Repression in Zimbabwe exposes South Africa's weakness

 

President Emmerson Mnangagwa of Zimbabwe and President Cyril Ramaphiosa of South Africa in 2018. GCIS

South African president Cyril Ramaphosa’s despatch of envoys to Zimbabwe in a bid to defuse the latest crisis, in which the government has engaged in a vicious crackdown on opponents, journalists and the freedoms of speech, association and protest, has been widely welcomed.

Such has been the brutality of the latest assault on human rights by President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s regime that something had to be done. And, as the big brother neighbour next door, South Africa is the obvious actor to do it.

It may be guaranteed that Ramaphosa’s envoys – Sydney Mufamadi, a former government minister turned academic, and Baleka Mbete, a former deputy president of South Africa, former speaker of the National Assembly and former chairperson of the African National Congress (ANC) – were sent off to Harare with a very limited brief. They were accompanied by Advocate Ngoako Ramatlhodi and diplomat Ndumiso Ntshinge.

The mission quickly ran into trouble. The envoys returned to South Africa without meeting members of the opposition.

Observers and activists are rightly sceptical about how much will come out of it. The best that is seriously hoped for is that South African diplomacy will bring about immediate relief. This would include: the release of journalists, opposition figures and civil society activists from jail; promises to withdraw the military from the streets; perhaps even some jogging of the Mnangagwa government to meet with its opponents and to make some trifling concessions.

After all, the pattern is now well established: crisis, intervention, promises by the Zanu-PF regime to behave, and then relapse after a decent interval to the sort of behaviour that prompted the latest crisis in the first place.

But in a previous era, South Africa once made Zimbabwe’s dependence count.

South Africa has done it once

Back in 1976, apartheid South Africa’s Prime Minister John B. Vorster fell in with US plans to bring about a settlement in then Rhodesia, and hence relieve international pressure on his own government, by withdrawing military and economic support and closing the border between the two countries.

Ian Smith had little choice but to comply. Today, no one, not even the most starry-eyed hopefuls among the ranks of the opposition and civil society in Zimbabwe, believe that Ramaphosa’s South Africa will be prepared to wield such a big stick. The time is long past that Pretoria’s admonitions of bad behaviour are backed by a credible threat of sanction and punishment.

So, why is it that Vorster could bring about real change, twisting Smith’s arm to engage in negotiations with his liberation movement opponents that eventually led to a settlement and a transition to majority rule, and ANC governments – from the time of Nelson Mandela onwards – have been so toothless?

If we want an answer, we need to look at three fundamental differences between 1976 and now.

First, Vorster was propelled into pressuring Smith by the US, which was eager to halt the perceived advance of communism by bringing about a settlement in Rhodesia which was acceptable to the West. In turn, Vorster thought that by complying with US pressure, his regime would earn Washington’s backing as an anti-communist redoubt. Today there is no equivalent spur to act. It is unlikely that US president Donald Trump could point to Zimbabwe on a map.

Britain, the European Union and other far-off international actors all decry the human rights abuses in Zimbabwe. But they have largely given up on exerting influence, save to extend vitally needed humanitarian aid (and thank God for that). Zimbabwe has retreated into irrelevance, except as a case study as a failed state. They are not likely to reenter the arena and throw good money and effort at the Zimbabwean problem until they are convinced that something significant, some serious political change for the good, is likely to happen.

Second, South African intervention today is constrained by liberation movement solidarity. They may have their differences and arguments, but Zanu-PF and the ANC, which governs South Africa, remain bound together by the conviction that they are the embodiments of the logic of history.

---

Read more: How liberators turn into oppressors: a study of southern African states

---

As the leading liberators of their respective countries, they believe they represent the true interests of the people. If the people say otherwise in an election, this can only be because they have been duped or bought. It cannot be allowed that history should be put into reverse.

Former South African president Thabo Mbeki played a crucial role in forging a coalition government between Zanu-PF and the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) after the latter effectively won the parliamentary election in 2008. But South Africa held back from endorsing reliable indications that MDC leader Morgan Tsvangirai had also won the presidential election against Robert Mugabe.

