The Odyssey of a Vice Chancellor

By Professor Alven Makapela

The Odyssey of a Vice Chancellor is about the physical and academic journey of Professor Alven Makapela back to South Africa after forty years of domicile and intellectual growth in the United States.

The theme of the book centers on the politics of conflict and the culture of parasitism at the Eastern Cape Technikon where he was its first vice chancellor (president).

Having left South Africa when African institutions like Fort Hare, despite apartheid, had nurtured and produced Nelson Mandela, Robert Sobukwe, Oliver Thambo, and many others, the new vice chancellor assumed his responsibilities with great optimism and expectations.

Although the book does not directly address the current debate on the transformation of higher education in the country, it does however provide meat on elemental issues germane to the debate.

How for instance would fiscal discipline and financial stability be realized by merging two or more disadvantaged institutions as recommended by the minister of education without enormous capital invested and without legal constrains to regulate outrageous labor demands and parasitic student behavior?

The book also challenges educators by asking whether it is wise to make institutions of higher learning in South Africa clones of each other by adopting curricula that is composed exclusively of science and technology.

The other issue that is questionable is the theory that the Third World sector in the country will develop only when technology is introduced. The theory is based on false assumptions, for if the theory and its assumptions were correct, the Transkei would not be underdeveloped. After all, it has some modern technology in its urban centers and has a technikon and a university which are well-equipped with modern technology and also teach modern ideas on development. Yet the region is neither improving nor developing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 22, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465328540

Professor Alven Makapela

I am a product of a culture in which the matriarch of our family, my grandmother, was the conveyor of its traditions, especially those of the underworld of the amaXhosa women. She understood the ethos of this underworld and articulated its idiom. As a recipient of those legends, I have in this book tried to show how some of them have humorously influenced my interpretation of modern politics in South Africa.

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Copyright © 2004 by Professor Alven Makapela.

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Contents

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Chapter I

Nostalgia for Historical Roots

Chapter II

The Accident of an Advertisement

Chapter III

Philosophical Orientation

Chapter IV

The Council/Board of Trustees

Chapter V

The Absence of an Academic Culture

Chapter VI

Students

Chapter VII

Administrators

Chapter VIII

Faculty: The Teaching Staff

Chapter IX

General Staff

Chapter X

The Physical Plant

Chapter XI

Assistance

Chapter XII

Institutionalized Chaos

Chapter XIII

Conclusion

Dedication

I dedicate this book to Omega Nomvula Makapela who has been an indomitable spirit in my life: whose vision of loftier goals could not be constrained by the immediate. I salute her my kindred spirit who though facing her own mortality, was the moving force that encouraged me to pursue life creatively with, optimistic enthusiasm.

Acknowledgement

I wish to thank and recognize the unsung heroes and heroines that warmed the cockles of my heart and made life tolerable at the Eastern Cape Technikon when everything seemed dismal and unyielding.

Sylvia Gasa the keeper of the hearth who kept it warm, orderly and tidy after the demise of my wife. I am grateful. Order and cleanliness relaxes me. It helps me to think clearly. In this regard, Maradebe was an angel. The pristine environment she provided made my home an oasis of peace and tranquility. In all the years of her service, she was never instructed what to do. She seemed to sense my needs; she was amazing. Thank you Radebe.

Primrose Makrwede; my executive secretary was also one of those rare soul-sisters efficient and conscientious. Her performance went beyond the call of duty. Throughout the stages of my sojourn she was personable and professional. She kept the office functioning as efficiently as was humanly possible.

Since crisis management tends to create confusion, Prim made certain that my professional life was orderly. She reminded me of my appointments. My working papers and notes were always typed and ready. My itinerary was systemized and orderly. Prim made my life as Vice Chancellor easier and I was able to function with professional integrity. I thank you MamXesibe uga dinwa nangomso.

The Eastern Cape Technikon Choir: these young people sang when I was bereaved: they sang when I was happy; they sang when I was sad and discouraged. They lifted my spirit and through the idiom of our shared ancestry their melodious voices brought mirth to my soul.

