In October last year, the Springboks were beaten narrowly by Japan 34-32. Commenting on one of the greatest Rugby World Cup upsets ever, at the funeral of his brother, Mike, Makhenkesi Stofile remarked, “He died on the day the Springboks were beaten by Japan. I see he was disgusted and decided to go.”
Raised by staunch activist parents in the ANC hub of New Brighton, Port Elizabeth, in the 1950s, having dedicated his life to the party, the Rev Dr Stofile narrowly avoided a similar fate as he passed away three days before the swearing-in of the new DA mayor.
The humble, selfless ANC leader, Stofile was the eldest of a family of seven boys, whose family moved from Adelaide to Port Elizabeth in 1952. His father worked as a gardener, his mother (still alive today) as a domestic worker. They participated in the Defiance Campaign and the Women’s Pass Campaign.
Makhenkesi was exposed to political activism from a young age, helping to deliver food to the families of imprisoned activists and carrying letters, pamphlets and messages around New Brighton as an ANC messenger.
At his memorial service in East London, fellow NMB comrade, Deputy Finance Minister, Mcebisi Jonas, noted that Stofile, “was deeply disappointed with the recent phenomenon of the politics of individuals, which he referred to as the ‘cult of the personality’ ”.
The ANC has always taken pains to avoid the problem of “big men and weak institutions”, associated with newly liberated African states, which many cadres witnessed in exile.
On this basis, Nelson Mandela stepped down after one term, Mbeki bowed out gracefully under popular pressure at Polokwane and, likewise, the organisation did not blame one lone individual for the recent heavy losses at the polls. Instead, their members loyally assumed collective responsibility.
To understand this principle of collective responsibility in African leadership, one may recall the amaNdluntsha, a circle of councillors without a chief of noble blood, who were “ruled” for 150 years, from around 1700 to 1850, by an imaginary queen.
Noqaza was essentially nothing but a wooden pole dressed up in women’s clothing, around whom they gathered to discuss official matters concerning the community.
Likewise, the role of a traditional leader in customary courts is not to impose judgment but to listen, identify and represent consensus.
Stofile’s humble and principled leadership inspired formidable collective responsibility among his comrades.
When, as a leader of the United Democratic Front, he was imprisoned as a terrorist by the Ciskei authorities in the mid-1980s, the state planned its case on alleged accomplices, but ended up having to rely on police evidence.
Two of the intimidated “would be” witnesses received four years for refusing to testify, three were charged with perjury and two could not be found to testify in court. The case was an inspiring example of collective responsibility on the part of those inspired by Stofile’s inclusive leadership. The contrast with the present situation is marked, which calls for collective responsibility where the leader has avoided it.
Inclusive, collective responsibility is in high demand today, as the ANC fractures under the pressure of competing factions seeking access to its influence, power and wealth.
This situation is a far cry from when Stofile was at Fort Hare in the 1970s, when student politics was divided between radical abaKaringes (more often working class students from the locations up north) and the liberal abaThembus (the likely children of nurses, teachers and other professionals from the south).
Schooled in the ANC’s liberal tradition of non-racialism, Stofile refused to join the new black student organisation, Saso, although it was the “in thing”, remaining unfashionably loyal to a “small but vocal minority” who argued “in every mass meeting”, “we are not going to join Saso because South Africa is not just for black people”.
All who worked with him would agree Stofile was a man of strong guiding principles who always acted out of great love for his family and country.
His fellow theology lecturer at Fort Hare in the 1970s and 1980s, Dr Petrus Strijdom observes that, although Stofile was intellectually very strong, he was always “a humble person with great personal strength and an ability to convince and lead others” on the basis of his firm sense of African and Judaeo-Christian ethics.
The United Democratic Movement leader, MP Bantu Holomisa, describes Stofile as “a balanced man who approached things from a position of reason and calmness”.
It was on the sportsfield that Stofile got to know whites, better than his comrades, and how best to persuade them.
As a child, at the height of the unrest, it was the name of the dreaded Stofile that I first encountered, long before I heard the name of Mandela. He was the guy who stopped rugby.
We should never underestimate the impression on the moral conscience of white South Africans made by the sports embargo.
As sad as it is to admit, being shunned by the international community on the sportsfield conveyed a surer sense, to whites, of the moral outrage of apartheid, than the suffering of their fellow black countrymen.
Having served as sports minister during the Soccer World Cup, Stofile maintained a balanced view on the value of sport for integration, observing soon afterwards, that “sport is not a stand-alone issue”.
“Sport,” he said, “is a reflection of where that particular society is. Sport is as racist as the society and is as exclusive as the rest of society.
“The big mistake people make and even president Mandela in 1995, when we won the Rugby World Cup said ‘we have now united the people of South Africa’. But we did not. What it really showed was what sport was capable of doing. After the game everybody went into his or her cocoon and played with their cat and of course all hell broke loose. We had not been united by sport. Sport had only opened a window to show us what was possible.”
From his early days in New Brighton to his work as a lecturer and minister, to his service in government, as a favourite of Mandela, as treasurer-general and chief whip of parliament for the ANC, Stofile witnessed an astonishing transition in this country in the course of his life, which always filled him with hope.
“To hope,” he said, “is to live.”
After this surprising local government election, South Africans from radically opposed political traditions are forced once again to engage in an extremely tricky public compromise.
In this we can learn from Stofile’s example of quiet leadership, to see that problems cannot be solved by or blamed on one man.
