I remember vividly my first encounter with Pedagogy of the Oppressed, as a colonized young man from Cape Verde who had been struggling with significant questions of cultural identity, yearning to break away from the yoke of Portuguese colonialism. Reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed gave me a language to critically understand the tensions, contradictions, fears, doubts, hopes, and ‘deferred’ dreams that are part and parcel of living a borrowed and colonized cultural existence. Reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed also gave me the inner strength to begin the arduous process of transcending a colonial existence that is almost culturally schizophrenic: being present and yet not visible, being visible and yet not present. (Donaldo Macedo, in Freire 2000, p. 11)
The discussion will begin by summarising the foundations of Freire's theoretical framework. This will involve examining Freire's pedagogical thought, and how this translates into broader ideas regarding theories of liberation and democracy. The article will then examine the case of post-apartheid South Africa in order to apply the Freirean model. This analysis will demonstrate that the post-apartheid reconstruction effort is being conducted in a manner that is leaving the majority of South Africans behind. Not only does Freire's method provide valuable insight into the failures of the South African Government's attempt to ‘deliver’ liberation to the people, but it also suggests possible ways forward for a more democratic and egalitarian political project in the country. By discussing this case, and (re) introducing Freire's work to the study of contemporary African societies, the aim is to provide a compelling first step in a dialogue regarding Freirean scholarship, and its potential for sparking a more robust move toward democratic, bottom-up politics on the continent. Thus, the intention is not to analyse or engage with specific mechanisms for implementing this type of political project, but rather to begin a discussion of the relevance and importance of Pedagogy in contemporary African societies.
Pedagogy of the Oppressed Revisited
Paulo Freire provided the starting point for a flourishing literature in the field of critical pedagogy.1 Writing in the Marxian tradition, class analysis was imperative to the work of Freire, but not at the expense of analysing the impact of race, gender, ethnicity, language and culture on the lives of oppressed people. He wrote Pedagogy in the context of severe colonial, and neo-colonial, exploitation across the ‘developing world’,2 and was intent on building critical tools for the oppressed to transform their societies into more free, democratic and egalitarian spaces. Moreover, Freire premised much of his work on the idea that education was a crucial element in either perpetuating the existing conditions of oppression, or conversely, sparking a transformation to a more free and democratic society. Freire believed that the predominant form of education, which he called the ‘banking’ concept of education,3 is fundamentally oppressive, and operates to maintain violent and exploitative forms of organisation in society. By indoctrinating people to accept, and adapt to, the ‘realities’ of the oppressive conditions in which they find themselves, individuals become incapable of imagining the world around them as something that is transformable. As Freire (2000, p. 77) states, the method of teaching employed by the oppressors ‘attempts to control thinking and action, leads women and men to adjust to the world, and inhibits their creative power’. Hence, the ‘banking’ method of education does not challenge students to imagine innovative and creative ways to transform the world around them (and the conditions of oppression therein), but acts to anaesthetise the learner, breeding conformity and passivity.
Alternatively, Freire maintained that education could become a potently subversive force for the transformation of an unjust and unequal society. Freire advocated a dialogical, or problem-posing, method of education. Rather than simply depositing information into the student, and thus treating the student as an empty receptacle or container, the educational goal should be to problematise the world around us, and the relations we have within it. In other words, the instructor/teacher would encourage students to become active and responsible participants in their own education. According to Freire, rather than simply dictating the ‘facts’ to students, teachers should pose questions and problems for the learner to engage with and analyse in creative and innovative ways. This constant interaction between students and teachers, in an open and non-hierarchal manner, is the essence of the dialogical approach to education. Freire (2000) elaborates:
Whereas banking education anesthetizes and inhibits creative power, problem-posing education involves a constant unveiling of reality. The former attempts to maintain the submersion of consciousness; the latter strives for the emergence of consciousness and critical intervention in reality. (p. 81)
Banking education treats students as objects of assistance; problem-posing education makes them critical thinkers. Banking education inhibits creativity… Problem-posing education bases itself on creativity and stimulates true reflection and action upon reality, thereby responding to the vocation of persons as beings who are authentic only when engaged in inquiry and creative transformation. In sum: banking theory and practice, as immobilizing and fixating forces, fail to acknowledge men and women as historical beings; problem-posing theory and practice take the people's historicity as their starting point. (pp. 83–84)
The enduring oppression of the colonised by the colonisers beckoned intellectuals such as Freire to seek meaningful and democratic methods of resistance. Consistent with the manner in which he envisions a more democratic classroom, Freire also seeks to extend this to the population at large and its leaders. He posits, ‘Authentic liberation – the process of humanisation – is not another deposit to be made in men. Liberation is a praxis: the action and reflection of men and women upon their world in order to transform it’ (2000, p. 79). Thus, he argues that it is impossible for political leaders simply to ‘deliver’ liberation and freedom to the people. On the contrary, Freire asserts, ‘Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift’ (2000, p. 47), and that it is ‘essential for the oppressed to realise that when they accept the struggle for humanisation they also accept, from that moment, their total responsibility for the struggle’ (2000, p. 68). This sense of responsibility transforms the passive recipient of knowledge and liberation into the active and informed participant in the choosing and making of his/her own destiny.
