Posts Tagged ‘Apartheid’
When Hermann Giliomee made the claim at the recent South African Historical Society conference that it is time to review the Bantu Education Act of 1953, the audience cried out in disgust. How could anyone have anything but contempt for an Act that have arguably had the most profound negative effect on South Africa’s economic fortunes, and still does? The Bantu Education Act of 1953 nationalised education for black South Africans (away from missionary education) and delineated spending on education according to race, with budgets heavily biased towards white education; in the 1970s, the per capita spending on black education was one-tenth of the spending on whites, for example. But the Act is probably most remembered for the following quote by Hendrik Verwoerd:
There is no place for [the Bantu] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour … What is the use of teaching the Bantu child mathematics when it cannot use it in practice?
I was reminded of this quote when Basic Education Minister Angie Motshekga said in parliament last week that one in four schools do not offer mathematics in grades 10, 11 and 12 because of teacher shortages and a low pupil enrollment. Let’s consider that again: 25% of the poorest schools cannot equip even their brightest kids with mathematics, a subject that is required to enter almost all technical fields, i.e. science, commerce, medicine, and engineering. Each of these schools might as well put a sign outside their classroom saying:
THERE IS NO PLACE FOR YOU IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN ECONOMY ABOVE THE LEVEL OF CERTAIN FORMS OF LABOUR!
The reasons for these schools not teaching maths are multifaceted. A culture of ‘liberation before education’, poor teacher quality and poor school management persists in many of these schools, a legacy of the Bantu Education Act and other apartheid policies. But there are other reasons too. Equal Education treasurer Doran Isaacs blames a too dogmatic focus on the matric pass rate:
It is a direct result of a narrow and single-minded pressure for schools to increase the matric pass rate at all costs. It is compulsory to either do maths or maths literacy. So these learners are doing maths literacy, which is basic arithmetic. The two are not comparable. Schools either push kids out or they stop offering maths altogether as a way of increasing the matric rate. This results in a new form of Bantu education where the richer kids do maths and the poorer kids do maths literacy.
Sadly, it is getting worse:
The basic education department’s reports indicate a 17% decline in the number of candidates who wrote mathematics between 2009 and 2013 (from about 290 400 to 241 400). At the same time, the number of candidates writing mathematics literacy rose sharply to 58% of the 2013 cohort.
And it is unlikely to improve fast, given the poor performance of kids at a younger age:
…less than half the learners in each cohort show foundational competence in mathematics, as indicated by the 61% of grade six learners who failed to score 50%.
It remains an awkward fact that South Africa’s highest matric pass rate for black students (writing the same exam as whites) was in 1976, the year famous for the Soweto uprising. Granted, many black kids did not reach matric and in many schools not the full curriculum was covered. But compared to the situation today, were the outcomes any worse?
This is not to say that the Bantu Education Act should be labeled anything other than unjust. It not only had massive psychological effects on black South Africans, but real consequences for the economy and society too; as Miriam Mathabane asks, if Verwoerd had not taken over black education as he did, “if black children had had the same educational opportunities as white children, would there be less crime, fewer murderers, carjackers and rapists in the New South Africa, and more teachers, lawyers, writers and nurses?” Even with the budgetary constraints and political climate of the 1950s and 1960s, a different policy was possible.
But perhaps Giliomee has a point too: we should weight the impact of Bantu Education not against the single quote of a deluded man, but against the statistical evidence of its outcomes, and, in particular, the outcomes that were to follow. When historians meet in 2051 at the South African Historical Society conference, how will they compare the South African education systems of the two decades before and the decades after democracy? Which system will be considered more unjust?
Hendrik Verwoerd was the architect of apartheid. He was responsible for at least two of apartheid’s most infamous policies: the creation of the Bantustans and the Bantu Education Act (where he famously proclaimed:”There is no place for [the Bantu] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour … What is the use of teaching the Bantu child mathematics when it cannot use it in practice? That is quite absurd. Education must train people in accordance with their opportunities in life, according to the sphere in which they live.”) Most South Africans – black and white – now consider Verwoerd and his ideas nefarious: he led us down a road that we are still struggling to recover from.