Dr Christopher Allsobrook is director of the Centre for Leadership Ethics in Africa (http://leadershipethicsinafrica.wordpress.com/) at the University of Fort Hare
Stofile, personality cults and collective leadership
Raised by staunch activist parents in the ANC hub of New Brighton, Port Elizabeth, in the 1950s, having dedicated his life to the party, the Rev Dr Stofile narrowly avoided a similar fate as he passed away three days before the swearing-in of the new DA mayor.
The humble, selfless ANC leader, Stofile was the eldest of a family of seven boys, whose family moved from Adelaide to Port Elizabeth in 1952. His father worked as a gardener, his mother (still alive today) as a domestic worker. They participated in the Defiance Campaign and the Women’s Pass Campaign.
Makhenkesi was exposed to political activism from a young age, helping to deliver food to the families of imprisoned activists and carrying letters, pamphlets and messages around New Brighton as an ANC messenger.
At his memorial service in East London, fellow NMB comrade, Deputy Finance Minister, Mcebisi Jonas, noted that Stofile, “was deeply disappointed with the recent phenomenon of the politics of individuals, which he referred to as the ‘cult of the personality’ ”.
The ANC has always taken pains to avoid the problem of “big men and weak institutions”, associated with newly liberated African states, which many cadres witnessed in exile.
On this basis, Nelson Mandela stepped down after one term, Mbeki bowed out gracefully under popular pressure at Polokwane and, likewise, the organisation did not blame one lone individual for the recent heavy losses at the polls. Instead, their members loyally assumed collective responsibility.
To understand this principle of collective responsibility in African leadership, one may recall the amaNdluntsha, a circle of councillors without a chief of noble blood, who were “ruled” for 150 years, from around 1700 to 1850, by an imaginary queen.
Noqaza was essentially nothing but a wooden pole dressed up in women’s clothing, around whom they gathered to discuss official matters concerning the community.
Likewise, the role of a traditional leader in customary courts is not to impose judgment but to listen, identify and represent consensus.
Stofile’s humble and principled leadership inspired formidable collective responsibility among his comrades.
When, as a leader of the United Democratic Front, he was imprisoned as a terrorist by the Ciskei authorities in the mid-1980s, the state planned its case on alleged accomplices, but ended up having to rely on police evidence.
Two of the intimidated “would be” witnesses received four years for refusing to testify, three were charged with perjury and two could not be found to testify in court. The case was an inspiring example of collective responsibility on the part of those inspired by Stofile’s inclusive leadership. The contrast with the present situation is marked, which calls for collective responsibility where the leader has avoided it.
Inclusive, collective responsibility is in high demand today, as the ANC fractures under the pressure of competing factions seeking access to its influence, power and wealth.
This situation is a far cry from when Stofile was at Fort Hare in the 1970s, when student politics was divided between radical abaKaringes (more often working class students from the locations up north) and the liberal abaThembus (the likely children of nurses, teachers and other professionals from the south).
Schooled in the ANC’s liberal tradition of non-racialism, Stofile refused to join the new black student organisation, Saso, although it was the “in thing”, remaining unfashionably loyal to a “small but vocal minority” who argued “in every mass meeting”, “we are not going to join Saso because South Africa is not just for black people”.
All who worked with him would agree Stofile was a man of strong guiding principles who always acted out of great love for his family and country.
His fellow theology lecturer at Fort Hare in the 1970s and 1980s, Dr Petrus Strijdom observes that, although Stofile was intellectually very strong, he was always “a humble person with great personal strength and an ability to convince and lead others” on the basis of his firm sense of African and Judaeo-Christian ethics.
The United Democratic Movement leader, MP Bantu Holomisa, describes Stofile as “a balanced man who approached things from a position of reason and calmness”.
It was on the sportsfield that Stofile got to know whites, better than his comrades, and how best to persuade them.
As a child, at the height of the unrest, it was the name of the dreaded Stofile that I first encountered, long before I heard the name of Mandela. He was the guy who stopped rugby.
We should never underestimate the impression on the moral conscience of white South Africans made by the sports embargo.
As sad as it is to admit, being shunned by the international community on the sportsfield conveyed a surer sense, to whites, of the moral outrage of apartheid, than the suffering of their fellow black countrymen.
Having served as sports minister during the Soccer World Cup, Stofile maintained a balanced view on the value of sport for integration, observing soon afterwards, that “sport is not a stand-alone issue”.
“Sport,” he said, “is a reflection of where that particular society is. Sport is as racist as the society and is as exclusive as the rest of society.
“The big mistake people make and even president Mandela in 1995, when we won the Rugby World Cup said ‘we have now united the people of South Africa’. But we did not. What it really showed was what sport was capable of doing. After the game everybody went into his or her cocoon and played with their cat and of course all hell broke loose. We had not been united by sport. Sport had only opened a window to show us what was possible.”
From his early days in New Brighton to his work as a lecturer and minister, to his service in government, as a favourite of Mandela, as treasurer-general and chief whip of parliament for the ANC, Stofile witnessed an astonishing transition in this country in the course of his life, which always filled him with hope.
“To hope,” he said, “is to live.”
After this surprising local government election, South Africans from radically opposed political traditions are forced once again to engage in an extremely tricky public compromise.
In this we can learn from Stofile’s example of quiet leadership, to see that problems cannot be solved by or blamed on one man.
Dr Christopher Allsobrook is director of the Centre for Leadership Ethics in Africa (http://leadershipethicsinafrica.wordpress.com/) at the University of Fort Hare
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