As a result, Tsvangirai was forced into a runoff presidential contest, supposedly because he had won less than 50% of the poll. The rest is history.

Zanu-PF struck back with a truly vicious campaign against the MDC, Tsvangirai withdrew from the contest, and Mugabe remained as president, controlling the levers of power. The ANC looked on, held its nose, and scuttled home to Pretoria saying the uneasy coalition it left behind was a job well done.

Third, successive Zanu-PF governments have become increasingly militarised. Mnangagwa may have put his military uniform aside, but it is the military which now calls the shots. It ultimately decides who will front for its power. There have been numerous statements by top ranking generals that they will never accept a government other than one formed by Zanu-PF. The African Union and Southern African Development Community have both outlawed coups, but everyone knows that the Mnangagwa government is a military government in all but name.

Lamentably inadequate

So, it is all very well to call for a transitional government, one which would see Zanu-PF engaging with the opposition parties and civil society and promising a return to constitutional rule and the holding of a genuinely democratic election. But we have been there before.

The fundamental issue is how Zimbabwe’s military can be removed from power, and how Zimbabwean politics can be demilitarised. Without the military behind it, Zanu-PF would be revealed as a paper tiger, and would meet with a heavy defeat in a genuinely free and fair election.

According to Ibbo Mandaza, the veteran activist and analyst in Harare, what Zimbabwe needs is the establishment of a transitional authority tasked with returning the country to constitutional government and enabling an economic recovery. Nice idea, but a pipe dream.

No one in their right mind believes that a Ramaphosa government, whose own credibility is increasingly threadbare because of its bungled response to the coronavirus epidemic, its corruption and its economic incompetence, has the stomach to bring this about. We can expect fine words and promises and raised hopes, but lamentably little action until the next crisis comes around, when the charade will start all over again.

Any relief, any improvement on the present situation will be welcomed warmly in Zimbabwe. But no one in Harare – whether in government, opposition or civil society – will really believe that Ramaphosa’s increasingly ramshackle government will be prepared to tackle the issue that really matters: removing the military from power.

Roger Southall, Professor of Sociology, University of the Witwatersrand

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

The ANC insists it's still a political vanguard: this is what ails democracy in South Africa

The post-apartheid system of participatory democracy is generally considered to have failed. EPA-EFE/Yeshiel Panchia

A common claim of the governing African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa is its commitment to participatory democracy: the involvement of citizens in decisions about issues that affect their lives. It is a principle and a system, primarily at the local government level, that has been institutionalised alongside representative democratic government.

The country has a prominent history of popular participation in the struggle for democracy. Under the largely ANC-aligned national liberation movement, mass participation and popular control characterised the struggle discourse. South Africans have shown, as opponents of apartheid and as free citizens, their desire to engage government.

Yet the post-apartheid system of participatory democracy is generally considered to have failed. This is evident in the weaknesses of institutionalised mechanisms and the growth of informal channels such as protests. Citizens still lack influence in governance processes.

With this in mind, I set out to examine the roots of this policy failure. My findings are published in a book, The African National Congress and Participatory Democracy.

It examines the ANC’s understanding of participatory democracy – first as a liberation movement, then as a government since 1994. It seeks to show how the failure of participatory democracy can be linked to the ideas that underpin it.

A precedent for participation

Founded in 1912 by a small group of educated, middle class Africans, the ANC grew into a mass movement in the 1940s. It later became an exiled underground organisation from 1960, after its banning by the apartheid regime. In exile, its roots in African nationalism merged with Marxist-Leninist ideology.

It draws on these intellectual traditions, but has always been a “broad church”. There has never been a singular, uniform understanding of participation within the ANC. Instead, during the struggle, multiple traditions and approaches to popular participation emerged.

In the 1980s, as the struggle heightened, one of these ideas took form in the “people’s power” movement. Rooted in local, informal structures of self-governance, it represented for some participants a form of prefigurative, participatory democracy, built from the bottom up.