Freire's work leads one to engage directly with concepts such as liberation, freedom, democracy and revolution. Without proper clarification, these terms are sufficiently vague that one can imply anything and everything by using them (as the case study to follow will demonstrate). For Freire, revolution meant a radical and abrupt break from the colonial past, and the possibility for workers and peasants to take control of their own lives and destinies. This was predominantly a class-based approach to revolution or liberation, and Freire envisioned freedom as the absence of exploitative relations of production. However, the concept and practice of democracy was also essential for any true liberation to occur, according to Freire. In fact, he argued that liberation was not possible without the active engagement and participation of the ‘masses’. Thus, in describing democracy, Freire refers to a radically decentralised notion of participatory democracy, one in which every individual ultimately becomes responsible for the collective liberation of all. Nevertheless, concepts such as revolution and liberation remain problematic for a number of reasons, and Freire's work does not escape criticism in this regard. As the twentieth century has demonstrated repeatedly, so-called ‘revolutions’ seldom, if ever, create a more free and democratic society. Furthermore, by using the language of revolution and liberation, one presumes that a group of people can arrive at a moment and space outside, or beyond, oppression and power. For these reasons, this article proposes that the value of Freire's work lies more in his prescriptions for participation and engagement in decision-making processes that can confront relations of power and oppression in society, rather than his quest for an elusive revolutionary achievement. With this consideration in mind, the aim is to demonstrate that Freirean scholarship can contribute substantially to our understanding of why conditions of inequality and a lack of democracy persist.
How then does Freire envision the struggle for a more democratic and free society? Similar to his attitude toward education, what is required is a dialogical approach to transformation. As Freire points out: ‘It is absolutely essential that the oppressed participate in the revolutionary process with an increasingly critical awareness of their role as Subjects of the transformation’ (2000, p. 128). Thus, leaders should not simply explain the way forward to the people, but should converse, and work in communion with them. This process ultimately ‘implies that revolutionary leaders do not go to the people in order to bring them a message of ‘salvation,’ but in order to come to know through dialogue with them both their objective situation and their awareness of that situation' (2000, p. 95). Only then can leaders begin to understand the appropriate steps required for building, in constant dialogue with the masses, a more free and democratic society.
Throughout the process of engaging in dialogue with marginalised and oppressed people, there is ultimately the crucial issue of trusting in their ability to both apprehend their situation of oppression, and work productively in order to overcome it. Trust and faith in the people is central to Freire's understanding of revolutionary praxis:
Dialogue further requires an intense faith in humankind, faith in their power to make and remake, to create and re-create, faith in their vocation to be more fully human (which is not the privilege of an elite, but the birthright of all). Faith in people is an a priori requirement for dialogue. (2000, p. 90)
Denial of communion in the revolutionary process, avoidance of dialogue with the people under the pretext of organizing them, of strengthening revolutionary power, or of ensuring a united front, is really a fear of freedom. It is fear of or lack of faith in the people. But if the people cannot be trusted, there is no reason for liberation. (p. 129)
The South African Case
South Africans endured decades of minority rule and oppression at the hands of both the colonial and apartheid states. The fall of apartheid in 1994 signalled the end of institutionalised racism in the country, and was certainly an enormous victory for the forces of democracy and freedom. However, 15 years after the democratic transition began, South Africa remains plagued by numerous socio-economic problems. According to the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), the Human Development Index (HDI) for South Africa fell between 1995 and 2003, and the country is currently one of the most unequal societies in the world in terms of income distribution.5 Despite the existence of formal democracy in the country, the socio-economic conditions for the majority of South Africans remain dire (Nattrass 2003).