But when and where did Verwoerd acquire his racist ideas of the world? Was it always there, simmering under the surface, allowed to boil over with the National Party victory in 1948? Or did context and circumstance gradually pull him in a certain direction? Was Hendrik Verwoerd the Evil One born or created?
I recently stumbled on a rather surprising paper. Written by Roberta Miller and published in 1993 in the Journal of Southern African Studies, the paper investigates the early professional life of Dr Hendrik Verwoerd. An immigrant from Holland, Verwoerd arrived with his missionary family in 1903 at the age of 2. After school, he moved to Stellenbosch to study Psychology, earning his PhD (The Blunting of the Emotions) cum laude by the age of 23. He was immediately offered a position in the department.
Verwoerd received a bursary to study at Oxford (the Abe Bailey scholarship, which he declined because of Bailey’s imperial jingoism) but chose instead to travel to Germany for his post-doc education. Here he spent time in Berlin and Leipzig, learning the latest statistical techniques in the field, before traveling to America for a lecture and study tour. Miller explains that the quality of Verwoerd’s scientific articles improved remarkably after these trips. While in America, he received word that he had been appointed professor in Psychology and he had to cut short his trip to be home in time for the new academic year in 1928. Verwoerd is still, as far as I know, the youngest professor ever to be appointed at Stellenbosch University.
The remarkable thing, though, is that none of his early career research or teaching could have predicted his future policies. While American sociologists were proclaiming the innate intellectual differences between black and white people based on IQ scores, Verwoerd rejected these ideas. Miller (1993: 650) writes:
Verwoerd did not believe that there were any biological differences between the racial groups. He clearly recognised the distinctions between whites, coloureds, and natives that were made in South Africa and often presented population statistics in terms of the major racial groups in the country. In the context of discussions of population growth, for example, Verwoerd presented his classes with population statistics on natives, Asians, coloureds, and Europeans, and occasionally Jews. But although many South Africans argued that biological factors contributed to the development of civilisation, Verwoerd did not. ‘There are no biological differences among the big race groups as was argued earlier,’ he told his classes, adding that because there were no differences, ‘this was not really a factor in the development of a higher social civilisation by the Caucasian race.’
Verwoerd did not deny that there were measurable differences between the performance of blacks and whites in intelligence tests, but he told his classes that it was difficult to compare test scores across groups of people with different backgrounds and experience. The critical issue, he argued, was not whether there were differences in underlying intelligence, but rather whether the differences in the test scores of various groups were due to inadequate tests and differences in living conditions.
In fact, his academic career paints the picture of a caring, open-minded pragmatist. After five years as Professor of Psychology, in 1932, Verwoerd was appointed as professor in the first Department of Sociology and Social Work in South Africa, also at Stellenbosch University. He immediately began to work on community social welfare activities in Cape Town, mostly dedicated to solving the poor white problem which had become a huge economic and political issue of the time (exacerbated by the global depression).
Because he was not trained as a sociologist, he chose to follow the theories propagated in American universities. Miller (1993: 647) explains:
Certainly the general approach of American sociology sat well with Verwoerd’s own mild socio-political ameliorism. American sociology in the early twentieth century was marked by a pragmatic positivism, an impulse toward the amelioration of social problems rather than structural social change, and a methodological reliance on empirical data.
Verwoerd’s methodological approach was ahead of his time. But his research activities received less and less attention, as the scale of white poverty became clearer. He organised national conferences on poverty alleviation; in fact, he became the spokesperson for social work education. He also worked hard to reconcile English- and Afrikaans-speaking animosities:
Rather than promoting racialism between the English and the Afrikaners, however, Verwoerd’s speech, taken in its entirety, suggests that Verwoerd was instead anticipating a new approach to dealing with poverty in which the English and the Afrikaner worked together in social welfare programmes. His goal was to ensure that the Afrikaner became a part of the country’s welfare activities rather than to eliminate English participation in welfare.
