by Emily Corke
1.
Introduction:
Sticks and stones won’t break your bones but your gun will break mine
A
massacre is the closest sign we have to show how fragile human life is and how
backward humanity still is despite how far we purport to have come from the Dark
Ages. However, silencing a voice in the media that follows that massacre is just
the same as loading a gun and shooting people down again. The event on 16
August 2012 in Marikana was, I argue, a massacre that left 34 miners dead and
78 injured (Duncan, 2013: 1). The early press coverage of the massacre was
explored from the perspectives of actors considered “official accounts of the
massacre that overwhelmingly favoured business sources of news and analysis”
(Duncan, 2013: 1). The miner’s voices were not present in the coverage of a
massacre despite the fact that it was the mineworkers who were shot. In fact,
the only time the miner’s voice was consulted was through main trade unions
which was problematic in and of itself because miners did not feel that they
were sufficiently represented by the trade unions. The mine worker’s voice was
silenced regardless of the exasperated media coverage that followed the
massacre.
Distinctions of the official and
unofficial accounts are perpetuated through the civil society, exclusive “to a
small section of the culturally equipped” (Chatterjee, 2004: 42). It is precisely this reason why, despite the
media’s editorial failure in covering the Marikana massacre and politics that
exists externally to civil society, public understanding of an event such as
this is still “constructed by the agenda setting press” (Duncan, 2013: 5). Its
construction corresponds directly to the power relations in society.
I intend to argue that the media is the
perpetuation of civil society which is fundamentally flawed in providing the
will of the people in using the media coverage of Marikana. Civil society does
not automatically represent the will of the people because it is a
fundamentally exclusive. I will begin by providing the context on which I set
my argument, namely the Marikana massacre and it’s coverage as well as the
media landscape of South Africa. Secondly, I will define key concepts used in
this argument, namely civil society, uncivil society and the political society,
accepting the Chatterjee’s classification of the political society. Following
this, I will argue that civil society is exclusionary and does not represent
the will of the people using Duncan’s research on the Marikana massacre
coverage. I will then conclude my thesis in arguing that the political society
better represents the will of the people through subaltern studies.
I begin with the events on a tragic
day in August.
2.
34
minors shot dead, no one to tell their tale
Alexander
(2014) dubbed the Marikana as a turning point in our history, it was “a rupture
that led to a sequence of further occurrences, notably a mass wave of strikes
which are changing the shape of people’s lives”. He warned that we have not yet
felt the true consequences of the event (which he speaks of in similar terms as
Badiou) and the “scale of the turning point remains uncertain” (Alexander,
2014). The massacre showed a possibility of an alternative to state politics because
the “illusions in post-apartheid democracy” dissolved with every miner shot
(Alexander, 2014).
Officials,
unsure how to describe the event and its importance, compared Marikana to the
images that surfaced after the Sharpeville massacre in 1976 where strikers fell
to the ground at the hands of the police. (Alexander, 2014) In 2012, the South
African Police Service (SAPS) opened fire on mineworkers participating in an
unprotected strike over salaries aimed at a mine owned by British multinational
company Lonmin PLC (Duncan, 2013: 1). According to Duncan (2013: 2), they
refused representation and the formal procedures of protected strikes because
they “felt that they had been let down by the formal bargaining system”.
In
the wake the massacre, President Jacob Zuma declared and appointed the
Commission of Enquiry. Contrary to the video shot behind police lines that
first surfaced after the massacre, “emerging evidence suggests that the
violence against the miners was more premeditated than the police were willing
to concede” (Duncan, 2013: 2). Duncan argues that these developments against
the police’s claim of self-defence suggest that the criminal justice system
(which exists within the civil society) is not serving South Africans as it
should. Therefore, the will of the people is not being represented by civil
society.
The
media was fundamental in “forming public perceptions about the massacre,
including events that took place, the causes and the blame apportioned to
various actors” (Duncan, 2013: 5). Duncan (2013: 4) argues that the media is
undoubtedly more representative of the society and largely free since the
abolition of the apartheid government. That being said, the commercial media
model has allowed market forces to shape the media system with limited public
funding for public service content. Furthermore, this commercial model exists
in and for the elite in the civil society, another perpetuation of whose voice
is heard who is not heard.
