnostic Frames

Every organization is formed to meet certain goals and to win certain concessions. The language activists use to describe these objectives is vital to their success in achieving them. I will not attempt to evaluate the validity of activists’ claims because their framings need not accurately describe reality. They simply must be believable and resonant.

While each of the activists I interviewed emphasized different demands, their framing of these demands was remarkably similar. Two broad categories emerged: activists often spoke in the language of rights, insisting that they had a right (either constitutional or natural) to their claims; additionally, many activists stressed that the government owes them because it has failed to deliver on its promises and has therefore betrayed the people. I will begin by exploring the “language of rights” framing and then address the “broken promises and betrayal” framing.

Creating a Language of Rights

In interview after interview, activists emphasized that they are only trying to defend their rights. In Westcliff, members insisted that poor people are not granted the same rights as others but that as citizens contributing to the country’s revenue, they deserve to be treated equally. Similar sentiments were echoed by residents of Kennedy Road: “It should be our government but it’s a government for the rich people, not for the poor” and in Wentworth: “In the new government, we don’t even feature as human beings.”

Some focused on their rights as citizens. They maintained that the Constitution guarantees they not be homeless. A few went further, contending that they had a right to a house in the place where they lived. One Foreman Road resident angrily complained, “The councilors treat Abahlali like they are children just because we are poor – but they cannot tell me I do not deserve to own a house. It is my constitutional right.”

Others underscored their rights as human begins. One activist lamented, “Without a house, you feel dehumanized.” Another added, “It’s not healthy to live in these conditions [in the shacks] – it’s not the way people are supposed to live.”

Activists’ claims ranged from their right to a house (“We were poor, unarmed civil society only trying to defend our right to our house” ), to their right to protest (“Protesting is our democratic right. We must exercise our rights” ), to their right to water and electricity (“Flat dwellers are also human beings. They don’t deserve to have their water and electricity cut” ) to their right to a better life and a better life for their children (“The government has not spent a cent on the local community with regard to giving people their constitutional right of a better life for all of us” ).

Addressing Broken Promises

While many activists frame their demands in the language of rights, others frame them as legitimate requests for the government to fulfill its promises. This framing is strategic because it gives activists the moral high ground and allows them to claim that they are not fighting against the state but simply reminding it to fulfill its promises.
Among the unfulfilled promises activists cited were: housing, land, development, free water and electricity, free education, jobs, and of course “a better life for all.” Many activists spoke of feeling deceived by the government, of being tricked into voting for the ANC only to find out they had been “bluffed.” A pensioner from the WFRA quietly lamented: “People [from the ANC] came and bluffed us. They said they would fix everything. They made us to vote for them. But no one came back after the vote.”

Activists’ grievances regarding the state’s failure to deliver on its promises often revealed hurt and anger at the government’s perceived betrayal of the people. At a WFRA meeting, one Wentworth activist railed: “This government up until today that we have voted for and believed in has turned on us, the poor people.” Feelings of being forgotten by the government were repeated in interview after interview. Disillusionment was rife: “They promised us a lot of things but we voted for them and nothing happened. They’re only bluffing us;” “We were all betrayed by the government;” “They have forgotten about poor people. They have forgotten what they promised us.”

Members of all three organizations reiterated their desire for the government to fulfill its promises but while WFRA and WDF members were often openly hostile to the ANC, Abahlali members were quick to emphasize their neutrality towards or even support for the ANC. They framed their demands not as an attack on the state, but rather as a friendly if uncompromising reminder. At a workshop I attended, one Abahlali activist forcefully stated: “Abahlali is not fighting with the government.” This sentiment was echoed by many interviewees. A member of the Foreman Road committee put it simply: “The government promised land and housing. Abahlali is only asking for what the government promised. We are reminding the government to do those things. Poor people need them.”

Framing the Path Forward

In my interviews with members of WFRA, WDF, and Abahlali activists portrayed themselves as powerful defenders of their respective communities and as democratic voices of the poor. Both of these framing are prognostic and tactical. I discuss them in turn.

Powerful Community Guardians

Activists spoke about the feeling of empowerment their organizations gave them. Comparing the municipality to a “big monster,” a WFRA member proclaimed at a meeting: “We must never ever in our lifetime fear this monster because we are a bigger monster. Together, there’s nobody more powerful than we are.” An Abahlali member boasted, “They [the municipality] fear the power of Abahlali.” He told me about how many times Abahlali succeeded against “the mighty municipality” and how a movement of mere shack dwellers forced the mayor to postpone a conference in order to meet with them. A WDF member asserted that his organization stands up against oppression and for the masses. He added, “WDF will always be around as watchdogs, as voices of the people.”