From 1990, with the onset of talks to end apartheid, and after the first democratic elections in 1994, some of this inspiration was woven into public policy. This was often through participation of civic and labour movements in formulating policy.

The 1994 Reconstruction and Development Programme emphasised people-driven development. This ethos informed the 1998 White Paper on Local Government and legislation that established municipal ward committees as key forums for citizen participation.

But new ideas and influences also emerged – from development theory, governance discourse and international best practice. They can be seen in various consultative mechanisms, such as ward committees and municipal development planning.

Some discomfort has arisen between an impetus for managing the public sector efficiently and allowing citizens to participate. But South Africa’s public policy on participation does allow for some popular influence.

Separately, though, the ANC as a movement has a distinct discourse about participation.

The political vanguard idea

Emerging from its dominant intellectual heritage, the ANC’s very identity as a mass movement is rooted in the notion that it exists as a political vanguard. Associated with the ideas of Vladimir Lenin, the vanguard party is a vehicle led by an enlightened, revolutionary leadership through which the people can be led to freedom.

The adoption since 1994 of a largely market-oriented economic strategy makes this discourse meaningless at a policy level. Yet the narrative continues.

ANC documents, statements and commentary still refer to the governing party as “a vanguard movement”. For example, its discussion document on organisational renewal, presented at its most recent policy conference in 2017, stated:

The ANC has to operate as a vanguard movement with political, ideological and organisational capacity to direct the state and give leadership to the motive forces in all spheres of influence and pillars of our transformation.

Why is this a problem for participatory democracy?

Vanguardism holds that a dedicated movement – or party – is needed to give ideological, moral and intellectual leadership through a process of “conscientisation”. A vanguard views itself as a true representative, able to interpret the popular will. The people must not only see the vanguard’s objectives as in their best interests. They must also see leadership by that vanguard as essential for those interests to be secured. It implies a fundamental connection between the people’s collective needs and the leadership of their vanguard organisation.

An active role for the people is a critical component of vanguardism. But the movement must guide participation. It’s not the form of participation that’s usually associated with democracy. But the ANC understands it as being the same as participatory democracy.

Vanguardism versus participatory democracy

The challenge for South Africa’s democracy is that the very existence of vanguardism prevents citizens from being empowered. It keeps the party dominant. It also contains what the political theorist Joseph V. Femia, in his book Marxism and Democracy, p.136), said was an important tension in Marxism generally, between a desire for

political control from above and popular initiative from below.

This can be framed as a tension between vanguardism and participatory democracy.

Twenty six years since the end of apartheid, South Africa has reached a critical point in its democracy. Popular disillusionment with the ANC, failures in government performance and the rise of popular protest are evident. But certain ideas continue to influence the way democracy is practised.

The ANC has been found wanting as a leader of society. Rampant corruption and abuse of office have marred its claim to the rightful leadership of South Africa’s people. It was inevitable that citizens would lose faith in formal political processes.

The difficult path from liberation movement to governing party is well-trodden in Africa. Liberation struggles across the continent were conducted in the context of state repression. Political organisations were not free to operate openly.

But the requirements of underground operations and of unity in struggle are different to those of democracy. Organisational traditions focused not on empowering citizens but on maintaining movement hegemony do not allow democratic influence and agency to flourish.

The African National Congress and Participatory Democracy: From Peoples Power to Public Policy is published by Palgrave Macmillan.

Heidi Brooks, Senior Researcher and Associate, Mapungubwe Institute for Strategic Reflection

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

Prisons and jails are coronavirus epicenters – but they were once designed to prevent disease outbreaks

Calls for help at Chicago’s Cook County jail, where hundreds of inmates and staff have COVID-19, April 9, 2020.
Kamil Krzaczynski/AFP via Getty Images

Jails and prisons around the United States are considering freeing some of their inmates for fear that correctional facilities will become epicenters in the coronavirus pandemic.

COVID-19 has infected hundreds of prisoners and staff in city jails, state prisons and federal prisons.

New York, California and Ohio were among the first to release incarcerated people. Other states have followed, saying it is the only way to protect prisoners, correctional workers, their families and the broader community.