Duncan
conducted research into the kind of coverage of the events leading up to 16
Augusts, the massacre and the immediate aftermath. Out of the total 153
articles analysed, only 3% actually consulted the mineworkers out of the trade
unions and of that 3%, “only one article showed any attempt of a journalist to
obtain an account from a worker about their version of the events” (Duncan,
2013: 6). The remaining articles only consulted mineworkers because of rumours
that miners had attacked the police on 16 May because a sangoma had smeared muti
on their bodies, leaving them impenetrable to the police bullets (Duncan,
2013: 12).
A
second point of the quantitative analysis was on the primary definers in each
article which is useful “in assessing how social power is expressed through the
media” (Duncan, 2013: 7). Once again the mine workers only consulted as primary
definers in 2% of the articles. The other end of the spectrum was business
voices and Lonmin management as well as journalists and politicians.
Lastly,
Duncan analysed the language used to describe the event which is significant in
how we view the parties involved. The word massacre was used the day after the
event but was soon replaced by the variations of the word killing because
“massacre carries with it a value of
judgement...that police used excessive force” (Duncan, 2013: 8). This is
unthinkable for the civil society to comprehend. Trouillot (1995: 72) makes
that claim that when “reality does not coincide with deeply held beliefs”,
humans will try to “phrase interpretations that force reality within the scope
of these beliefs”, so as to ignore the unthinkable. This is most certainly
relevant to how Marikana was framed. Duncan (2013: 8) argues that these three
points of analysis shows the “symbolic annihilation through underrepresentation
or non-representation”. For the purposes of this paper, this can be translated
to the fact that the will of the people is not automatically represented by
civil society.
Alexander
(2014) framed Marikana as an event enabled actors to envisage alternative
futures where their political will would be recognised. However, on this point
I disagree with his interpretation. As I will argue in the third section of
this paper, actors were not able to envision an alternative future because
their alternative will was shot done and left unreported. The miners attempt to
assert an alternative political will or future by participating in the
unprotected strike when unnoticed by civil society. The direct consequence of
an exclusive civil society was perpetuated through the media. Furthermore, as I
am about to establish, civil society does not represent the will of the people
and it most certainly does not allow for an alternative political future.
To
discuss the civil society and its flawed representation, I will first define it
and its counterparts, the uncivil and political society.
3.
The
uncivil and the civil: the inescapable exclusionary spheres of democracy
The enlightened modern nation is
both universally and particularly defined by the twin ideas of freedom and
equality, though in reality, both frequently pull in operate directions. Civil
society as an ideal in a formal structure of a state “as given by the
constitution and laws, everyone is a citizen with equal rights and therefore is
regarded as a member of civil society” (Chatterjee, 2004: 38). Civil society as
a concept exists in modern democracy and says that any form of state is
legitimate, as long as it is “nested in a network of norms in civil society
that prevail independently from the state and consist with laws” (Chatterjee,
2004: 40). Neocosmos refers to “civil society insofar as its political
character is concerned (the institutional organisation of groups in society)”
which is separate from the state and “it is its organisational and
institutional forms, which give that society a ‘civil’ (political) character”
(Neocosmos, 2003: 345). It is an “arena of choice, voluntary action and
freedom” (Neocosmos, 2003: 345) that exists in between the individual and the state.
Civil society exists within a domain
of politics that emphasise law, however, it is distinctly different from the
government. While ideas of what civil society is may differ, “associational
life constitutes an integral element of civil society” and government gains its
legitimacy be from this associational life in a liberal democracy (Bayat, 1997:
5). That being said, civil society “is only said to exist when it is granted
formal recognition by the state” (Neocosmos, 2003: 346). The implication is that
the civil society, and those who are recognised as a part of the civil society,
is at the preference of the state. The two are closely intertwined and
responsible for the other.
Herein
lies the difference between civil society and the political society (or uncivil
society). This domain of politics is not granted formal recognition from the
state, irrespective of if people in this domain recognise the state as
legitimate (in voting and political participation). Enlightened modernity offered to other colonial people
who had in “the meantime found out that there were limits to the promise of
universal citizenship and they suffered more than a broken leg” (Chatterjee,
2004: 38). Consequentially, an alternative domain of politics was established,
one which I argue is more reflective of the will of the people.