Their voices and general deportment redeemed the character of the institution and the general student body from wholesale condemnation. Good sometimes does come from Babylon. My detractors criticized me for paying special attention to those young people: I confess my bias.

With shining armor, the Christian Fellowship group displayed examplinary behavior befitting children of the King. They never murmured or displayed riotous behavior. Though they were often intimidated; they did not succumb to the wiles of the moment. They were not perfect but were good examples of peaceful co-existence. As their surrogate parent, I was proud to call them my children. Together we prayed; studied and reflected.

The young woman from our Queenstown satellite who was at the Cicilia Makiwane Hospital in East London disabled from a car accident humbled and caused me to search my heart. When our eyes met, she smiled, hugged and wished me success as the Vice Chancellor of her institution. I was touched and uplifted. Her affection and concern gave me courage: I became introspective.

I want to thank and acknowledge the many other young people, especially the young women who often accompanied me on my campus tours. We usually talked about my day. They would tell me about their lives and ask me about mine. I appreciated their concerns I tried to assure them that I would be a dependable surrogate father to them.

After my untimely departure, I often meet some of them in various cities, especially East London. As usual, they would walk beside me and ask me why I had not kept my promise. I would tell them that my sudden departure was not a choice I would have normally made. They understood and always thanked me for what I tried to do at the technikon.

To the many foreign nationals who worked with diligence at the institution but could not freely express their views for fear of repraisal, I thank them for their loyalty and support. I understood their predicament. Even the Bomvu-Judas factor which polluted the waters red to disrupt my tenure in office, is understandable in a political climate that creates frail attachments. Under such an environment most people tend to succumb to the expedient: a reminder that one’s skin folk are not necessarily one’s kin folk.

I want to recognize Herman Corteze, Steve Van Eyssen, P.J. Van der Walt, C.J. Posthumus, J. Smit, L.J. Kennedy and other whites who did an outstanding job for the Technikon.

I also want to thank the many individuals who displayed professionalism and commitment to the institution. Because of them, while writing this book, the rough edges of my thoughts were smoothed by remembering their endeavors: A F P Christoffels, S P K Boni, E Sarpong, C Ofori, G A Que-Eno, W J Baiden-Amissah, T J Weyoe, M N Arksi-Boateng, V W Mapolisa, C P Mintoor, P P Matshaya, G M Pillay, L M Bushula, M Mvula, N M Mbusi, S A Magqabi, V P Zantsi, H N Khumalo.

To Mamacita who has been a devoted partner and has patiently endured the demands of many revisions of this book, I want to say Maraming salamat Mahal for your dedication and commitment.

A. Makapela

Farm-Habitat Africana

Hazletville, Delaware

2004

Prologue

Areas of Discourse

Men of wisdom have suggested that thought should

always precede action, if one’s deeds are to stand the test of time. I do not know what the impact of this book will be. I do know, however, that I have seriously taken the advice of the sages to heart. In harmony with their judicious counsel, I took two years after the disruption of my tenure as vice chancellor of the Eastern Cape Technikon to reflect and carefully review my stewardship.

As indicated in the table of contents, my odyssey began when my late wife and I decided to take early retirement from our teaching positions. She was an elementary school teacher in Sayville, Long Island. I was a professor of history at Adelphi University, Garden City, New York. Our family had lived on Long Island for over twenty-five years when we made the decision.

Even though my wife was American born, we were Africanists by political orientation and cultural identification. We always considered ourselves sojourners in the New World. We regarded ourselves as Africans and that Africa was our ancestral home, where we would return someday. So homeward bound we prepared.

The odyssey of our repatriation was fueled by atavistic feelings and cultural desires. We wanted to be reconnected with Africa, especially with South Africa where I was born more than half a century ago. Like the children of Israel, who left the wilderness to scout the promised land, the family made preparations to meet the ancestors.

It had been a very long time since I had seen the motherland. Twenty-six years to be exact. In the interim, my passport, which was issued in 1959, had expired. But the South African Consulate in New York refused to renew it, claiming that my citizenship was undetermined. When I asked them why, their response was that all Africans in South Africa had now been assigned citizenship in the Bantustans. Because mine was not, I was informed that I would need to apply directly to the Minister of Foreign Affairs for my case to be reviewed.