Jails and prisons often lack basic hygiene products, have minimal health care services and are overcrowded. Social distancing is nearly impossible except in solitary confinement, but that poses its own dangers to mental and physical health.

As a prison scholar, I recognize a sad irony in this public health problem: The United States’ very first prisons were actually designed to avoid the spread of infectious disease.

Early American jails

The first U.S. prisons emerged in reaction to the overcrowded, violent, disease-infested jails of the colonial era.

Prisons as we understand them today – places of long-term confinement as a punishment for crime – are relatively new developments. In the U.S. they came about in the 1780s and 1790s, after the American Revolution.

Previously, American colonies under British control relied on execution and corporal punishments.

Jails in America and England during that period were not themselves places of punishment. They were just holding tanks. Debtors were jailed until they paid their debts. Vagrants were jailed until they found work. Accused criminals were jailed while awaiting trial, and convicted criminals were jailed while awaiting punishment or until they paid their court fines.

The British penal reformer John Howard visiting a prison.
Wikipedia, CC BY-NC

Consequently, early American jails were not designed for long detentions, even if people sometimes stayed for months or longer.

The physical structure of these unregulated local facilities – often run by sheriffs or private citizens who charged room and board fees – varied. Jail could be a spare room in a roadside inn, a stone building with barred windows or a subterranean dungeon.

Fear of disease

Disease, violence and exploitation were rampant in these squalid American colonial and British jails.

John Howard, a British aristocrat whose ideas influenced American penal reformers, became concerned about living conditions in these “abode[s] of wickedness, disease, and misery” when he became a sheriff. In a 1777 book, Howard recounts smelling vinegar, a common disinfectant of the era, to protect against the revolting smell of the jails he visited.

Howard warned readers that jails spread disease not only among inmates but also beyond, into society. He recalled the so-called Black Assize of 1577, in which prisoners awaiting trial were brought from jail to an Oxford courthouse and “within forty hours” more than 300 people who had been at court were dead from “gaol fever” – what we now call typhus.

He also wrote of infected prisoners who, once released, brought diseases from jail into their communities, killing scores.

Disease also shaped Howard’s understanding of how criminality spread.

He described how young “innocents” – the children of people jailed for debt or those awaiting trial for a petty offense – were seduced by dashing bandits’ stories of crime and adventure. Thus “infected,” they went on to become criminals themselves.

America’s first prisons

Howard’s ideas, particularly the realization that jails posed a threat to the public, were brought to the U.S. by Philadelphia reformers like Benjamin Rush, a physician and signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Following the recommendations in Howard’s book, American penal reformers pushed for new jails designed to ward off disease, crime and immorality of all kinds.

Howard envisioned new facilities that would be well ventilated and cleaned daily. Clothing and bedding should be changed weekly. There would even be an infirmary staffed by “an experienced surgeon” who would update authorities on the state of prisoner health.

Howard’s plan for a ‘County Gaol’
The Royal Collection Trust

American reformers followed Howard’s advice that “women-felons” should be kept “quite separate from the men: and young criminals from old and hardened offenders.” Debtors, too, should be kept “totally separate” from the “felons.”

Prisoners should be separated from one another, ideally in cells. Crowding should be avoided. All this would prevent the spread of disease and enable the prisoners’ repentance – and thus their rehabilitation.

Using Howard’s book as their guide, Rush and his colleagues transformed Philadelphia’s aging and overcrowded Walnut Street Jail into one of the country’s first state prisons by 1794. The Walnut Street Prison model was soon adopted nationwide.

Philadelphia’s Walnut Street Jail.
Wikipedia Commons

Health care in prisons today

The U.S. long ago departed from the idea that prisons should protect both prisoners and society.

The biggest shift in prison health care occurred between the 1970s and today – the era of mass incarceration. The U.S. incarceration rate doubled between 1974 to 1985 and then doubled again by 1995. The number of people in American prisons peaked in 2010, at 1.5 million. It has declined slightly since, but the U.S. still has the world’s largest incarcerated population.