In
trying to understand the entanglement of elite and subaltern (inferior) domain
Chatterjee (2004: 40) proposes the idea of the political society. He argues
that there is a difference between people who are recognised as citizens and
those recognised as populations. Modern democracy tends to rule in the favour
of the latter. Populations are looked after and controlled in the state and
they are treated as subjects and not as citizens. (Chatterjee, 2004: 40) As
populations are controlled within the state’s territorial jurisdiction, they do
enter a political relationship with the state. However, this relationship does
not always exist within what is “envisioned in the constitutional depiction of
the relation between members of civil society” (Chatterjee: 2004: 38).
The
state cannot treat them in the same way as people in the civil society who
follow legitimate social pursuits because it would “only invite further
violation of public property [land] and civic laws (Chatterjee, 2004: 40).
However, they cannot be ignored. What follows, according to Chatterjee, is a
form of negotiation where on the one hand, the state has an obligation to the
poor and underprivileged in this terrain an on the other, they only receive
attention “according to calculations of their political expediency”
(Chatterjee, 2004: 40). These negotiations could come in the form of police
forming negotiations with subjects in the poor peripheries in their attempt to
police the areas. In the Bekkersdal community in Gauteng, police do just this
in operating with and for the makeshift municipality that was established at the
beginning of this year. Therefore, the political society exists where
populations have acquired a specific relation with the state, “a widely
recognised systemic character and perhaps even conventionally recognised
ethical norms” (Chatterjee, 2004: 38).
Neocosmos
offers an alternative name for this domain of politics. He (2011: 373) notes
that in a liberal democracy, the state does not extend its rule in a uniform
manner across society which entails the political distinctions between the
civil society and what Chatterjee calls the rest of the world. Spatial
distinction is not fundamentally central to this claim but rather modes of rule
applied to the civil society and the alternative domain. Neocosmos refers to
this domain as the uncivil society, not in the normative sense because
citizenship is not the way people in this domain relate to the state. Rather,
as Neocosmos (2011: 375) argues, they do not “arguably possess a (full unquestioned)
right to rights”. Neocosmos sites Botswana as exercising completely sets of
laws on the uncivil society.
The
politics that emerges from this domain is built on controlling populations who
often transgress the strict lines of legality in their daily struggles.
Populations in the poor peripheries, where the political society is embodied,
“are ambiguously rights bearing citizens in the imagined constitutional sense”
(Chatterjee, 2004: 42) but in the practical sense they are not members of the
civil society and therefore should not be regarded by the state. The name
uncivil society that refers to the way the state relates to the people outside
the domain of the civil society.
The
tenuous status of people who exist in the civil society is followed by the
absence of the rule of law, violence develops into the everyday life. This
violence “spills out into civil society and it is only then when it is
recognised”, often through the mass media (Neocosmos, 2011: 375). The Marikana
massacre was not an anomaly that began and ended on 16 August, it was only on
August 16 that the violence spilled out into civil society that it was
recognised. People in the uncivil society face “extraordinary obstacles when
they wish to assert rights as a citizen” because the mode of rule is an
extinguishing and distortion of what it means to have political agency
(Neocosmos, 2011: 376). It is common that people in the uncivil society must
accept that they have to go through trustees, like NUM and Cosatu, to be heard.
The alternative of trying to organise in attempt to make their political voice
known “is often unashamedly criminalised by the state” (Neocosmos, 2011: 376).
Legal
systems and the policies are government operate on the assumption that all
people have the money to partake in these laws. People who cannot afford
anything but to live on the periphery have to exist outside the law. Therefore,
Chatterjee argues that inequality undermines freedom despite being twin ideals.
The state and the ruling class “regard the poor peripheries as pockets of
crime” (Zibechi, 2012: 196) who lie outside the space of civil society and
“transgress the lines of legality in struggling to live and work” (Chatterjee,
2004: 44).
For
the practical purposes of this discussion I will use Chatterjee’s terms, the
civil society and political society. However, when I speak of the political
society I include Neocosmos’ analysis of the uncivil society. Chatterjee (2004)
made the argument that civil society is an exclusionary concept that is
demographically limited to an elite space that the people of the urban
peripheries cannot engage in. In the next section of this discussion I will
make the argument that the exclusionary nature of the civil society is
precisely the reason that it does not automatically represent the will of the
people.