South Africa maintains a unique position on the African continent. The legacy of apartheid and the monumental struggle against white minority rule has set this country apart, to a certain extent, and a great deal of academic attention has focused on its ‘exceptionalism’. In addition, the relative economic strength of South Africa on the continent (Ahwireng-Obeng and McGowan 2001),6 and the leadership role played by Mandela and Mbeki in the international arena7 have both served to draw attention to the South African case. However, this ‘exceptionalism’ that many attribute to the country can be contrasted with an acknowledgement that South Africa faces many of the same challenges as other countries on the continent, such as battling HIV/AIDS, fighting high levels of poverty and promoting democracy.8 South Africa experiences many of the same problems that any other post-colonial African country is facing in the twenty-first century. Yet, despite the similarities between South Africa and the rest of the continent, this perceived ‘exceptionalism’ means that South Africa plays an important role in shaping the future of the continent. The South African experience since 1994 has been remarkably prominent in the hearts and minds of not only those across the continent, but beyond. Therefore, decisions regarding development strategies in South Africa have been often monitored closely by others on the continent, and in some cases lauded by those promoting neo-liberal models of development. The exceptional degree of attention that South Africa commands in itself makes it a meaningful case to analyse.
Freirean theoretical tools provide a compelling framework for understanding the lack of progress toward a more free and egalitarian South African society in the post-apartheid period. The African National Congress (ANC), as the party of ‘liberation’ in South Africa, has governed with four consecutive overwhelming electoral victories in 1994, 1999, 2004 and 2009. Throughout this period, and particularly under the presidency of Thabo Mbeki since 1999, there has been a discernable trend toward the centralisation of political power within the ANC (Marais 2001, Chothia and Jacobs 2002, Mattes 2002, Vale and Ruiters 2004). The liberation movement was essentially demobilised after 1994, and consecutive ANC governments have attempted to ‘deliver’ liberation to the masses. As scholar/activist Dale McKinley asserts, since 1994 the ANC has ‘gradually demobilised and disempowered the very constituency capable of leading and carrying through a more complete democratic revolution – that class of South Africa's workers and poor who have provided the party [the ANC] its democratic mandate’ (2001, p. 185). Thus, Freire's warning regarding the consequences of excluding the masses from the process of transformation, and attempting to ‘deliver’ liberation to them, offers a powerful analytical framework for understanding the failure of the post-apartheid political leadership in South Africa. These shortcomings will be highlighted by a description of the manner in which the ANC leadership has aligned the South African economy to the interests of domestic and international capital, at the expense of the great majority of South Africans.
From RDP to GEAR
The ANC adhered to a development manifesto and plan established in 1994 called the Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP). This was a very broad document committed to material economic growth and basic needs provision, as well as to redressing past injustices (Lester et al. 2000, p. 248). The RDP was a significant part of the ANC platform in the 1994 elections, and was intended to be the basis of a project of socio-economic transformation in South Africa. The programme was described by Lester et al. as follows: ‘During 1994 and 1995, the RDP in effect became the cornerstone of government policy, with all government departments, unions, civic bodies and many non-governmental organisations broadly identifying with its principles’ (2000, p. 248). To coordinate the implementation of the RDP, ‘an RDP Office was established within the Office of the President, charged with the responsibility of coordinating RDP-related activities, including the spending of the initially modest RDP budget’ (Aliber 2003, p. 475). Yet, the RDP was awkwardly vague regarding questions of how exactly its goals would be met. As Michael Aliber contends, ‘Apart from a massive investment in infrastructure, … the document gave little indication what the new economic strategy would entail’ (2003, p. 475). In addition, unrealistic targets and an under-staffed RDP office may have added to the RDP's lack of staying power (Lester et al. 2000, p. 251).