Verwoerd firmly tied social welfare to the democratic state rather than to any social or ethnic group in the state. ‘In the past,’ he said, ‘charity had been the task of a few self-appointed philanthropists; welfare work is now the task of the democracy. New times bring new problems and need new tools’ (Miller 1993: 654).
None of this suggests that Verwoerd would become one of the largest social engineers of the twentieth century. And yet he did. What happened?
The answer: The rise of Afrikaner nationalism in the 1930s. Verwoerd increasingly became agitated with the (apparently persistent) plight of the poor Afrikaner, and thought that political change was the only vehicle to achieve this. In 1937, he was offered the editorship of a new Afrikaner newspaper – Die Transvaler – funded by the Purified National Party of DF Malan. He accepted the position.
After Verwoerd left Stellenbosch, he abandoned the non-partisan politics of civil society that had previously consumed his energies and became deeply involved in party politics. The man who had insisted on joint English and Afrikaner welfare activities emerged as a strong Afrikaner nationalist. The professor who had denied that there were intellectual and biological differences among Africans and Europeans and who had proposed research that assumed them both to be part of the same South African society ultimately became an advocate of apartheid as the means to encourage and protect the differences between these groups. Finally, the academic who had commended the Jews for their contributions to world culture espoused strongly anti-Semitic sentiments (Miller 1993: 660).
As I’ve written before, nationalism – an extreme form of patriotism marked by a feeling of superiority over others – is extremely dangerous. It accentuates artificial differences between peoples, using that as justification for policies of exclusion. It punishes ‘outsiders’, however defined by the ‘insiders’. It inevitably cannibalizes itself, but at an unspeakably high cost for society. And it can shape the minds of brilliant scholars, like Hendrik Verwoerd, to enact policies that will take centuries to undo.
Lest we forget.
Source: Miller, Roberta Balstad. “Science and society in the early career of HF Verwoerd.” Journal of Southern African Studies 19.4 (1993): 634-661.
I don’t often read Foreign Affairs – the leading political science magazine published by the Council on Foreign Relations – but when, ahead of a 14-hour flight back to South Africa, I found an airport bookshop displaying the March/April issue with the provocative title ‘The Trouble with Race’, I decided that it would make for good airplane reading. Here was one of the world’s most authoritative magazines writing about an issue that affects everyone everywhere, but it is in South Africa during March 2015 that racial injustices has been brought into the limelight. Race, and racial prejudice, is the underlying theme of #RhodesMustFall, a movement by thousands of students across the country agitating for the dismantling of white power structures two decades after apartheid formally ended. Discussions of race and racial exclusion has emerged at campuses across the country. Rhodes will fall, but the future is murky.
And then I spot the article in Foreign Affairs titled ‘Apartheid’s Long Shadow: How Racial Divides Distort South Africa’s Democracy‘. Finally, I thought, some answers to our country’s qualms. From the leading thinkers of Foreign Affairs.
I turn to page 41. The paper is by James Gibson, Professor of Government at Washington University in St. Louis and (to my surprise) Professor Extraordinary in Political Science at Stellenbosch University. It starts brightly: South Africa is a diverse and unequal society. ‘The future of South Africa’s multiracial democracy depends heavily on minimizing animosity and hostility among these groups. Can South Africans of different races continue to get along?’ Wonderful. Answers.
Then Gibson attempts to explain who these peoples are: Black South Africans, the ‘descendants of the original inhabitants of the area’, who constitute different ethnic and linguistic subgroups. ‘Apartheid eliminated such distinctions by grouping all blacks together and, in essence, expelling them from South Africa.’ This is awkward: had Gibson attended a first-year History class (or even my second-year Econ History class), he would know that there existed a group of original inhabitants known as the Khoesan. (Or Khoisan. Actually they are not, in fact, a single group but for the purposes of this post, let’s assume they are. More about them here.) Blacks did arrive south of the Limpopo (around 300 AD) long before whites , but they did not enter vacant land, no more than the Voortrekkers trekked into vacant territory when they crossed the Gariep (as the apartheid apologists wished to believe). The sad truth is that the original inhabitants of South Africa have been mostly wiped out.