4.
Political
society: silenced and depoliticised
Marx
criticised the notion of the civil society, saying that it was exclusionary and
restricted for the few. This is true of the way civil society exists in
contemporary democracy and Neocosmos (2003: 350) argued that the role which the
state plays in the politics of the “hegemonic [elite] groups and those of the
subaltern [poor] groups in society” was the fundamental reason for the
differences between the two. The elite classes establish their hegemony through
their civil society mechanisms like the media whilst the poor are criminalized,
depoliticised, stripped of any political agency and excluded from civil society
by the same mechanisms.
Chatterjee
(2004) argued that the ‘rest of the world’, often those who cannot afford to
operate within the law, are instead considered part of a political society
where, he claims, real democratic expansion takes place. The “gulf” has been
perpetuated and reproduced between the advanced democratic nations of the West
and the “rest of the world”. Chatterjee is correct in his analysis of civil
society, it is an exclusionary concept. On face value governments of democracy
promote autonomy, inclusion and equal treatment of all. Below the surface in
reality, “government at the same time display apprehension about losing political
space” (Bayat, 1997: 61).
As
such the state reacts in a way so as to silence and discipline the poor.
Trouillot made that claim that when “reality does not coincide with deeply held
beliefs”, humans will try to “phrase interpretations that force reality within
the scope of these beliefs”, so as to ignore the unthinkable (Trouillot, 1995:
72). Just as Trouillot theorised, the elite will interpret politics happening
in the political society in a way that simplifies their voices of the ‘rest of
the world’. In South Africa today, there is clear line between those who are
included in civil society and those who are depoliticised as subjects to the
political society. The consequence of Chatterjee’s claim for a South African is
that the voices of the poor majority are not taken seriously nor are they given
any political authority.
The
miners who were killed or injured in Marikana were silenced by civil society in
three ways. Firstly, the way that the state reacted towards the small mining
town in the days the days before and after the strike is in violent and
obtrusive manner. More negotiating approaches towards protest policing the
fringe were gradually “edged out in the favour of more a more militarised
response” deployed in protest hotspots including Marikana” (Duncan, 2013: 4).
Secondly, the strike on August 16 was immediately criminalised when the
Minister of State Security, Siyabonga Cwele framed the strike as “violent
industrial action [that] tended to be illegal, unprotected and disruptive to
key sectors of the economy” (Duncan, 2013: 4). Referring to the strikes in the
platinum sector (which are ongoing today) as illegal is problematic because the
mine workers have the constitutional right to strike. Granted the Labour
Relations Act makes a distinction between protected and unprotected strikes but
Duncan (2013: 4) makes the point that workers have chosen to go on unprotected
strikes as “protected strikes have proven increasingly ineffective in raising
the workers standards of living”. In some cases the striking worker becomes
poorer.
Thirdly
and probably the most silencing mechanism, the miners were silenced by the
editorial failure in covering the event. In South Africa, Chatterjee’s argument
is very relevant in understand the poor or the unprotected striking miner, who
exist in the political society are “inaudible or invisible or to be pushed out”
(Selmeczi, 2012: 504). I argue that it is due to the exclusion from civil
society that the poor will not be taken seriously in civil society and this manifests
within the media which exists in and seemingly for civil society.
As
I mentioned above, the number of journalists who made an attempt to understand
the massacre from the perspective of the miners independent of a trade union
was dismal. Marinovich, one of the few who tried to understand the story beyond
the official accounts, argued that “there is a preponderance within the media
to rely on the spokesperson” where stories relay on what the spokesperson does
or does not say (Kardas-Nelson, 2012). The reliance on these accounts implies
that the account of the person on the ground is not heard unless the
spokesperson said the words. Therefore, the majority of the media who relies on
the spokesperson who does not automatically represent the will of the
people.