Many members of WFRA proudly recalled forming human chains to stop evictions or chasing away service technicians (who were disconnecting water or electricity) with broomsticks. A WFRA member boldly concluded one meeting by announcing that as long as WFRA was around, no one in the community would be evicted. Afterwards, another member confided, “We are safer with the organization because someone is fighting for us. No one will harm us.”

Abahlali members remember marches of thousands of people. One activist enthused that the movement is not only known as the biggest movement in KwaZulu Natal but has achieved worldwide recognition. Another credited Abahlali with opening the people’s eyes and brashly declared: “The ANC always talks about discipline but we are tired of discipline. We are not disciplined anymore.” But, perhaps the best indication of the activists’ views of their organizations is their answer to this question: “Can you tell me about a time when your organization failed?” The unanimous reply was simply: “No.”

Democratic Voices of the Poor

Many activists frame themselves as democratic voices of the poor. This type of framing yields multiple benefits. It enables organizations and movements to mobilize new constituencies such as the unemployed, young women, and squatters. It also encourages mass involvement because by participating and speaking for themselves, members gain a sense of empowerment and dignity. These can be powerful incentives to act.

Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe argue that democratic discourse is essential to the creation of a “radical and plural democracy,” without which the Left cannot challenge neo-liberal forces. They assert that the language of democracy contains “profound subversive power” in its ability to spread “equality and liberty into increasingly wider domains” by framing “different forms of inequality as illegitimate and anti-natural, and thus make them equivalent as forms of oppression.”

While the “democratic voices of the poor” frame is undoubtedly employed most frequently by Abahlali’s members, it is used to some extent by WFRA and WDF. A joint resolution by Westcliff and Bayview residents against accepting ownership of the flats began with the celebrated if clichéd words, “We the people.” During WFRA meetings, members are encouraged to share their grievances. All resolutions are put to a vote and all committee members are elected. One member avowed, “This organization is the voice of the people.” She added, “We want government to hear our voices.”

WDF is also a democratic organization. It, like WFRA, elects its committee members. Activists stressed the importance of listening to the community. They were emphatic that WDF is “community and civic-driven” and that it does not take money from industry (a divisive issue in Wentworth which I will return to later). But, while WFRA and Abahlali hold weekly public meetings that are generally very well-attended, WDF holds only monthly meetings, making many of its decisions in sub-committees. Some might argue that this is a weakness but none of the members I interviewed perceived a problem in the running of the organization.

Abahlali members stressed the democratic nature of their movement. One activist asserted, “Abahlali is a pure social movement. It is driven by people, not politics.” A committee member added, “Whatever the executive committee comes up with, it asks the community about. The poor people are leading us.” Another affirmed, “If you are on the committee, you have to listen to what the people want.”

At Abahlali, members emphasized its role as a democratic organization that speaks for those who have no voice. Most said their biggest accomplishment as a movement was winning the right to speak for themselves. They talked about the pride they felt in marching, being featured in national media, forcing local government to meet with them, and successfully taking the city to court.

For Abahlali activists, being recognized and having their voices heard is paramount. One member told me, “Abahlali just wants the government to come and ask the people what they want.” Richard Pithouse explained, “Groups like Abahlali don’t want to be represented by elites. They want to have their own voice.” In a similar vein, an Abahlali member lamented, “The city managers talk but they don’t know how it feels to be poor. They’re sitting in their swivel chairs talking about poor people, about poverty, but they don’t even know what that means. Don’t talk about us, talk to us.”

Although the two frames discussed in this section serve slightly different purposes they are both prognostic frames that strategically position the organization as the hero: defending communities and fighting for the people’s rights. These are the types of frames that enable activists to build sustainable movements. I now turn to the equally vital matter of identity.

Creating a “We” and Defining a “Them”

Towards a Common Identity

This section addresses the ways in which activists see themselves. Constructing a common identity is crucial to building any social movement. Shared identity is defined around common experiences, symbols and myths. Identity creates a boundary between activists and the state. It enables activists to think of themselves as part of a collective “we,” facilitating solidarity and collective action.

WFRA, WDF, and Abahlali have constructed remarkably similar and inclusive identities. They are non-racialist, non-political, and non-religious, and they reveal a strong class consciousness, though not of the traditional leftist “working class” variety.