And he goes on: ‘A third group is referred to as Coloured, a term that applies to an extremely diverse group of people whose mixed heritage attests to decades of intimate contact between three different peoples: Europeans, certain groups of black Africans, and slaves brought to the area by European colonists from Madagascar and Southeast Asia.’ Again, where are the Khoesan? Surely they can’t be classified as ‘certain groups of black Africans’? (In a paper with Erik Green, I call them the ‘Missing People‘. Gibson’s paper shows why.)
But these factual errors aside, Gibson’s paper is about evolving racial prejudice in South Africa. He argues that race relations are not really improving, despite two decades of democracy. Using the Institute for Justice and Reconciliation’s South African Reconciliation Barometer, a survey among a representative sample of the population, he finds that ‘intergroup prejudice is not the exclusive problem of black people in South Africa, but as a group, they express considerably more prejudice against their fellow South Africans than do the members of the minority races’. And ‘Whites and Coloured South Africans who have more contact with people of others (sic) races are considerably less prejudiced. Among black and Asian South Africans, however, not only does contact with members of other groups not reduce prejudice; it actually seems to increase it.’
These are powerful conclusions on an emotionally-charged topic, yet Gibson provides little empirical justification to support these claims. Yes, he shows that some race groups have higher self-reported prejudice than others, but as any social scientist should know, correlation does not equate causation. To say that black South Africans are more prejudiced suggests that you’ve controlled for other observable characteristics that may also affect prejudice, like income, location, and education to name a few. But perhaps it’s not black South Africans that are more prejudiced. Consider, instead, that it is poor education that cause people to be prejudiced. But because poor education outcomes are highly correlated with race in South Africa, by implication you will also find a high correlation between race and prejudice. Race, as Gibson uses it, is likely to just be a proxy for other things.
Social scientists solve these issues by using statistical techniques such as regression analysis. Even with a standard regression, though, causality is difficult to determine. Usually we use experiments or, because this is often not possible in a social setting, natural experiments. One* excellent example of this is Martin Abel’s work on forced removals during apartheid. Abel, a PhD student at Harvard University, investigates whether the people that were moved during apartheid are more (or less) prejudiced towards people of a different race today than their counterparts who were not moved. He finds:
…that those living close to former resettlement camps have higher levels of trust towards members of their social network and people in general. They are also more trusting towards members of both their own and other ethnic groups. This effect is larger for people born after 1975 who did not witness the forced removals, which suggests that events had long-term effects on social capital. This is also reflected by lower crime rates in these communities. Exploring causal mechanisms, I document that resettlement camp areas are more ethnically diverse and that diversity is positively correlated with measures of social capital only in areas affected by relocation. Interacting with people from different backgrounds and adopting a shared identity as displaced people may explain why relocation communities have higher levels of social capital despite potential short-term conflict over resources.
Abel’s careful statistical design and analysis forces him to draw exactly the opposite conclusion than Gibson does from his simple correlations. Deeper integration makes people less prejudiced, not more. The policy implications are profound.
#RhodesMustFall shows that there is indeed much value to investigating how and why prejudices evolve. But the way James Gibson does it in Foreign Affairs is not the way to do it. We should be skeptical of causal claims based on simple correlations. That Foreign Affairs accepted an article with factual errors and wonky causal claims on a topic of such importance is worrisome. We should expect better science from our social scientists.
*I received a message on Facebook from MIT PhD student Dan de Kadt: I read this article too, and had a similar reaction. Johan, in some other work Melissa Sands and I address the exact hypothesis Gibson proposes… We find that contact does partially explain cross-racial voting (whites who are in contact with blacks are more willing to vote ANC, and blacks who are in contact with whites more willing to move from the ANC). But there’s very little in our data to say that racial attitudes are affected (so little that we don’t report it in the paper). And there’s no evidence that contact has differential effects depending on race (as one assumes Gibson is proposing).
There is no doubt that the Rhodes statue should move from its current location. It should have moved a long time ago. The remarkable thing is not that there are students – black and white – that demand its removal. Instead, it is remarkable that a man that caused so much pain expropriating the lands of blacks across southern Africa and Boers in the Republics could escape the furies of so many for so long. Not anymore.