Marinovich
(2012) argued that the Marikana massacre has been covered from various
viewpoints, but the dominant narrative fed by the police, various state bodies
and soon the media, was that the strikers provoked their death by charging at
the police. Schmidt’s central term of the nomos
is useful in understanding why such a flawed representation of the people’s
will is normalised as the universal. He maps three asymmetrical distinctions or
nomoi accepted as globally legitimate
at certain points in our history. The concept began in a Eurocentric order of
Christian/ non-Christian, moved to civilised/ uncivilised dichotomy followed by
one that was racially translated as white/non-white. (Farred, 2004: 592) The
anti-colonial delegitimized the latter distinction which meant that the
apartheid was fundamentally unsustainable in the nomos it occurred in. However, in the new order of post-apartheid
South Africa, the illegitimacy of
evicting a black woman from her home in Joza, was replaced by the
legitimacy of the rich/ poor, the illegal eviction of that same woman because
she is poor is legitimate (Farred, 2004: 592). In the case of the Marikana
coverage, criminalising and silencing striking miners through a highly censored
media during the apartheid on the basis of their race was illegitimate in the nomos of the time. However, in
post-apartheid South Africa, the editorial failure of the same nature in
Marikana in post-apartheid on the basis that the miners were poor and existed
in the political society is legitimate according to the technocracy of the
current nomos.
For
the elite who are allowed in civil society, organisation from within the
political society is the uncomfortable. The interpretation of the massacre
would therefore be framed in one of two ways, either the miners were framed as
victims of human rights abuses or criminalised in the narrative of an “illegal
strike” and the reports that three policeman were killed by people wearing NUM
shirts three days before (Marinovich, 2012). Either way, their voice as
political actors is silenced in the press if not by being undermined by
official accounts (seen as more acceptable), than by being excluded altogether
as was done in 97% of the coverage Duncan analysed. In both interpretations of
the miners from the political society and their will is not automatically
represented.
As
an aside, I would also like make a point about the further consequences of
silencing the political society in framing them in the ways I mentioned above.
Ranciere (2010: 167) defines emancipatory political project as a moment where
there is a movement out of a situation or position of minority where you have
to be controlled. The striking Marikana miners took action against the state as
an emancipatory project. In the emancipatory struggle, the people who emerged
in a sphere where they should not have, expressing political agency are forced
into a human rights discourse. While the miners emerged to exit a situation of
minority, the way the media and official accounts of civil society framed them
forced them back into a situation of minority.
On
a broader spectrum of media coverage of politics of the protests in South
Africa (many of which are the direct consequences of Marikana), Chatterjee’s
argument is very relevant to what I have come to term the Service Delivery
Phenomenon. “Service delivery protests” have been given as a one size fits all
description for any activity that exists in the peripheries or the political
society. It ignores the political participation and citizenship of the poor. It
is unthinkable to believe that these protests are about “‘citizenship’,
understood as ‘the material benefits of full social inclusion...as well as the
right to be taken seriously when thinking and speaking through community
organisations’”, as Pithouse understands them to be (Alexander, 2010: 25). The
Service Delivery Phenomenon does not allow for this.
Marikana,
though more explicit, is not an isolated example or a “bad apple” as Duncan
refers to it. The Bekkersdal community in Gauteng is often the sight of these
“service delivery protests”. The people in Bekkersdal recently took part in an illegal
land grab that was again reported as a service delivery issue because they had
not received housing from the government (Corke & Kubeka, 2014). At the
grassroots level however, was the people of Bekkersdal were participating in an
alternative form of politics where they were forming and operating their own
government. It is unthinkable that even in the police were operating and
working for this kangaroo government in Bekkersdal. The idea that the land grab
was a service thinkable in the paradigms that exist in civil society. They were criminalised and framed in a way
that they were stealing privately owned land. Civil society is not only
demographically limited but it is demographically walled, the poor emerging
where they are not allowed is immediately framed as a threat.
The
editorial failure to represent the will of the political society perpetuates
exclusionary forces of the civil society and implies that the political has no
political will. Therefore, as I will argue in the final section of this paper,
the political society and the theory produced thereof is more representative of
the will of the people. One lens that would be better applied to the Marikana
massacre is the Subaltern Studies tradition.
5.
Subaltern
studies and the will of the people
The
politics of the subaltern emerges from people who exist underneath another. It developed
as a theoretical lens when the similarities of elitism between the colonial
tradition of history and the nationalist tradition of history materialized. It also
emerged out of a moment in India in 1967, known as the period of
disillusionment, where disillusion about the state and what its roles should be
dissolved in mass uprisings (Guha, 1997), a moment like the Marikana massacre
where the state turns on its own people.