Most activists in WFRA and WDF identify quite simply as “poors.” Activists are not ashamed to identify as poor, and they stand adamantly in solidarity of other poors. A WDF activist speaking on the issue of flat ownership at a WFRA meeting rebuked residents who were considering signing title deeds, arguing that even if they could afford to sign, they should not, as it would be a betrayal of poorer community members. WFRA and WDF members made countless references to themselves as poors, making comments such as: “The government… has turned on us, the poor people,” “It’s our struggle – the poors’ struggle,” “We are the poorest of the poor,” and “We are poor people living in this community.”

Unlike WDF and WFRA members, Abahlali members identify primarily as shack dwellers, commenting: “Abahlali speaks on behalf of all shack dwellers,” “Abahlali fights for everyone living in shacks,” and “We are all sitting in the mud together.” While this is not as inclusive an identity as “the poors,” it is a logical identification, as Abahlali is, after all, a shack dwellers’ movement. Still, Abahlali members also expressed strong solidarity with other poor people’s struggles, whether or not they were shack dwellers. Though primarily a shack dwellers movement, Abahlali also works with flat dwellers. When asked why, members likened the flat dwellers struggles to their own, replying: “Flat dwellers are poor too,” and “They are crying like us. We have the same struggles.” These statements reveal an underlying identification as “poors,” though it may be secondary to activists’ identification as “shack dwellers.”

Members from all three organizations were adamant that their identities exclude race and politics. One activist asserted that all that matters is “poor people’s basic, practical problems – the politics of the poor.” Another affirmed, “We don’t talk about politics. We talk about people’s needs.” Activists were similarly insistent that people of all races are welcome to join their organization and their struggle. Though due to the legacies of apartheid WFRA is predominantly Indian, Abahlali predominantly black African, and WDF predominantly Coloured, there is limited diversity in every organization, and no member expressed any feelings of exclusion or castigation in our interviews.

Articulating Targets

Along with establishing a common perception of “we,” it is essential to movement-building that activists define “them.” A movement must be clear about who it is fighting. It is in response to this question that I found the most diversity and the least clarity both within and between organizations. The most common way that activists alluded to “the enemy” was as a nebulous “they” entity, making no effort to clarify who exactly “they” was. For instance, “They came to kick me out of my house,” or “They talk to poor people like we are children.” The implication is, of course, that “they” is the government and in fact, many activists used “government” and “they” interchangeably.
But, “government” is an imprecise target to struggle against. In order to construct achievable goals and appropriate actions with which to fight for those goals, a movement must choose a more specific target than “government.” Abahlali is by far the most successful of the three in this pursuit (which may well be a part of the explanation for why it has become a mass movement while the others remain small CBOs).

In WFRA and WDF, activists are often openly hostile to the ANC, both at the local and national level, expressing disillusionment and frustration with the liberation party. Most members that I spoke with voted for the ANC in past elections (both local and national, but more commonly national) but are adamant that they will not do so again. One WFRA committee member revealed that she had voted for the ANC in 1994, 1999, and 2004, but that she “definitely” will not vote for the ANC in the next national election. She explained, “Living here [in Westcliff] and seeing what my own government did to me changed my perspective.” Another WFRA activist who had fought with the ANC during the anti-apartheid struggle confessed that though she had voted for the ANC both locally and nationally in the past, she has decided not to vote anymore: “My vote doesn’t mean anything because I’m getting nothing from the person who’s getting my vote.” Only one WFRA or WDF member that I interviewed divulged that he will vote for the ANC again, explaining that though he felt he had been “bluffed,” there simply was no alternative to the ANC to vote for.

Different members of WFRA and WDF laid the blame at the foot of different bodies. Activists bestowed shares upon the municipality (“The municipality is the big monster” ), the local councilor (“The councilor promised us a lot of things but he did nothing” ), President Thabo Mbeki, and the ANC as a whole (“We are where we are today because of Mbeki and the ANC’s policies” ).

Abahlali members displayed considerably more hesitation to blame the ANC. They were on the whole, extremely loyal to the party that brought them democracy, freedom of speech, and the right to protest. Some Abahlali activists intend to continue to vote for the ANC in national elections. Some are even card-carrying ANC members, and they see no contradiction in supporting Abahlali and the ANC. One activist, brandishing her ANC card, declared: “I am ANC but I am also Umhlali.” Another clarified, “We want the ANC but we want our demands.”