#RhodesMustFall is a no-brainer. But what should substitute Rhodes’ statue is the far more difficult question. Not only on the premises of UCT, but across South African campuses. Offensive names across the country – like the DF Malan centre at Stellenbosch University (despite my attempts last year to suggest that it can be seen as a victory over the past) – have changed. But, as far as I can see anyway, there is no discussion about forging a new, inclusive identity. This has to do with the unfortunate way the Rhodes statue has given rise to groups that want to score cheap political points; the poo-throwing, militaristic, nationalistic and even extremist sentiments expressed in many of the student meetings are an unhappy result of UCT dragging its feet. Now Rhodes’ statue will fall at the hands of opportunists instead of a progressive movement for change.
It’s necessary to recast the past, of course. It’s also easy. What is much more difficult is to define an inclusive vision of the future.
So let me try. On Thursday evening I attended the International Food Evening at Stellenbosch University. More than a thousand students descended on Academia residence to taste the cuisine of our international visitors; food from Belgium (who won first prize) to Zimbabwe (who came third) was on offer, as well as that of 23 other countries. It was fun and festive, delicious and diverse. These are not the pictures, unfortunately, the Cape Times report on their cover, because they don’t fit the stereotypical image of Stellenbosch as the last bastion of Afrikaner racism. Instead, Congolese and Canadian, Zulu and Zambian, Swazi and Swiss, Angolans and Afrikaners were conversing under the stars, tasting foreign foods and drinking beer. That image, to me at least, represents a future Stellenbosch, and a future South African society.
That is, a society that is not uniform (where we all look, think, act the same), but united in our purpose to build a prosperous society for all. For too long in our history, those in power had a vision of South Africa that excluded those who lived in it: Rhodes’ vision of a British Empire in Africa had no space for black or Boer. The Afrikaners’ vision of apartheid South Africa had no space black South Africans. And, in truth, the current regime seems to hell bent on disenfranchising amakwerekwere, Africans from countries outside South Africa. A recent estimate suggests that at least 5% of the people in this country are Zimbabweans, more than 3 million in total. What is happening to them is much the same as what happened to blacks during apartheid.
How do we build this inclusive, prosperous future? First we must step away from the strive toward uniformity. Nationalism is an idea that has been tried before and it has failed, again and again. When we flock, as Vuli Nyoni pointed out in an US/Leuven Thinktank seminar earlier on Thursday evening, we tend to lose track of our personal convictions, our personal identities. Perhaps our emphasis on ubuntu – I am who I am through other people – has made us (and here I include not only black South Africans because I think Afrikaners have this characteristic too) prone to groupthink, or flocking. Birds of a feather flock together is what we like to say, but instead of shared appearances we should be focusing on a shared purpose.
Second, we must grow. I don’t want to discuss economic policy here, but consider the collective entrepreneurial spirit of the Asian countries over the last three decades. Government, business and civil society shared a vision of a prosperous future, implementing pro-growth policies that allowed millions to escape poverty and thousands to become millionaires. India, China, and South Korea, despite their own legacies of colonialism, now have large middle classes that can enjoy the fruits of capitalism. South Africans, by focusing so much on the injustices of the past, should be wary of trying too hard to create a new past instead of a new future.
Which brings me back to Rhodes’ statue. What will replace it? Once we’ve (finally) destroyed the myth that we should all be English, or Afrikaans, or South African, what next? Que vadis young South Africa?
Black South Africans have suffered a lot over the last two centuries. I am an economic historian and, together with some of my students, have recently begun a project which hopes to quantify the material inequalities between black and white South Africans over the last 200 years. It is not easy, because the colonial records have often ignored the black experience. And yet, there are clues everywhere. From early nineteenth-century government payrolls (where black translators earned one-tenthousandth of what the white governor earned) to mid-twentieth century cadaver heights (where blacks are significantly shorter in height than their white compatriots).
All this evidence points to the incredible material injury of black South Africans. And this is to say nothing of the psychological scars and social strife that has accompanied this material hurt.
