ASIL Programs > Career Development > Arthur C. Helton Fellowship > Helton Fellowship Profiles and Reflections > 2007 ASIL Helton Fellows > ASIL Helton Fellowship Reflections
How does one build a country? When the buildings and infrastructure, roads and malls, libraries and parks already exist, how does one then begin to build a country whose ideological foundation has come crashing down?
Kristian Collins, Pretoria, South Africa
 | This past summer I worked for a non-governmental organization, Lawyers Human Rights, in their Refugee & Migrant Rights division in Pretoria, South Africa. The experience was at times rich, at times scary, at times liberating, and at times depressing. Like the history of South Africa itself, my experience was complex, and I'm certain that I could not adequately summarize it in just two short pages. So instead, I decided to use this opportunity to serve three purposes. |
First, I wanted to express how sincerely grateful I am for being honored with an Arthur C. Helton Fellowship. Before I undertook this internship experience, my world and the range of career opportunities that I felt were available to me was quite narrow. But in just two short months, the world has opened up to me. I saw where my legal training and others' needs might intersect in ways that excite me and challenge my traditional notions of what practicing law means. And for that, I am sincerely grateful. Secondly, for anyone who is interested in reading in more detail what the last two months were like for me, here is the link to the blog that I created to chronicle my experiences in South Africa: http://asummerinsouthafrica.blogspot.com
Finally, as a means of briefly sharing what this internship experience was like for me, I thought I'd share an observation which in my mind reveals something of the struggle that is still taking place in "the new South Africa." My observation concerns one of the most current and controversial topics presently being discussed in South Africa - the government initiative to rename streets, parks, libraries, and other buildings in an attempt to symbolize a break with South Africa's apartheid past. At first glance, my thoughts on this topic might not seem particularly relevant to my experience working with refugees, but I believe that the two are inextricably related because at its core, this debate about names is really a conversation about the direction in which the country is moving and the extent to which South Africa's history can be acknowledged and celebrated without in anyway compromising its future course.
The controversy to which I'm referring involves the government's decision to change the names of streets, buildings, monuments, and cities across the country. For example, I flew into O.R. Tambo Airport which just years before was known as the Jan Smutts International Airport. The initial impetus behind re-baptizing these places was to signal a break with the country's apartheid past while celebrating the sacrifices made by black South Africans. As you might imagine, however, given the serious practical and life-threatening concerns that plague the country (HIV/AIDS, a new drug-resistant strain of TB, child-headed households, child abuse, poverty, lack of housing, unemployment, and the deteriorating situation in neighboring Zimbabwe) harsh criticism has accompanied the government's initiative. Lending credibility to their criticism is the fact that this initiative is a costly one. 1.5 billion Rand is the projected cost of changing just the capital city's name from Pretoria to Tshwane. And aside from the monetary expense, there's also a measurable environmental impact as natural resources are used to accomplish the reprinting of maps, stationary, text books, business cards, street signs, etc. Given these costs, there has been quite a bit of opposition to the project, so much so that during my entire visit, I did not once meet anyone who voiced support for the effort.
Nevertheless, I imagine that where the criticism of the project is quite practical, framed in terms of costs and expenditures, the praise of the project is more symbolic and ideological. I imagine that supporters might pose this question to us: "How does one build a country?" When the buildings and infrastructure, roads and malls, libraries and parks already exist, how does one then begin to re-build a country whose ideological foundation has come crashing down? What policies, practically speaking, does one institute? Is it strictly a matter of tearing down the negative structures that oppress, or is it also a matter of constructing something positive from the rubble? If the new South Africa is about more than tearing down, if it is in the process of building up, then how does that building up take shape? I imagine that proponents of the name changes might argue that if the battle itself is an ideological one, that the remedies must be ideological as well. And isn't the renaming of streets and towns, parks and cities, one ideological measure intended to honor those who laid the foundational framework for "the New South Africa?" I think that this is one argument likely advanced by those in favor of the name-change.
In short, I think that there are valid points to be made on both sides. Yes, the cost is tremendous and difficult to justify in a country with such pressing needs. At the same time, given the country's history, we must acknowledge that there are things more valuable than Dollars and Rand, including a country's sense of national pride and its commitment to democratic principles.
I know that this is just one tiny story, one limited observation, but for me this debate has broader implications because it highlights the sort of transformation that is happening in South Africa; practical reality versus liberal ideals. And that same struggle plays itself out in numerous contexts, including my work with asylum seekers.
During the time that I was in South Africa, Zimbabwe collapsed. That was literally the front page headline on the Pretoria News. "Zimbabwe Collapses" After struggling with 5000% inflation rates, the highest ever recorded in the world, the government intervened and forced businesses to cut their prices in half such that the country once celebrated as the "breadbasket of Africa" was left without, and the economy collapsed. As you might imagine, then, many came to South Africa in search of something better. Legally speaking, as I understand the law, these people have legitimate asylum claims based on the fact that South Africa considers eligible those persons who are fleeing events that have seriously disturbed public order in their country of origin. However, the general feeing that I encountered towards asylum-seekers, particularly those from Zimbabwe, was one of distrust, resentment, fear, and anger. Despite the fact that the national and international legal protections are there; despite the fact that South Africa boasts the most liberal Constitution in the world; despite South Africa's fresh memories of the vices of discrimination; and despite the existence of organizations like LHR dedicated to assisting asylum seekers, life for these people is still hard, and made harder by xenophobia.
One might expect that in such a country, where all the legal and institutional framework are in place, that progress would be easy to come by, but I don't think it is. That wasn't my experience. My impression was that some people are still entrenched in old patterns of thinking, absorbed by resentment and fear, such that it is going to take an ideological shift and another generation before we realize the next level of progress. So, how will changing the name from Pretoria to Tshwane help in this effort? Some will argue, "not at all." Others will draw attention to the intangible but legitimate psychic benefits accompanying such a shift.
For two months, I worked with refugees in Tshwane, South Africa. And what I learned during that time was that there are courageous people there who have something valuable to contribute to this conversation about the future of South Africa. Some of them are Afrikaans, some of British descent, some are refugees, asylum-seekers, permanent residents, some from Zimbabwe, others from Ethiopia, more still from India, Rwanda, Kenya, and Mozambique. Each of them made my time in their country very precious and I'm grateful to have been a part of this progressive dialogue with them.