Prison building, although unprecedented in scale, has not kept pace. Many corrections facilities in the U.S. are dangerously overcrowded.

A gymnasium turned dorm at the California Institution for Men in Chino, May 24, 2011.
Ann Johansson/Corbis via Getty Images

In 1993, 40 states were under court orders to reduce overcrowding or otherwise resolve unconstitutional prison conditions. Many more lawsuits followed. Still, the prison population grew.

One consequence of overcrowding is that prison officials have a difficult time providing adequate health care.

In 2011 the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that overcrowding undermined health care in California’s prisons, causing avoidable deaths. The justices upheld a lower court’s finding that this caused an “unconscionable degree of suffering” in violation of the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment.

Amid a worldwide pandemic, such conditions are treacherous. Some of the worst COVID-19 outbreaks in U.S. prisons and jails are in places – like Louisiana and Chicago – whose prison health systems have been ruled unconstitutionally inadequate.

Criminologists and advocates say many more people should be released from jails and prison, even some convicted of violent crimes if they have underlying health conditions.

Opponents of coronavirus-related releases, including state officials in Louisiana, contend that the move poses a high risk to public safety. And victims of violent crimes complain that they have not been notified when their victimizers are set to be released.

The decision to release prisoners cannot be made lightly. But arguments against it discount a reality recognized over two centuries ago: The health of prisoners and communities are inextricably linked.

Coronavirus confirms that prison walls do not, in fact, separate the welfare of those on the inside from those on the outside.

[You need to understand the coronavirus pandemic, and we can help. Read The Conversation’s newsletter.]

Ashley Rubin, Assistant Professor of Sociology, University of Hawaii

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

South Africa's COVID-19 lockdown: cigarettes and outdoor exercise could ease the tension

There is no documented health benefit that warrants banning cigarette sales for 21 days.
Getty Images

What do South Africa, China, Germany, the UK and the US have in common? That each differs from the other. Ample empirical evidence shows that economic and health measures that work sometimes, in some places, don’t always work everywhere.

South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa has been praised for being decisive in the face of the COVID-19 outbreak. We agree with this positive view. Ramaphosa has demonstrated a quality of leadership matched by disappointingly few leaders globally. But we fear that some of the recently implemented policies are not best for the South African context. South Africa could be charting its own course, for the benefit of the nation and continent.

As matters stand, the South African lockdown emulates and, in some respects, surpasses restrictions elsewhere. Some of the restrictions are gratuitous, impractical or harmful.

What is lockdown in South Africa?

South African lockdown restrictions are among the most extreme globally. South Africans may not leave their homes except to procure essential goods and services. This excludes the purchase of cigarettes and alcohol. It also excludes outdoor exercise.

For those living in freestanding properties in the suburbs, and enjoying an uninterrupted salary from a large company or institution, the lockdown is a little like a spiritual retreat. They can stay at home and drink coffee in their pyjamas on the deck without even a passing car to disturb them.

But most South Africans do not live like this. Even wealthy South Africans often live in complexes or estates without access to non-communal outside space. And many more live in crowded accommodation, whether in poor urban areas, formerly wealthy suburbs, central business districts, or well-spaced rural dwellings that are nonetheless occupied by many people.

It is one thing to stay in a suburban house, with a nice garden for fresh air and sunshine. It is another to spend the day in a small shack with 10 other people, especially when only “an estimated 46.3% of households had access to piped water in their dwellings in 2018”.

Domestic violence, rape and child abuse are serious problems in South Africa. Most of these crimes are committed by people close to the victim. The lockdown measures are likely to place stress on abusers and make it hard for the abused to escape.

It is no surprise that the lockdown restrictions are already being widely violated. This is not about disobedience: it is about the difficulty of complying. If you have to leave your dwelling merely to answer a call of nature, then you are not in a meaningful lockdown. And even with army support, policing will be extraordinarily difficult. Communities would need to fall into line of their own volition, and their circumstances make it hard for them to do so.