Most of the Abahlali members drew a distinction between the ANC’s policies and those of their local municipality. They insisted that it was not the ANC that they had a problem with, but rather individuals within the ANC. One member put it this way: “We are satisfied with the ANC’s aims and objectives and with the Freedom Charter but we are against people who want to privatize the ANC.” Activists by and large believe that if their local councillor were doing a better job, life would be better, asserting: “The councillors don’t care about the people. They only care about votes,” and “We voted for the councillor for five years but he won’t have conversations with the poor people who put him in office so we decided we didn’t want the councillor anymore.” Mixing humor with anger, another Abahlali member averred, “We don’t care what race the councillor is. We don’t even care if he is a small child. We just want him to do what the community wants.”
Activists insisted they were not fighting against the ANC, despite the attempts by the ANC to paint Abahlali members as enemies. They remonstrated: “Abahlali was not formed to fight the municipality. It was formed to make government listen,” “We are not fighting with anyone.” and “We are not fighting with the government.” This non-confrontational framing is unique to Abahlali and possibly key to its ability to build a mass movement. It is an inclusive framing that casts a wide net. By painting themselves as loyal ANC members who just want local government to fulfill its promises, Abahlali opens its membership to people of all political orientations.
There are multiple advantages to such an inclusive framing. First, by encouraging many different types of people to join, Abahlali secures a critical mass; it gains the ability to put thousands of bodies into the streets. Equally important, this framing bestows a certain legitimacy upon Abahlali. The more representative its membership, the more credible is Abahlali’s claim to be the voice of shack dwelling communities. And indeed Abahlali has around 30 000 supporters while the smaller CBOs that are openly anti-ANC often have less than even one or two hundred supporters. It is also significant that at times they organize in areas that are not historically ANC and that some of their supporters previously have supported pro-apartheid parties enabling an easy transition to open opposition to the ANC.

Having discussed the way activists talk about action, I now explore their feelings on united action.

Towards United Action

There is a strong sense among activists of all three organizations that their actions would be more effective if they could only unite with other communities. This is not to say that they have not begun to reach out but merely that activists believe they could be stronger if their movement was bigger. A WDF activist put it bluntly, “The stronger we are, the harder we’ll fall. It’s about unity,” and “We want unity developed amongst all of us… That’s how the struggle will be built.” A WFRA member added, “The government will hear us if we speak with one voice.”

Activists from WFRA, WDF, and Abahlali seem to agree that “the only way forward is for us to unite and fight the man that is oppressing us.” They argued almost unanimously that unity is essential to the future of their organizations: “We need to take each of our struggles and make it one big struggle,” “One person can never stand alone and fight,” and “Abahlali is so strong now [because it has united 34 shack settlements].” When asked why they feel so strongly about working with more communities, activists revealed a deep sense of solidarity with other poor people’s struggles, replying, “Because I’m poor, I like to stand for another poor. I know I’m in the same shoes as the other poors” and “We need to fight together because we are all crying for the same things.”
Although I found broad agreement among activists of all three organizations that uniting communities is a worthy goal, my interviews revealed a general aversion to centralization and vast disagreement on the value of forums. I discuss the matter of centralization first and then turn to the debate over forums, with particular emphasis on Social Movements Indaba.

The Debate Over Centralization

There has been much debate among academics and some activists around the idea of uniting communities and movements under one centralized structure. Trevor Ngwane argues that if organizations remain autonomous and do not establish a centralized body, they will lack accountability.

Franco Barchiesi disagrees. He advocates a “politics of the multitude” in which “rather than converging in the form of unity, or of adherence to a coherent system of meaning and forms of consciousness, these singularities seek commonality as shared understandings of common elements and root causes of material conditions, and strike at commonly identified targets while retaining their autonomy.” Ran Greenstein argues that new movements’ autonomy and their departure from traditional left hierarchical structures are to be celebrated. He asserts that community-based “grassroots subjectivities… question the validity of unifying identities… as the form of expression of common desires” because the centralization tactics of the old left simply are not effective in the new struggles.

My interviews revealed a similar hostility to the idea of centralization among activists. One activist questioned the ethics of centralizing under one vanguardist organization, averring, “We must be cautious about saying that movements should be led from the front and not from the ground.” Another activist approached the debate from a different angle, alleging that large centralized organizations always run into problems over funding and spaces. He argued for creating a space to share knowledge and support one another, allowing each organization its own space to deal with its specific problems in the way it feels most comfortable. Some have proposed that forums like Social Movements Indaba (SMI) could serve such a purpose, but there has been much debate over the value of SMI, pitting WDF and WFRA leaders who support it against Abahlali activists who do not.

The Social Movements Indaba: a Vehicle for Unity?