I reminded the consulate that it had been almost a year since I applied for the renewal of my passport; to tell me of impediments at this late hour, just before our scheduled date of departure, was unacceptable and very unfair. I also informed them that on the scheduled date of our departure, I was going to attempt to board the plane using my expired passport. If unsuccessful, I would call a press conference and expose the South African government for its despicable policy of denying me my citizenship.

On the day of my departure, I received an overnight package with visas for members of my family and an emergency travel document for me. Unbeknown to me, at the time, my wife had called the consulate and told them a thing or two. During the heated exchange, the consulate suggested a face-saving gesture. They would issue me an emergency travel document if my wife would persuade me not to take the matter to the press. They also suggested that when we reach South Africa, I should present my case to the Department of Foreign Affairs. My wife accepted the compromise and calmed down.

Once in Pretoria, we found the mood of the South African authorities completely changed. The officials at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs were courteous and very apologetic about our ordeal. The chief of the passport section ushered us into his office and offered us tea and biscuits. He then directed his deputy to take all the necessary information. In two days, I picked up my new passport at the department of foreign affairs.

Back in the United States, I remember arguing with some people at the African-American Institute—an organization that has contracts with the United States Agency for International Development to service African students in the country. Most of the people did not want to believe that my family and I had a good time in South Africa. They wondered how my wife and children who incidentally had never lived under segregation could be at ease under apartheid.

But one perceptive woman, Shallot McPherson, who I had known for over twenty years, captured the essence of our pilgrimage and its apparent contradictions. Directing her comments to me, she said, You were embraced by your culture, and in the process you forgot about apartheid. She was right. My American-born family and I had been welcomed with open arms by its African extended units.

* * *

The psychological need for cultural identification is difficult to explain. In the first chapter, I try to explain what it meant for me and especially my wife to be reunited with Africa. I was born there. When I was twenty-eight I left to educate myself. My wife, on the other hand, was a product of the African diaspora. She was a descendant of slaves who were forcefully taken away from Africa. Her deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) and physical presence confirmed her as a woman of African descent. She was proud of her heritage. She identified herself as a daughter of Africa who happened to be born in the United States. Imagine then how she felt when she first set foot on the soil of her ancestors. This was in 1984. We celebrated her birthday in Soweto. She was ecstatic. The scent of the family and its ambiance exalted her.

* * *

The odyssey continues in chapter 2. I responded to an advertisement. My appointment to the post of vice chancellor introduced me to a different kind of educational philosophy and later to what proved to be a strange and unforgettable experience.

To appreciate what became an intriguing situation for me, let me briefly review my academic and intellectual standing. I am an economist and a historian by training. For over two decades I taught and held administrative positions at a university that regarded itself as a teaching institution. The educational philosophy of the university was to enlighten students through liberal education. In spite of the existence of professional schools and departments, the focus, especially in the humanistic studies and social sciences, was to broaden the intellectual horizon of the students.

Technikon education, on the other hand, is skill focused and career oriented. Technikons are supposed to be like institutes of technology in the United States. However, the educational level of the students at the Eastern Cape Technikon was equivalent to that of vocational high school students in the United States. When I pointed this out to colleagues at the technikon, they took umbrage, assuming that I was demeaning them and the institution. I was not. I was merely making an observation. After all, the purpose of assessing a situation or an entity is not to demean but to appraise. Appraisal is judgment based on comparative standards.

Later, I discovered that the rejection of standards and comparison in favor of collectivization was the modus operandi of the labor union at the technikon. Professors, administrators, secretaries, maintenance crews, and gardeners were all regarded as workers. They were all under the umbrella of a single labor union and demanded the same working hours and benefits. The students, who did not work or study, were the lumpen proletariat: fellow travelers with the workers.