Cigarettes as essential goods

Nicotine withdrawal causes bad temper, frustration, agitation, anxiety and mood swings. The damaging health effects of smoking are well established, but although early stages of lung-recovery are visible a full month after one stops smoking, there is no evidence suggesting that COVID-19 symptoms are alleviated by 21 days of abstinence. There is no documented COVID-19 health benefit within a 21-day window to warrant prohibiting the sale of cigarettes. But there is considerable short-term risk to the mental wellbeing of those who use tobacco as a coping mechanism.

This restriction on civil liberties causes misery for no public health benefit and may increase the risk of domestic violence as people suffer withdrawal in confined and stressful circumstances.

The prohibition of alcohol makes more sense. But behavioural factors must be considered, including the incentive to stockpile and the criminal opportunity for bootlegging. Restricting alcohol purchase prior to the lockdown might have made sense. That window has closed. At this stage the case for putting alcohol on the list of essential goods is weak. The case for including cigarettes, however, is strong.

Outdoor exercise is essential

“No jogging. No dog walking. Stay inside.” That is the message from the government. This is a public health problem of note: exercise, even a small amount of it, is essential to stay healthy, especially for the elderly, and thus many of those most at risk from COVID-19.

Exercise, including mild exercise such as going for a walk, appears to alleviate or prevent depression. It is easy to write off the value of mental wellbeing at a time when serious physical disease threatens. But this is a mistake. Mental illness has physical consequences for the sufferer and those around them, and can make life seem not worth living.

When defining “essential goods and services”, we must ask “essential for what?” There is much that is not strictly essential to our survival that nonetheless we value greatly. We may even value some of these things above survival, such as the wellbeing of our children.

The current usage of the word “essential” imposes a value judgement. It makes the avoidance of COVID-19 infection the paramount goal. It implicitly places less value on mental health, and even physical health where that is independent of COVID-19.

Is a lockdown right in South Africa?

Context matters. Whether the lockdown works depends on the context in which it is done. The lockdown is worthwhile if it prolongs life for a significant number of people. But some of the measures in South Africa have no health benefit.

South African leaders should consider the full range of responses available to them, and assess the costs and benefits within their context. Regional quarantine arguably failed in Italy, but was apparently more successful in China. South Africa was designed by the apartheid government to keep people apart.

What is to be done?

We are not advocating inaction or negligence. Reducing the rate of infection is a laudable goal. We would suggest, in particular, the addition of cigarettes to the list of basic goods, and the insertion of a right to exercise out of doors provided physical distance is maintained (along the lines of guidelines elsewhere).

More generally we suggest that, given very different conditions in relatively wealthy suburbs, inner cities, crowded low-income areas and rural areas, restrictions be considered on a provincial or local rather than a national basis. This is in line with the successful practice in China.

Benjamin T H Smart, Associate Professor, University of Johannesburg and Alex Broadbent, Director of the Institute for the Future of Knowledge and Professor of Philosophy, University of Johannesburg

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

Pandemic underscores gross inequalities in South Africa, and the need to fix them

Per-Anders Pettersson.
GettyImages

Now more than ever, South Africans are painfully aware of the inequalities that continue to play out in the country. In people’s pre-COVID-19 lives, the realities of living in a country that is among the most unequal in the world were easily overlooked. The pandemic shines a very bright light on this reality. It asks us to fundamentally address them – not just at this time of the pandemic, but as a social justice imperative.

As messaging about preventing the coronavirus ramped up, the consequences of inequalities in the provision of basic service provision in the country have become clear. These disparities between rich and poor are reflected across a range of interventions that have been put in place to manage the pandemic and its social and economic consequences. These include access to water, housing circumstances, as well as people’s very high dependence on social grants and the informal sector for income.

Five areas where inequality is starkest

Living circumstances: The preventive measures have highlighted inequalities in living circumstances. Take the case of hand washing. The 1.1 to 1.4 million people who live in informal settlements in South Africa don’t have access to water in their homes or in their yards. An estimated 19% of the nearly 19 million people living in rural areas lack access to reliable supply of clean water; 33% do not have basic sanitation. This makes regular hand washing difficult. And social distancing or quarantining is near impossible when water access and ablutions are communal, and where settlements are overcrowded.