The Social Movements Indaba was started in 2002 in Johannesburg to offer a critical perspective on the World Summit for Sustainable Development in Johannesburg. The SMI claim that they helped to organize a massive march of 20,000 activists from Alexandra township to Sandton although their role in this march is hotly contested by, for example, the Landless Peoples’ Movement. SMI Secretary Mondli Hlatshwayo describes the event as “a landmark in the history of social movement cooperation” and the beginning of “a new mass movement.” The following year, the SMI held its first annual meeting in Johannesburg. Since 2003, there have been two more SMI meetings, both in Johannesburg. Due to the recent growth of activism in KwaZulu Natal and concerns about how representative SMI is if it is always held in Johannesburg, the 2006 SMI is being held in Durban.

SMI organizers claim that SMI is a space for social movements to come together and strengthen “grassroots solidarity and common campaigns on the ground.” They hope to build “unity against neoliberalism… bringing out common demands,” and to simply “work together.” Organizers add, “The space was meant to evolve and include planning of common action and struggle” but stress that “each organization taking part in SMI” maintains its autonomy. Additionally, organizers hope to develop “a shared and inclusive platform that movements can carry to Nairobi” for the World Social Forum.

However, the purpose and value of SMI is a source of heated debate among the Durban activists whom I interviewed. While most ordinary activists in all three organizations know very little of SMI (if they have even heard of it), the leadership of all three organizations are well acquainted with it, and they expressed strong opinions about its value. At the outset of my research, all three organizations under investigation were participants in the SMI planning process. However, while WFRA and WDF leaders remain committed to SMI, Abahlali leaders opted to remove their organization from the SMI planning process five weeks before the meeting will be held and will not attend the event. Nonetheless, I will discuss the SMI because it highlights many of the problems and debates that have plagued Durban’s activists in their efforts to unite communities and build sustainable movements in post-apartheid South Africa.

There is a stark contrast between the picture that WDF and WFRA leaders paint of SMI and the picture Abahlali activists paint. One WDF member described the SMI as an opportunity to spread the word about poor people’s struggles and to “bring up the rights of people to the world.” Another member called the SMI a chance for “the people of South Africa to speak with one voice.” Another depicted it as a space for organizations to gain strength and discuss ways to work collectively and “raise their voices collectively.” Similarly, a WFRA member described the SMI as a way for movements from all over the country to come together, organize joint actions, and “define the struggle.” Activists believe such a forum is a valuable occasion for debate and for the development of a common understanding of the problems they all face. Summing up his feelings about the SMI with a simple declaration, one activist stated: “SMI will be for the benefit of mankind… If we are serious about our individual issues, we should be serious about SMI because SMI deals with all of the issues.”

Abahlali members portray SMI differently, betraying strong feelings of disillusionment with the SMI process. One activist declared, “There is no value in SMI. It will not get our people houses.” Another related: “I thought it would give the movement more power but it didn’t.” Another conveyed his feelings even more bluntly, saying simply, “SMI is hopeless.” But, not all Abahlali activists agree. One, while condemning the way SMI is being run, qualified his critique by noting that “if SMI starts with what movements need and is run by them, then it could definitely be a valuable space. It is always important for movements to share their experiences and reflect on strategies to challenge hegemony, but it must come from them.”

Critiquing SMI

Abahlali’s criticisms of SMI can be grouped into three categories: organizational structure, the role of academics, and maintenance of grassroots character. I discuss each in turn.

The structure of an organization is a crucial determinant of its ability to effectively mobilize people and build a sustainable movement. Abahlali members assert that the structure of the SMI is flawed in several fundamental ways. They claim that it is not transparent or democratic, that its agenda is decided behind closed doors and is not subject to criticism or alteration, and that it is unable to efficiently manage its funding. Activists bitterly recall being promised financial assistance and resources that never arrived.

Of the SMI secretariat, Abahlali activists had this to say: “Who is SMI? Who is setting the agenda? Who are the officeholders? There are no clear answers,” “They don’t listen to us,” and “The people who are in the secretariat were not elected. They were chosen because they have access to NGO funding.” SMI planners defend the funding process arguing that although accepting NGO money opens the movement up to accountability issues (What is the NGO’s agenda? How much say does the funder get how the money is used? etc.), many CBOs are under-resourced and rely on NGO funding. There exists, in one SMI organizer’s words, “an unhappy marriage between social movements and NGOs” that is necessary but problematic.

