Available at http://www.mg.co.za/articlePage.aspx?articleid=283869&area=/columnist__richard_calland/

Last Monday, in the middle of the Kennedy Road informal settlement where he lives, S’bu Zikade, the leader of Abahlali baseMjondolo — the shack dwellers’ movement of Durban — made a carefully composed speech in which he reminded the 20 000 people who live there that the rights in the Constitution are “for us, and not just the rich people”.

It’s a simple enough statement, repeated no doubt thousands of times in any one month throughout South Africa, but behind it reside a thousand unanswered questions.

One stands out: will a new extra-parliamentary struggle for human rights enable South Africa’s democracy to survive the internecine warfare that has begun to consume the ANC alliance — rendering the apparently chronic and deepening divisions an enervating but ultimately frivolous irrelevance?

Monday’s gathering was to launch a history-making right to information campaign under the Promotion of Access to Information Act.

Durban’s ANC mayor, Obed Mlaba, has made extravagant promises in the past. Now, he and city manager Mike Sutcliffe have 30 days to provide detailed information about their housing policy — the how, the what and the when of the city’s plan for their homeless.

The Durban event had broader resonance for two reasons. First, rights are being taken up by an active citizenry that refuses, despite severe material deprivation, to succumb to a culture of victimhood. Second, there is an alternative sphere of real politics, quite separate from the formal operation of government and represented political parties, which will be ignored at peril.

Some of the songs that were sung were ANC struggle songs, and no less stirring than of old, but what was said in the speeches shows that now there is little love lost. The meeting began with a rousing rendition of the national anthem and a large South African flag was painstakingly erected to the side of the nearest shack, but the ANC councillors were not welcome and the Alliance partners were conspicuous by their absence.

“Too busy scrabbling for power and fighting among themselves,” remarked one local activist. Fair comment. Ahead of the Cosatu conference later this month, trade unions are preoccupied not with matters of socioeconomic rights or inequality or jobs, but with Jacob Zuma and the bitter rivalries fanned by the succession battle.

No doubt the thousands of shop stewards around the country continue their thankless task of protecting hard-won workplace rights. But there is a strong sense that Cosatu has taken its eye off the ball; that the good work of many unionists is being undermined by the cringe-worthy personality clashes of their leaders.

No doubt, too, some of those at the forefront of the factionalism will vigorously assert that this also is the real stuff of politics, that it is not just about who leads, but the future of the governing ANC alliance and the country.

Exploiting divisions, Jacob Zuma positions himself now as a working-class hero and earnest advocate of socialism. To those who know him best within the mainstream ANC, this provokes only hoots of derision. So let us rehearse, once again, the rationale that comes from those Cosatu and SACP leaders who most ardently favour his candidacy for the presidency: “JZ is not Mbeki; moreover, he is not part of the ruling elite; he is a challenge to the current establishment and will, therefore, create new space for us to pursue a different set of policies in government.”

Putting aside the precarious logic, there is also a grand self-delusion. They may not consider themselves as such — and the power that they wield may not leverage as much influence as other significant players, such as the grand capitalists, old and new — but the analysis fails to recognise that certainly compared to Abahlali,
they are very much a part of the new establishment.

What lies beneath all of this is another fundamental question: who owns and controls progressive democratic politics in South Africa? Is it still the ANC? Is it the secret funders that pump money to keep the ruling party’s wheels turning round? Or the companies whose interests so many in its national executive committee now serve? Or is it now, in fact, new social movements such as Abahlali?

While the ANC’s slide towards public anarchy continues unabated, Cosatu faces its own set of choices. Is it letting slip its own stake in progressive politics? Will it succumb completely to the politics of personality and factionalism — an act of embarrassing self-indulgence in the face of the real politics of the struggle for human dignity that is being waged in Kennedy Road?

Or will the labour movement summon the resolve as it has in the past to rise above, so as to retain its integrity, ensuring that its real purpose is not eclipsed by the short-term exigencies of leadership contests? Otherwise, by the time it puts it collective eye back on the ball, Cosatu may discover that someone has run off with it.

Richard Calland’s book, Anatomy of Power — Who Holds the Power? will be published by Zebra Press next month