imperative, simply by imposing on it its own interpretation.
There is another factor worth mentioning that also plays a significant role, and although not political in nature it is inextricably linked to culture: language itself. South Africa has 11 official languages and many more besides. But there has been little interrogation of the way in which meaning differs, sometimes subtly, sometimes profoundly, across these numerous verbal codes. What is the exact word for ‘accountability’ in Xhosa? Does ‘transparency’, in the English understanding, translate exactly into a Zulu counterpart? Does ‘dignity’ mean the same thing in Venda as it does in Afrikaans? No doubt every language contains similar ideas but subtle differences in meaning can have serious implications when it comes to technicalities of the law and human-rights philosophy.
The same applies to connotation. Does ‘arrogance’, for example, carry the same force of weight across different languages? Words might share a similar meaning but, in a different cultural context, their effect might vary profoundly. Whereas one culture or language might experience a word as a lifeless and dispassionate description, another might experience it as emotionally charged and deeply expressive of some more primal impulse.
This is an area few academics have ventured into. It would be an interesting exercise indeed to map all the core constitutional principles and values in each of the 11 official languages, and to compare and contrast connotation and denotation in each case. As it would to compare them with the way in which those ideas have been described in Western democratic discourse – possibly the greatest philosophical influence on their broader contemporary form.
The word ‘respect’ is as important a part of the South African political vocabulary as any. Certainly it is omnipresent. The reason is that it is very closely linked to self-esteem, something in short supply given the country’s brutal and degrading history. Therefore, this interrogation is not esoteric. Respect appears in South African debate almost on a daily basis. It is a touchstone idea around which a great many ongoing conversations, ostensibly about mutual respect but in reality about self-worth, take place. And so it is useful to look at the notion of respect a little more closely.
The problem is that, if one suffers from low self-esteem, the idea of respect becomes disproportionately important. It becomes a euphemism for dignity. As a result, any agency inherent to the idea is stripped away from it. You no longer earn respect; rather, you demand it. It must be given to you as a gesture. You might be a serial killer but, as the common refrain goes, ‘everyone is entitled to respect’.
That is the ANC’s general interpretation of respect. It is an understandable impulse given how rife low self-esteem is in the country, and given the cruel and inhuman circumstances that gave rise to that situation, but the fact is, if that is the meaning insisted upon, it does more harm to dignity and self-worth than good.
What, then, is the alternative understanding of the idea?
The Oxford English Dictionary, for one, does not agree with that definition. It defines respect as a ‘feeling of deep admiration for someone elicited by their qualities or achievements’. You will notice how, by that definition, respect is a consequence of action: by behaving in a manner deemed by someone to be praiseworthy or by achieving something a person might celebrate, respect is one of the results that flow from it. In other words, it must be earned.
That requires a fundamentally different attitude to human agency. It suggests that individuals are responsible for maintaining their own reputation. Now you begin to see how, when these two diametrically opposed understandings meet, a fundamental confusion is the inevitable result.
Consider the exchange below that took place on a local-radio talk show in November 2012 between a member of the public and Blade Nzimande, general-secretary of the South African Communist Party. The topic was a painting by artist Brett Murray called The Spear, which depicted President Zuma with his genitals exposed, in a Lenin-like pose. The artwork generated a huge public outcry.
Caller: … May I ask you, what do you say respect is?
Nzimande: What do I say respect is?
Caller: Yes, what does it mean?
Nzimande: Are you asking me really, seriously? Respect is not to paint me as a gang-rapist. If you want to criticise me, if I am wrong or you disagree, you are entitled to do that but to paint me as a gang-rapist … that is being disrespectful. To actually paint the president of the Republic of South Africa with his private parts …
Caller: Surely …
Nzimande: … that is disrespectful. Let me just say also what I do not like is the hypocrisy. Some of these [white people who fail to show respect] today, who appear to be democrats, at the height of the struggles against apartheid, when we were being butchered by the regime, they never marched to P.W. Botha’s house. They never marched to F.W. de Klerk’s office even. Many of them were actually enjoying the privileges of apartheid. Today they are the big ones who are talking about freedom of expression when they took cover at the time when it mattered most to actually fight against this thing.
Caller: The dictionary says respect is a feeling of deep admiration for someone or something, elicited by their abilities, qualities or achievements. So respect, to respect someone, you have to respect them for what they do or say, or the way they behave. So how can we respect certain people …
Nzimande: … No, I don’t know where you take that, I don’t agree with your dictionary, I am sorry. It’s your own dictionary. You respect a person whether you agree with him or not.
Caller: It’s in the dictionary. And we …
Nzimande: … No, no, no, don’t come and quote the Oxford English Dictionary, I’m sorry, because that is precisely the issue I am fighting. This kind of imposition of certain culture values at the complete disregard of the cultural values of the overwhelming majority of the people in this country, that’s my issue.
For the purposes of this essay, that is as rich a piece of evidence as you are likely to find. It has in it every contentious element of the thesis at hand – all of which meet in a fundamental collision over the meaning of a word that is ubiquitous. On the one hand is Nzimande, unequivocal in his belief that respect is due to the president regardless of his conduct and, on the other, the caller, who is of the view the president should earn his due. Never shall the two meet.
Respect is a word that is used every day. But it means two different things – something earned through virtuous conduct or something demanded and due regardless of behaviour, depending on who you ask. And while we spend an inordinate amount of time discussing who or what we should respect, there is precious little discussion about the word itself and whether or not we actually share a common understanding of its nature in the first place.
To dismiss this confusion as abstract theory is to profoundly misunderstand its real-life consequences. The saga of The Spear is itself a powerful illustration. For a month, South Africa tore itself apart over the painting. There were marches and, at the height of the hysteria, even a call for the artist to be stoned to death. Eventually the painting was defaced and with it the constitutional right to artistic expression was defaced too.
But there are also political consequences. One of the ideas mooted recently by the South African Communist Party is a law guaranteeing ‘respect’ for the president and protecting him from insult. KwaZulu-Natal SACP deputy chairperson, Nomarashiya Dolly Caluza, described the party’s motivation for the suggestion like this: ‘We have African values. We don’t want to see [those aspects] of foreign cultures imposed on us in South Africa. According to African values, respect is the one thing which shows you are a human being … Our president is the chairperson of the African Union [sic], he has been