The role of academics in social movements has long been a matter of concern among activists worldwide. It is no less troublesome in Durban and within the SMI. Academics can play a crucial role in movements, “imbuing a generalised impulse to mobilise and take action with a ‘sense of strategic and political purpose.’” Intellectuals are able to link local struggles over basic needs like housing and water to broader ideological concepts like globalization and privatization. This linkage allows activists to find commonality between local struggles in different geographical areas over different issues, facilitating movement-building.

However, the role of the academic is precarious. Richard Pithouse contends that “the idea that intellectuals can and should lead movements is ingrained in leftist thinking.” It reveals itself in Marxist concepts like “false consciousness” which implicitly argue that poor people don’t know what they need and require intellectuals to tell them. But, grassroots movements cannot be led by elites (and like it or not, academics are elites). They must be led by the communities themselves. Therefore, academics must perform a balancing act of sorts, offering their assistance without taking over movements.

The Abahlali members I interviewed do not believe that the academics involved in the SMI planning process have done this well. They complain that the SMI intellectuals are not part of any of the movements and are not committed to their struggles. They add that the SMI academics have only shown interest in the movements’ work in order to further their own research and political projects. In short, Abahlali activists conclude of the academics: “their hearts are not right.”

Perhaps the biggest question to emerge from SMI is the extent to which it is actually a grassroots organisation. As I argued earlier, grassroots movements must be led by communities themselves. For Abahlali, this is paramount. Abahlali members do not believe that SMI is led by social movements. They allege that they arrived at the 2005 SMI to find the agenda already set, and when they attempted to challenge it, they were told that they were “out of order.” Similarly, Abahlali members contend that their ideas for agenda items at the 2006 SMI were disregarded entirely and that one again the agenda was set by professional NGO and academic activists with no accountability to movements or organizations.

An Abahlali-affiliated NGO member maintained: “Abahlali’s members can tell you who Abahlali is and what it is but they cannot tell you what SMI is. If those living in the shacks can’t tell you who SMI is, is it really about the poor? And if the poor don’t see themselves as part of that formation, what is SMI?” He concluded, “It must be social movements themselves running SMI. It cannot be otherwise if we want to say that social movements are key to solving our problems.” Abahlali activists charge that rather than being run by real movements, SMI is managed by middle class leftists who set the agenda without consulting communities. As a result, the SMI agenda does not reflect the people’s concerns but rather the concerns of NGOs playing to Northern funders’ agendas.

This section has related the debate over the forms that united action should take. I now turn to a discussion of the other difficulties that organizations face in their efforts to unite.

Obstacles to Unity

Each of the organizations has struggled to overcome logistical issues like lack of resources, and political divisions, but perhaps most fundamentally, they have struggled to select a common political project. This segment of the paper discusses these issues, beginning with logistics.

Lack of Resources

The most common difficulty that activists cited was lack of resources. This greatly inhibits their ability to build movements. A Resource Mobilization theorist might even argue it makes it impossible. Without resources, communities cannot take full advantage of openings in political opportunity structure, frame their demands in public ways, or reach out to other communities. In short, they cannot mobilize. However, it is important to remember that there are many different kinds of resources and just because a movement lacks sufficient material resources does not mean it is deficient in other types.

Abahlali uses the media to its advantage, publicizing its marches and spreading its message. WFRA utilizes its connections with famous and respected figures like Fatima Meer to give its struggle legitimacy. WDF boasts a hard-working and charismatic leadership that is able to effectively motivate and organize members. Thus, while WFRA, WDF, and Abahlali are no doubt hurt by their inability to mobilize vast material resources, successful action has been possible because they have utilized other types of resources.

But it has not been easy. Activists from all three organizations lamented the difficulties of organizing without much money. A WFRA leader related Chatsworth’s battle against evictions: “We were poor communities that were so under-resourced that resisting was a big, big struggle.” She added that because many CBOs lack funds, it is difficult to get whole communities together, let alone link up with other organizations. WFRA, WDF, and Abahlali, unlike middle-class community-based organizations and movements, are predominantly composed of poor people who often lack even basic organizing tools like cell phones or airtime for the phones. In Abahlali’s planning for an upcoming workshop, it has had to budget R1500 airtime to be divided among event organizers. Some Abahlali members expressed a desire to move out of KwaZulu Natal and organize nationally, but they lamented that such a task was extremely difficult without resources. Transportation and communications (email, fax, cell phones) costs make such an effort daunting if not impossible.