When those same students demanded to be comanagers of the institution, the council/board of trustees recapitulated and included them in all decision-making bodies of the technikon. Thus immature and semiliterate people, because they wielded political muscle, voted and made decisions on institutional matters, which were far beyond their capacities. What, for instance, did those students know about financial matters, such as financial planning, investments, and management of funds? If they did not know such things, were council/board meetings the appropriate place to teach them? Most of the time when the students disagreed with the comptroller at board meetings, it was not because of a desire to learn, but to be antagonistic because he was white and therefore mistrusted.

Discussion about substantive issues is usually not a forte of the ignorant. I recall an education conference that was called by the minister of education, Professor Bengu, to review proposed curricula reforms in higher education. Most of those who were requested to present ideas on the matter prepared papers. The students pooh-poohed the presentations, although most of them were intellectually stimulating and challenging. When their turn came, the students cleared the air by declaring themselves professionals who were equal to any in the auditorium. As such, they made it known that they did not need to prepare useless academic papers. Their presentations were extemporaneous. In my estimation, they were no better than the dribble that comes out of the mouths of rappers while trying to philosophize about life having never read anything worthwhile. The timid audience, however, applauded. I was greatly amused. I laughed: I had been introduced to the theater of the absurd.

Intellectual elitism is abhorred by the benighted in South Africa, especially those in institutions of higher learning who adhere to primitive socialist views. But this is reductio ad absurdum, because higher education or its acquisition is an endeavor to rise above the ordinary and therefore by definition an elitist undertaking. The faculty is or should be academically and intellectually superior to students. They should exert and instill academic and intellectual influence on them. In other words, the professor is not an academic or intellectual equal of the student. Equally, a financial manager, even one without a graduate degree in finance, cannot be regarded as a professional equal of a gardener. Not recognizing and understanding these basic facts, because of an agenda to pursue romanticized egalitarianism as was done during the Cultural Revolution in China, is an illusion which is bound to result in serious academic muddle in South Africa.

* * *

In chapter 3, we explore some of the philosophical issues that made conflict between my office and the technikon community inevitable. I mistakenly assumed, for instance, that I was appointed to lead the fledgling institution to higher ground. With that misconception in mind, I proposed to restructure academic and administrative units of the technikon. Since the institution is rural based, it did not make sense to me for the mission of the technikon to be urban focused. The institution was also controlled by students and the labor union. These bodies made it impossible for the institution to uphold admission policies and maintain institutional priorities and financial constraints. I wanted to wrestle control from those parvenus and rest it on legitimate academic bodies. I also wanted to redefine the role of the labor union and students in an academic setting.

In retrospect, I now realize that my plans and enthusiasm were misplaced. I was not supposed to lead with ideas and to reform the institution. A course had been set: a conduct established and a behavior—though unacceptable in normal educational setting—accepted. I was supposed to acquiesce without murmur, but I did. I challenged the status quo. I opened debate. The labor union and the students wanted physical confrontation. I did not blink.

* * *

The activities of the council/board of trustees are examined in chapter 4. Unlike other boards which are usually made up of philanthropists, executives of large corporations, notable academicians, and high-profile citizens, ours was tribally based and acted like a tribal council. Its character and disposition were governed by kinship ties and clan loyalties.

In higher education, trustees usually participate in loftier goals such as shaping institutional priorities. They review the educational quality of the institution and facilitate proposed changes by the head of the institution. In the case of the Eastern Cape Technikon, this kind of an understanding was lacking. This was partly because the trustees were ignorant of their charge. I was naïve. My American experience did not prepare me for the ineptitude I was to face. I took too many things for granted. For instance, I assumed that institutional criteria for the selection of trustees had been established, and that since the institution was relatively new, the trustees had at least been given some kind of charge and orientation about their responsibilities. I was mistaken.

In spite of the fact that in kinship societies, it is very difficult to command the loyalties of clan members when one is an outsider, I tried. I approached the executive committee of council, which gave its blessing to invite a legal team with experience in the workings of university and technikon councils. The team was to visit the technikon and brief our council on its responsibilities. In particular they were to counsel the trustees on the legal authority of the body on technikon matters and to help define legal guidelines that would establish and maintain a professional relationship between the chief executive officer of the institution and the board. The question was, does the council have the legal right to usurp the responsibility of the vice chancellor