This suffering is much longer than the colonial experiences of many other Africans on the continent. Although Van Riebeeck already arrived in 1652 and first contact with the isiXhosa’s at the infamous Fish River was more than a century later, this was still much earlier than the colonial experiences of other African countries, which started around the end of the nineteenth century. True, many countries across Africa suffered the vulgarities of the slave trade, most pronounced during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. But South Africa’s colonisation, I would argue, was worse, with Europeans subjugating complex agricultural societies to material inferiority by taking their lands, stealing their cattle and, above all, exploiting the minerals that they had claim to. (Is it not ironic that the Queen of England still wears Africa’s most prized diamond?)
When and where black societies adjusted to the new reality of colonialism – proverbially pulling themselves up by their shoelaces – they were punished, either through higher head and hut taxes to ensure that they remain docile labourers, or through more sinister (but also more effective) policies, like building a railroad circumventing the black areas, excluding blacks from the vote despite their immense contribution (to both sides) during the Second South Africa War, or, most infamously, by providing rubbish education (with the 1953 Bantu Education Act). For two centuries, at least until 1994, whites did their best to discourage, disrupt and, when those two did not work, destroy, African innovation and entrepreneurship.
All this changed in the new South Africa, for although blacks were (and many remain) at a serious disadvantage, there was no one to now stand in their way. And so, we witness the rise of the black middle class and the black diamonds. Sandton today is perhaps the epitome of this black entrepreneurial class; confident, successful, prosperous. South Africa has moved from a nation of between-group inequality (i.e. white vs black inequality) to a nation of within-group inequality. As an example, if all of South Africa’s whites were to leave the country tomorrow, the Gini coefficient (the measure social scientists use to quantify the inequalities of a country) would remain exactly the same. Over the last two decades, millions of black South Africans have escaped poverty and moved into the middle class; some studies estimate that this group is now close to 5 million people, larger than the total white population. And yes, whites have prospered too, despite their complaining and moaning about everything from BEE to racial quotas in the Springbok team. None of this hurt them (on aggregate), and the only things that do hurt – violent crime, corruption, blackouts – hurt black South Africans even more.
But the post-1994 South Africa is not a narrative about a minority group that represents less than 10% of South Africans. Instead, it is a story of a people rising up from the depths of economic and social deprivation. It is a remarkable story of courage, determination, and perseverance and triumph-against-all-odds. Black South Africans have claimed their birth right and begun to overturn centuries of injustice. They have had to skill up, build up collateral, educate the next generation, all with relatively little support from a government that first had to steer a sinking ship through shallow waters. And more: they have had to reconcile with racists, so magnanimous a step that we forget it is called a miracle.
And yet, when Jacob Zuma blamed apartheid for Eskom’s blackouts and when he branded Jan van Riebeeck the scapegoat for the country’s high levels of inequality, he changed the narrative again. Suddenly, South Africa was not a country where black South Africans had the agency to affect their own destiny, but one where whites had (again) the starring role. This tiny minority, Zuma implied, was the lead actor in the South African story; his statements suggest that black South Africans are, at best, supporting characters, much like in the days before 1994. While whites are up in arms at being blamed for everything, they are happy to be part of the conversation again, happy to be listened to, happy to have their say. (For, really, why should South Africans otherwise care about the opinions of a former presidential secretary?)
Zuma does this, I would argue, because it gives him legitimacy (much like Bob Mugabe gets legitimacy by blaming the whites in Zimbabwe, now less than 1% of the population). But Zuma is wrong. While this may still be a country home to millions of whites, it is certainly not a country about them. By blaming whites, Zuma is denying black South Africans the right to take ownership of their own future.