Livelihoods: For many people at the upper end of the wage spectrum, working remotely has been relatively easy, with limited impact on their ability to earn a living. Such workers are in the formal labour market. They are protected by both a legal and social contract as well as a safety net of unemployment benefits.

Small business owners will be under significant pressure in the coming weeks and months. But they will be partially cushioned by the business support measures announced by the government.

In contrast, the most vulnerable workers will struggle without support at this time. Casual workers (like many domestic workers), those who are self-employed (such as Uber drivers), and those working in the informal economy are not protected by legal contracts.

In general these workers, who make up over 20% of South Africa’s workforce, cannot access unemployment benefits. They will be under enormous pressure financially, potentially unable to feed themselves and their families.

President Cyril Ramaphosa has made it clear that the government is aware of these challenges and will move to ensure support. But it remains to be seen what that entails.

Education: Inequalities in education were also immediately evident when school were closed. While private schools and many suburban public schools were able to switch to technology-supported learning relatively easily, most public schools were not.

The directive by the Department of Basic Education was to ensure that learning continued by providing workbooks and worksheets online. But, many parents will be facing the very real struggle of supporting their families in a locked down economy. This, and other problems, including limited access to technology and data, means that many parents will struggle to supervise their children’s learning.

Equally concerning is how this will affect education outcomes in the longer term. Analysis already shows how learning backlogs in the early years, forged in an unequal education system, are compounded over time. Further backlogs under the current situation are likely to have long-term effects.

Access to the internet: Manuel Castells, a sociologist concerned with the internet age and inequality, notes in his book The Internet Galaxy:

The fundamental digital divide is not measured by the number of connections to the Internet, but by the consequences of both connection and lack of connection.

At universities and other higher education institutions, wealthier students have been able to switch to online learning quickly, while poorer students battle with high data costs.

Inequalities in access to data further entrench existing inequalities in education and livelihoods during the COVID-19 crisis.

Food security: The effects of panic buying on the food security of people with limited income has received attention. But a less well-known impact of the measures is that over 9 million children will not receive a daily, nutritious meal while schools remain closed.

The National School Nutrition Programme potentially has positive effects on reducing stunting and obesity. In the face of prolonged school closures, these children face increased food insecurity, with potential long-term consequences for their health.

There have been heartwarming responses from the public to ensure that food packs are provided to children. But it is simply not possible to reach the over 9 million children who depend on this meal.

What can be done?

The measures announced by President Ramaphosa to mitigate the problem reflect an understanding of how existing inequalities will affect especially the most vulnerable people, and a willingness to address the problem.

Social protection measures that can quickly provide a safety net are crucial at this time. But, the current social protection system provides a safety net only to those outside of the labour market – children, older people, and people with disabilities. Unemployment benefits accrue to those in formal employment who contribute to the Unemployment Insurance Fund. This leaves the vast majority of working-age adults without a safety net at this time.

While there have been relatively quick changes to existing mechanisms to provide support to small, medium and micro enterprises there are, as yet, no measures to protect informal and casual workers and ensure cash injections into vulnerable households.

The country needs to devise a social contract to better address the vulnerabilities that low-wage, casual and informal workers face daily.

The country must also move towards having low-cost, reliable internet access that can open up opportunities for learning and work for its most vulnerable citizens. Basic services – such as clean water, electricity and sanitation – must also be of a quality that not only promotes people’s right to dignity, but also help protect people from the effects of such a pandemic as COVID-19.

This pandemic highlights how crucial it is to fundamentally address the inequalities that exist in South African society. If a social justice imperative does not push us to do so, perhaps the realisation of mutual connections, borne of a pandemic that knows no class or race lines, will.

---

Read more:
South Africa can – and should – top up child support grants to avoid a humanitarian crisis

---

Lauren Graham, Associate professor at the Centre for Social Development in Africa, University of Johannesburg, University of Johannesburg

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.