Abahlali activists spoke about the difficulty in fighting legal battles without sufficient resources. Although Abahlali considers court battles an essential part of its strategy, it must choose them wisely because it is so short on funding. Activists from all three organizations expressed frustration over the cost of organizing joint protests as most of the members cannot afford to pay for their own transportation. Additionally, all of the organizations struggle with finding appropriate places in which to meet and work. A WDF member complained that “it is hard to organize when you have no space to meet in.”

While all three organizations receive limited funding from NGOs or outside sources, they have struggled to gather sufficient monetary resources to mobilize on a larger scale.

Political Fissures

Another obstacle to unity that activists reported was politics, with one commenting: “Politics divides people. It creates conflicts.” WFRA members divulged that many community members, especially the pensioners, are loyal to the ANC and want to pay their rent. This causes tension between them and other more radical elements of the organization that want the organization to take an anti-ANC stance. Likewise, WDF activists note that the seemingly irreparable divide among Wentworth’s various organizations is due to tensions over certain organizations’ loyalty to the ANC. Activists are adamant that any form of unifying structure in Wentworth would have to be non-political.
In Abahlali, similar sentiments abound. Although “Abahlali is not a political party” and members insist that they are not “fighting the ANC,” it is difficult to convince people of this. Many shack dwellers are ANC members or live in ANC dominated settelements and they do not want to be affiliated with enemies of the ANC. In many instances it is simply not safe for people to be openly ANC. Abahlali activists say overcoming this problem has been their biggest challenge.

The WDF, while struggling with ANC conflicts, has also had to confront serious issues over funding. These disputes have left Wentworth bitterly divided. While many of Wentworth’s organizations accept money from corporations such as Engen and Sapref, WDF adamantly refuses funds from industry. WDF activists argue that community organizations should not take money from industries that contribute to the decay of the community (through pollution and unsafe labor practices) and that industry’s motives for offering the funding are questionable. The organizations that do accept Engen and Sapref’s funds cite the under-resourced nature of CBOs and claim they have no choice but to accept money whenever it is offered. They add that they are justified in taking the money because it will be used for the betterment of Wentworth.

The fissures created by political tensions run deep, and overcoming them will be an uphill battle. Yet, even more detrimental to movement-building than the logistical issues related above, is activists’ inability to construct a common vision.

Seeking a Common Vision

In order for activists to build sustainable movements, they must have a shared perception of their goal. They must agree on one political project. Otherwise, there is no unifying vision for the movement, no collective ideology. Movements cannot be cultivated unless there is a common “ideological current running through them.” If this is true, the organizations’ and movements’ inability to find unifying principles may best explain their failure to unite.

This dilemma is not unique to WDF, WFRA, and Abahlali. It has, in fact, plagued activists the world over. The debate generally centers on whether or not there is inherent value in local struggles. Some activists and academics contend that in community-based organizations and movements, fighting bread and butter issues is enough. Communities do not care about concepts like globalization and neoliberalism that do not directly and immediately affect them in ways they can see.

Ashwin Desai contends that even though new movements are not ideologically “pure” and may not know anything about the WTO or the World Bank, “they know their enemies. It is the mayor, local councillor (whatever his or her party) and their armed henchmen, most immediately. And in the distance, they probably can see Pretoria’s hand.” He adds that it is the movements’ “closeness to their foe that makes them strong.”

Abahlali members agree. In a critique of the SMI agenda’s emphasis on financial institutions and globalization, an Abahlali member declared, “At Abahlali, we are not fighting capitalism. We are not fighting Bush. The IMF is far away from us. Our struggles are on the ground. They are local struggles.”

However, many activists and academics believe such an attitude is short-sighted. Local problems are different everywhere, so fighting exclusively local battles makes building a large movement difficult. It also complicates activists’ efforts to construct sustainable movements because once officials concede the community’s immediate demands, the fight is over. But, the community is bound to face future problems because they have failed to address the source of their problems – privatization, commodification and the like.

David Harvey maintains that emphasizing the role of financial institutions like the IMF and the WTO in promoting and perpetuating “neo-liberal imperialism” is the only way to link local struggles. He writes: “Some way must be found, both theoretically and politically, to move beyond the amorphous concept of ‘the multitude’ without falling into the trap of ‘my community, locality, or social group right or wrong.’” Similarly, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri argue that ‘the multitude’ must struggle “to contest and subvert Empire” (which essentially represents capitalism and globalization) by resisting processes of globalization.

The leaders of WDF and WFRA concur. A WFRA leader explained that although most of her members “don’t understand ideas like globalization and capitalism,” they do “understand the importance of unity,” and so it is up to the leadership to “institute educational programs” to help them see the big picture.