Why did apartheid end? Who benefited from apartheid? What was the National Party ideology when it instituted apartheid? Why did the ANC government have so little room for redistribution when they were elected in 1994? These and many other vexing questions are answered in the December issue of Economic History of Developing Regions, a journal published by the Economic History Society of Southern Africa, in a special issue on the economics of apartheid. All 11 papers have now been published online. The introduction, written by Martine Mariotti and myself, spells out the reasons we decided for a special issue on the economics of apartheid twenty years after it was abolished:
It should surprise no one that the weight of our history hampers our attempts to create a prosperous society. This has been a constant theme in presidential State of the Nation addresses. Of the 25 such addresses since 1994 (two in election years), 20 have mentioned the word ‘apartheid’ at least once. In 2004 Thabo Mbeki, celebrating 10 years of democracy, said that ‘we have always known that our country’s blemishes produced by more than three centuries of colonialism and apartheid could not be removed in one decade’. In 2011 Jacob Zuma said that ‘the legacy of decades of apartheid underdevelopment and colonial oppression cannot be undone in only 17 years’. In more recent addresses, President Zuma has observed that ‘apartheid spatial patterns still persist in our towns and cities’ (2013), and that ‘the culture of violence originated from the apartheid past’ (2014).
Researchers confirm these views. Poverty levels remain high for black South Africans (Van der Berg 2011; Leibbrandt et al. 2012; Bhorat & Van der Westhuizen 2013; Gradín 2013), their educational attainment and health outcomes continue to lag behind those of white South Africans (Van der Berg 2007; Harris et al. 2011; Spaull 2013; Barbarin & Richter 2013), and unemployment, which was already increasing during the 1970s and 1980s, shows no signs of declining (Banerjee et al. 2008). The distrust and non-cooperation induced by apartheid persist to this day (Burns 2012).
While economists and policy-makers are rightly interested in addressing these consequences of apartheid that affect South Africa today, the task seems to have fallen to economic historians to discover precisely how policy decisions taken during the apartheid era determine the country’s economic growth in the twenty-first century. The stagnation in employment opportunities is a case in point. The shortage of semi-skilled workers caused by the apartheid regime’s statutory job reservation policy obliged manufacturers to overinvest in capital technology, with the result that South African manufacturing became capital intensive rather than labour intensive. The consequence for employment has been low levels of job creation at the unskilled level, precisely the level of skills that the Bantu Education Act of 1953 and subsequent policies had envisaged as being required.
Economic historians are interested in the economics of apartheid not just because apartheid continues to affect South Africans, but because we see analogous situations elsewhere today. Ethnic divisions remain a feature of our times worldwide, perhaps nowhere more overtly than in the continuing conflict between the Palestinian Independent Authority and Israel. Former American president Jimmy Carter (2006) famously called for ‘peace not apartheid’ in this region. In the US, discussions of poverty and inequality often reference apartheid (Massey & Denton 1993).
In South Africa, we continue to extract lessons that hold the promise of not repeating past mistakes. We look for clues to understanding ideologues and their ideologies (Giliomee 2013; Koorts 2014): can we find similarities between Afrikaner nationalism in the early twentieth century and black nationalism in the twenty-first? We investigate apartheid policy counterfactuals (Bhorat & Ravi Kanbur 2006) because they provide a sobering perspective on current trade-offs: should government focus on high quality education for a select few, or education for all, but of lower quality? And at the macroeconomic level we consider the global response to apartheid policies (Kaempfer and Lowenberg 1988; Moll 1991): do economic sanctions force a regime change, or do they instead strengthen the oppressor’s hand?
The good news is that we are getting better at understanding how the past affects us and recognizing analogies between past and present. With the tools of econometrics, South African economic history studies are adding a valuable quantitative analysis to the rich qualitative analysis that is growing larger each year (Fourie & Schirmer 2012). The digitization of data previously buried in archives and libraries is beginning to make the apartheid era more accessible. Studies of apartheid can contribute to important themes in the economic history literature, such as the longevity of institutions and path dependence (North 1990; David 1994; Acemoglu et al. 2005). The era provides natural experiments with which we can analyse human behaviour in response to distorted incentives. The benefit of such experiments is that the inferences drawn are causal (Diamond & Robinson 2010). And because South Africa’s twentieth-century experience is a microcosm of global development, with the incomes of rich and poor diverging, the apartheid and post-apartheid periods serve as an analogy for the process of globalization and the potential effects of greater integration (Dalby 1998).
This special issue brings together the work of economists and historians to showcase recent developments in the study of the economic history of apartheid. We hope that the papers will inspire scholars to continue to work on this topic, to explore underused data sets and to maintain the conversation about this definitive era in South Africa’s history.