Ostensibly, the ANC felt pressured to conform to the dominant Western paradigm of neoliberal economic reform. Even by 1995, the ANC had re-written the RDP as a government White Paper that yielded to the more moderate, pragmatic elements within the party (Lester et al. 2000: 251). These changes culminated in the implementation of GEAR (Growth, Employment, and Reconstruction) in 1996 as the cornerstone of the government's macroeconomic strategy. GEAR represents a typical neo-liberal macroeconomic agenda involving privatisation, deregulation, and the promotion of open markets. Ian Taylor (2001) provides a comprehensive and useful definition of neoliberalism:
The main points of the neoliberal project can be summarised as including the ‘rule of the market’ and the liberalisation and de-regulation of the economy so as to facilitate unfettered private enterprises to develop and – in theory – grow, thus allowing a ‘trickle down’ effect to the less advantaged. In order to do so, a reduction in labour costs is envisioned while greater openness to international trade and investment is privileged; cuts in social services and the ‘roll-back’ of the state are in order to cut government expenditure and further take the state out of interfering with the ‘natural’ mechanisms of ‘the market’ – the state being the ‘enemy of freedom’; and the privatisation of state-owned enterprises, goods and services to private investors, thus freeing government from having to expend on services that can – in theory – be better managed by private concerns while justifying a reduction in taxation that had formerly been collected to operate such enterprises. (p. 26)
Therefore, it is difficult to speculate exactly when the neoliberal hegemonic discourse truly took hold within the ANC elite. Nevertheless, by 1996 GEAR was implemented as the fundamental policy of government.
The manner in which GEAR was drafted and implemented was a top-down, exclusionary process from the beginning to end. Since 1994 scholars and activists have extensively documented the failures of GEAR and the authoritarian manner in which it was implemented. There will be a brief summary here of the key points of critique.9 First, it is important to remember that:
GEAR was drawn up by fifteen economists, two of them from the World Bank, the others were from various African banks, the Reserve Bank of South Africa, neoliberal think tanks and corporations. Only one economist had any footing in the South African democratic movement, and only one was black. (Kingsworth 2003, p. 39)
GEAR was released after perfunctory ‘briefings’ of a few top-ranking ANC, SACP [South African Communist Party] and COSATU [Congress of South African Trade Unions] figures. The COSATU and SACP leaders, according to one participant, were shown only the section headings. (p. 162) 10
One afternoon in June 1996 some 20 MPs were invited to come to a meeting room in parliament where we found Minister of Finance, Trevor Manuel, waiting to address us. He announced that a new economic document had been prepared called ‘Growth, Employment and Redistribution’ (GEAR), and he presented an outline. Some questions were allowed but access to the document itself was refused on the grounds that it might be leaked to the press. (p. 273)
Not only did the drafting and implementation of GEAR conform to an elite-driven, undemocratic model, but the manner in which ANC leaders dealt with criticism of both the process and the substance of GEAR was anti-dialogical. Immediately following the implementation of GEAR, the government declared that it was ‘non-negotiable’ (Webster 2001, p. 261). The ANC refused to engage in any debate or discussion whatsoever regarding the merits of GEAR. After Mandela appeared at the SACP's 10th Congress in 1998, a journalist for the Mail & Guardian (1998) noted:
President Nelson Mandela's comments at the opening of the South African Communist Party conference that the growth, economic and redistribution (Gear) strategy is the fundamental policy of the African National Congress and that he will brook no opposition to it is just the latest sign of the ANC's irritation at public criticism.