Looking to the Future

Despite the many obstacles activists face, confidence emanates from every organization and movement with activists defiantly stating: “The struggle will continue until there are no more shacks in South Africa,” “It [the struggle] will not stop until we get what we want. We want freedom,” and “We will win. We never lose hope.”

Though Wentworth remains divided and Chatsworth’s once-united front (the Concerned Citizens Forum) collapsed amidst racial acrimony, activists from both organizations remain hopeful. A WDF activist related, “If we could come together as organizations in the Wentworth community and work together and put our differences aside and say this is actually for the people… we would be so much better off.” Another predicted that WDF and social movements in general will grow, boldly proclaiming: “Revolution will grow here. The peasants will rise up.” Similar ideas thrive within WFRA. When during a WFRA meeting, a member declared: “We want to unite as a community… We need to rise now,” she was met with enthusiastic applause.

Abahlali activists believe their movement will grow and flourish, and they hope to one day become a national force. Their predictions for the future reveal a profound confidence and optimism: “After we win the housing battle, we will not be shack dwellers anymore and we will be able to take up new issues like evictions, water, and electricity. Maybe we will join up with Anti-Evictions Campaign… One day, Abahlali will be a poor people’s movement;” “Abahlali will grow into a big movement. It will grow bigger because it includes people from all different political parties… Everyone is tired of being deceived and more people will soon realize that they’re being played by the government. People will see the truth… Abahlali will be all over the country;” “If there are actions in lots of municipalities all over the country then maybe Abahlali can force at least the provincial governments to rethink how they function. Then there might be a possibility that the national government too will have to change.”

Conclusion

Will the WDF and WFRA find ways to overcome their lack of resources and crippling political arguments to successfully build movements, or are they doomed to remain small-scale CBOs until they expire? Will Abahlali succeed in building the “poor people’s movement” of which it dreams, or will it fall victim to the fate of so many other movements, collapsing the very moment it is at its most successful? If theory has any extrapolative value, there may be hope yet, as I have shown that all three of the organizations under investigation utilize openings in political opportunity, framing, and resource mobilization (though with difficulty) effectively. But, as I have also shown, they must find a way to cultivate concurrence on a common political project before they can move forward in a united front.

However, this paper does not claim to predict the future and perhaps this matter is subsidiary anyway. Both small CBOs and mass movements ebb and flow. That is the nature of the protest cycle. The movements best able to utilize and create political opportunities, develop meaningful and resonant frames, and mobilize their resources effectively will likely last the longest, but if a movement dies because it has ceased to do these things and has ceased to serve a purpose, there may well be no reason to mourn. Perhaps more important than how long an organization or movement lasts is what it does while it is around.

This paper has attempted to explore this topic by revealing the diversity of ways in which activists in Westcliff Flat Residents Association, Wentworth Development Forum, and Abahlali baseMjondolo frame their demands, themselves, and their enemies. It has furthermore explored their efforts to grow stronger and bigger by uniting, the multiple perspectives that exist within the movements as to the direction and form unity should take, and the many obstacles they face as the push forward into the future.

Bibliography of Interviews and Meetings

In chronological order…

1. Wentworth activists – October 22 – 29, 2006
2. SMI organizer – November, 2, 2006
3. SMI planning meeting – November 4, 2006
4. WFRA meeting – November 5, 2006
5. WDF member – November 6, 2006
6. WFRA member – November 7, 2006
7. SMI organizer – November 10, 2006
8. Patrick Bond – November 14, 2006
9. Ashwin Desai – November 14, 2006
10. WFRA meeting – November 15, 2006
11. WFRA member – November 15, 2006
12. WFRA member – November 15, 2006
13. WFRA member – November 15, 2006
14. WFRA member – November 15, 2006
15. WFRA member – November 16, 2006
16. WFRA member – November 16, 2006
17. WFRA member – November 16, 2006
18. WFRA member – November 16, 2006
19. WDF member – November 16, 2006
20. Richard Pithouse – November 18, 2006
21. Esset Workshop with Abahlali – November 20, 2006
22. Abahlali member – November 20, 2006
23. Abahlali member – November 20, 2006
24. Abahlali member – November 21, 2006
25. Abahlali member – November 21, 2006
26. Church Land Program member – November 22, 2006
27. Abahlali member – November 22, 2006
28. Abahlali member – November 22, 2006
29. WDF member – November 23, 2006
30. WDF member – November 23, 2006
31. Abahlali meeting – November 25, 2006
32. Abahlali member – December 7, 2006
33. SMI organizer – December 7, 2006

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Notes