It is especially exciting to see younger researchers tackling this tough research area. As we report in our contribution, newly digitised, micro-level South African data, often with spatial features, allow for much deeper insights into not only the South African past but in things that are important to social scientists in general, like the political economy of policy-making. We discuss, for example, the fascinating work of LSE PhD-student Ed Kerby, University of Illinois PhD-student Nicolas Bottan, Harvard PhD-student Martin Abel, UCLA PhD-student Katherine Eriksson, MIT PhD-student Daniel de Kadt and Columbia PhD-student Laurence Wilse-Samson. Their affiliations include some of the leading economics departments in the world. That alone should be an indication of the treasure-trove of research possibilities the apartheid period offers.
But challenges remain. Although some are South African, these PhD-students are all based at universities outside South Africa. They are also all white. Let’s hope that the excellent research being done by a younger generation of (foreign-based) economists can act as a catalyst to encourage South African students to delve into an economic past that will remain with us for some time to come.
Seeing that, according to the Cape Times, I don’t believe in gender parity, I might as well go the full distance and call for gender apartheid. Yes, I want separate neighbourhoods for boys and girls, separate beaches and benches, separate entrances to public buildings. Heck, I might even demand separate homelands for men and women. And to be honest, this will be much easier than implementing racial apartheid because we already have separate schools, separate sports teams and separate toilets.
You might think that I do this because I believe that one gender is somehow inferior to the other, but in fact I’m basing my big plan for gender apartheid on science which says that separate gender development is better for both sexes. According to a paper published in the American Economic Journal: Applied Economics, boys and girls do better at school if they interact less with the opposite sex. Here is the blurb for Andrew Hill’s paper The Girl Next Door: The Effect of Opposite Gender Friends on High School Achievement:
This paper finds that a student’s share of opposite gender school friends negatively effects high school GPA (grades). It uses the gender composition of schoolmates in an individual’s neighbourhood as an instrument for the gender composition of an individual’s self-reported friendship network. The effect occurs across all subjects for individuals older than sixteen, but only in mathematics and science for younger students. Additional results indicate effects may operate inside the classroom through difficulties getting along with the teacher and paying attention, and outside the classroom through romantic relationships.
Hill’s paper comes at a time when there is some debate about whether single-sex schools or mixed-gender schools are best. His results show unequivocally that single-sex classrooms are better for kids because they get along easier with the teacher and are not distracted by opposite-gender friends. I would think that a romantic relationship might prove to be a valuable confidence booster, with a positive impact on grades. But alas, it seems like the opposite sex is bad news. One might also think that causality works in the opposite direction: that poor-performing kids tend to select into relationships with the opposite sex. Let me rephrase that: nerds have their books and jocks have their girls. But Hill’s clever use of an econometric technique called instrumental variables avoids this possible causal problem: kids that live in neighbourhoods with lots of kids from the other gender tend to do worse in exams than kids who live in neighbourhoods where the other kids happened to be of the same gender. Causality runs therefore clearly from interaction with other kids to worse grades.
But somehow I am slightly uncomfortable with the policy implications of these results. Maybe it’s because I attended a mixed-gender school and simply don’t want to believe that these schools are necessarily worse than single-sex schools. (My mother and my wife attended a single-sex school, though, so I can’t be too critical.) But maybe it’s also because I believe that schools impart more than just our ability to do math and learn history. Maybe the social interactions in school are really important to teach values such as fairness, equality and diversity. Of course, many single-sex schools organise student interactions outside the classroom to accommodate this vital part of social learning. But taking Hill’s findings literally, one would want to avoid even these social interactions.
The results also imply that with relatively little additional costs, the grades of high school students across the country can be improved by just making all schools same-sex schools. A sort-of Grand Gender Apartheid policy for schools. But I wonder what we’ll lose in the process. If my own high school experience is anything to go by, I would think a lot. School is a multidimensional experience and shouldn’t be reduced to only one criterium – grades. Gender apartheid, much like other forms of apartheid, is a bad idea.