On the whole, we should emphasise that the path of an open economy that we have charted for ourselves is not up for review. As we find our way into the future, we shall not seek solace in the past. (p. 14)
The only stated target of GEAR that has been achieved is that of reducing the fiscal deficit. In terms of real GDP growth, the projected annual average was 4.2%, versus the actual average of around 2.3% (Department of Finance, 2000; SARB, 2000). In terms of formal sector employment growth, the projected cumulative increase over the five years was 1.3 million, versus an actual net job loss of more than 800,000. (Aliber 2003, p. 476)
The National Democratic Revolution (NDR)
The ANC Government adheres to the concept National Democratic Revolution (NDR) as a way to describe its aims of transforming the country from its colonial and apartheid past into a more just and equitable society. The NDR is described by the ANC as the struggle to achieve its core objectives, which are:
… the creation of a united, non-racial, non-sexist and democratic society. This means the liberation of Africans in particular and black people in general from political and economic bondage. It means uplifting the quality of life of all South Africans, especially the poor. (ANC 2006)
There has also been a rejection of potential grassroots dynamics, as communities tend to be treated as either passive recipients or, even worse, as a hindrance or constraint. Instead, a neoliberal trickle-down has been relied upon to deliver growth and poverty reduction to marginalized areas and communities. (pp. 22–46)
Some ANC government officials are cognisant of the inherent contradictions and problems with the ANC's approach to transformation in the post-apartheid context. As ANC MP Jeremy Cronin (2004) notes:
A huge problem is, apart from election period, as an Alliance we've not been mobilizing our mass base, because of technocratic illusions, state-centric illusions that we can now deliver liberation. And we must use the state and be technically effective and competent, but unless it's combined with popular participation, popular organization, popular self-organization, you can't transform the accumulation path … So instead of a strategic convergence … what you're getting is a kind of deep tension between the state and elected representatives on the one hand, and seething social discontent and poverty on the other… There's been a tendency to see this [engaging the masses] as mutinous, as dangerous, as problematic, rather than a huge advantage to the agenda that we're nominally trying to achieve. We're not going to get it done simply by sitting in Parliament. (Interview with author, 16 August)
Notions of popular democracy constituted an important ingredient of activist culture within the African National Congress (ANC) and its allies in the decade preceding the 1994 elections. Taking their cue from the trade unions, spokespeople for the United Democratic Front (UDF) emphasised a vision of grassroots empowerment in which office bearers would be mandated delegates rather than executive decision makers. (p. 1)
Has organisational democracy played any role in the genesis of ANC strategy and policy since 1994? Not really. From time to time, conferences, workshops, and summits have supplied opportunities for the expression of objections by critics of government policy as well as placatory language by ANC leaders but these events appear to have slight policy impact. (p. 26)
The South African Case, Freirean Scholarship and the Broader African Context
There is a well-established tradition in African scholarship, literature and activism of assessing, and providing critical foundations for understanding, the post-colonial political and social landscape. For example, Amílcar Cabral grasped the fundamental need to involve peasants, workers and others in the governing of their own affairs. He describes the ideal revolutionary movement as one where ‘the mass of workers and in particular the peasants, who are generally illiterate and have never moved beyond the confines of the village universe, would understand their situation as decisive in the struggle’ (cited in Davidson 1992, p. 300). In the field of post-colonial literature, Chinua Achebe brilliantly assessed the many problems of leadership in the post-colonial African state in his novels, such as Anthills of the Savanna (1989). Nigerian political scientist Claude Ake asserted:
Development strategies in Africa, with minor exceptions, have tended to be strategies by which the few use the many for their purposes. They are uncompromisingly top-down. There is not, and never has been, popular participation in political and economic decision-making. (cited in Davidson 1992, p. 293)14
Scholars from the Western world have also contributed to a voluminous literature on the failure of the post-colonial African state to transform its colonial foundations.15 Crawford Young's notion of a ‘guardian class’ that assumed power after the Europeans had retreated (1998), and Frederick Cooper's description of the ‘gateway state’ that they now control (2002), are useful in understanding and analysing the post-colonial condition. These scholars draw attention to the importance of the colonial legacy and the authoritarianism of the colonial state, in shaping the post-colonial era. Bruce Berman reminds us that the colonial legacy for Africa involved the following key components: ‘bureaucratic authoritarianism, pervasive patron-client relations, and a complex ethnic dialectic of assimilation, fragmentation and competition’ (1998, p. 329). This analysis stresses the tremendous impact of colonialism on any prospects for a democratic political project in Africa.
It is important to recognise the marginalised position of most African states within the global economy, and the impact this may have on the options available to African leaders in the post-colonial period. Most independent African states inherited a colonial economy geared toward production and export of raw materials to the ‘developed’ world. As Hardt and Negri suggest, ‘liberation struggles found themselves ‘victorious’ but nonetheless consigned to the ghetto of the world market – a vast ghetto with indeterminate borders, a shantytown, a favela' (2000, p. 252). In the post-independence decades, many of these countries experienced deteriorating terms of trade, escalating levels of debt and slumping demand for some of their key resources. Thus, understanding Africa's unequal and exploitative integration into the global economy is extremely important in assessing the successes and failures on the continent during the past fifty years (Saul and Leys 1999).