Subaltern
Studies, which emerged from the political society, has an “insistence on a
solidarity that would not reduce individual’s voices, styles and approached to
an undifferentiated uniformity” (Guha, 1997: ix). The particular interpretation
and the knowledge that had for so long been “granted and authorised
academically as well as politically” is questioned in this tradition (Guha,
1997: xii). It is a commitment to a politics where it is no longer sufficient
to just consult the hegemonic civil society.
Understanding
the Marikana massacre through this lens would question the official accounts
placed over the accounts of the miners. It is a school of thought that would automatically
represent the will of the people in the political society because it emerges
from a place that understands the ontological experience of an event. Political
society is, as Chatterjee would argue, the site of democratic expansion and
political participation.
While
civil society is exclusionary and fundamentally flawed, it is the sine qua nom of modern democracy and
legitimate in the current nomos. I am
not condoning its existence regardless of its legitimacy. However, there are
the actors who act as a doorway for the will of political society to be
translated to civil society. They have a foot in the civil society and in the
political society as a matter of speaking. Julius Malema has presented himself
as this type of actor where he claims to have the will of the people at heart
in running for president. At his first appearance in parliament (a space in the
civil society), he was dressed in worker’s attire making the statement that he
was with the workers and for the workers (Makinana & Underhill, 2014). He
has presented himself as a candidate to represent the will of the people who
are silenced and depoliticised by the ANC government.
Malema
(who was at that point very critical of the ANC) was one of the first politicians
on the scene after the Marikana massacre was even termed a massacre. He was
quick to grab an opportunity to say “President Jacob Zuma should step down as
should Police Minister Nathi Mthethwa”, as well as imply that Cyril Ramaphosa
was partially responsible for the death of the miners (De Wet, 2012). The
Service Delivery Phenomenon has been said to be the disorganised movement which
once organised will form a greater rebellion of the poor (Alexander, 2012). If
Malema does emerge to automatically represent the will of the people in
parliament and by extension civil society this prophecy could prove to be true.
6.
Conclusion:
voices forgotten, history untold
Central
to my claim that civil society does not automatically represent the will of the
people was the three ways in which the miners voices were silenced,
depoliticised and criminalised by the state. The first was the militarised
reaction the state took to “hotspots in Marikana” which is by no means unique
to the area. Bekkersdal has also been declared a hotspot with heavy police
presence there during the elections this year. Secondly, the problematic
labelling of the industrial action in the area as illegal and violent simply
criminalised any further action the miners would take (including the massacre),
ignoring the possibility that protected strikes led by the trade union were
ineffective in making their political
will heard. Lastly, I argued that the most silencing mechanism of the civil
society in this case was the editorial failure in covering massacre where 97%
of the articles that came from the massacre did not consult the miners.
I
have argued that this editorial failure is a minute demonstration of the flawed
and exclusionary civil society. I argued that the media is the perpetuation of Chatterjee’s
(2004) argument that civil society is an exclusionary concept that is
demographically limited to an elite space that the people of the urban
peripheries cannot engage in. I also argued that in the political society, the
rules are bent “and the majority are only tenuously rights-bearing citizens”
(Neocosmos, 2011: 374) which makes the criminalisation and depoliticisation of
their voices unproblematic and legitimate. The current nomos of a rich/ poor dichotomy that exists within the technocratic
order of post-apartheid South Africa further legitimates the dominant narrative
of the massacre fed primarily by official accounts of the police and business
which overwhelmingly contradicted account of the miners. Finally, I offered the
possibility that the political society and theory that emerges from political
society is more representative of the will of the people because it emerges
from the people.
Alexander
(2014) dubbed the Marikana as a turning point in our history, it was “a rupture
that led to a sequence of further occurrences, notably a mass wave of strikes
which are changing the shape of people’s lives”. We have yet to see the full
consequences of the massacre for our country and the mining sector. Regardless,
Marinovich (2013) declared that journalists have the responsibility to cover
the full story¸ “as accurately as we are able, but in context…the dead of
Marikana deserve no less”.
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