While recognising the fundamental failures of the colonial state to provide sufficient democratic foundations for the post-colonial state, and Africa's unfavourable position in the global economy, it is also imperative to address the failures of African elites since independence. With reference to the South African case in particular, and in assessing the ANC's multiple failures since the end of apartheid, John Saul (2001) remarks:
The best point of reference for analysing the South African transition might be Frantz Fanon's notion of a false decolonisation: the rising African middle class, both entrepreneurial and political/bureaucratic in provenance, merely sliding comfortably into their political positions as, yes, ‘intermediaries’ of global Empire and, from these heights, fending off the claims of the poverty-stricken they have left behind. (p. 1)
While Fanon's work16 will continue to be imperative in analysing the post-colonial African state, it is argued here that Freire's work can provide scholars and activists with additional means of interrogating the post-colonial condition in Africa. Moreover, this analysis rests on an understanding of post-colonialism as problematique, rather than as a chronological or temporal concept.17 Freire's dialogical method can serve both as a means of critiquing the practices of elites across the continent (both African and ‘Western’), and also of organising mass-based resistance to the top-down ‘development’ strategies currently being pursued in most African countries. Freire's conceptual framework aids us in understanding exactly why political leadership such as that displayed by Thabo Mbeki is antithetical to a democratic and free society. This lack of dialogue and communion with the people negates the possibility of stimulating progressive change in any society. Furthermore, this fear of engagement with the people, and not allowing them to participate meaningfully in the formation of their own destinies, represents a fear of freedom itself, and further enshrines the elitist nature of such political leadership. Implementing neoliberal reform, as described in the case of South Africa, must be done without the consent of the great majority of people, as it is simply not in their best interest. Thus, Habib and Taylor (2001) remark:
The emergence of a dominant party system in South Africa, and the relations of power in the global and national arenas, has ensured that citizens' preferences are sacrificed in the interests of appeasing foreign investors and the domestic business community. This has manifested itself in the ANC's abandonment of the RDP and its adoption of a neo-liberal economic strategy. The likely outcome of such policy choices is increasing inequality and poverty and undermining democracy (pp. 221–2).
Limitations of Freire's Pedagogy
As noted earlier, ideas of revolutionary politics are problematic on a number of levels, and the purpose of this article is certainly not to uncritically celebrate Pedagogy of the Oppressed. In addition to the concerns raised earlier with regard to the concept ‘revolution’, it can be suggested that a second issue with Freire's text is the manner in which he continues to differentiate between leaders and the ‘people’. This binary perpetuates the notion that an enlightened few should bring consciousness to the lower levels of society. Moreover, this conceptual distinction may in fact perpetuate many of the problems that Freire claims to be confronting. However, Freire does make it clear that interactions between leaders/teachers and the people/students should be dialogical, and that power should be shared between the two. Furthermore, faced with the dominant political institutions of today, Freire's prescriptions would certainly be a step in the right direction for those concerned with creating a more non-hierarchical and democratic society. Finally, the issue of gender in Freire's work is an important one. His initial class-based project, while attempting to incorporate issues of gender and race, was filled with gender-biased language and a general exclusion of many oppressed social groups. Although Freire addressed this issue briefly in later work (2004, pp. 54–56), the criticism of his initial work remains valid. Thus, it can be repeated that this article should serve merely as the beginning of a conversation regarding Freire's work and its applicability to African studies in the twenty-first century.
Conclusion
Overall, Freire offers a refreshing lens with which to view the struggle for a more just and free society. His suggestions for a more participatory approach to decision making, and actively working to transform the world around us, can offer valuable analytical tools for engaging with issues of power and oppression. As the South African case suggests, liberation cannot be ‘delivered’ from above. On the contrary, top-down methods of change are antithetical to the creation of a free and democratic society, and any such attempts will ultimately negate the possibility for success. Notwithstanding Africa's disadvantageous position within the structure of global capitalism, and the lasting effects of colonialism on the political, economic, social and psychological well-being of its people, Paulo Freire's Pedagogy of the Oppressed offers hope for a rejuvenated sense of agency and empowerment.