Does our Constitution have the nation it deserves?

South Africa’s Constitution and Bill of Rights are lauded internationally and domestically (though less so today) as the best in the world. This is not just because of its entrenchment of democratic processes and institutions, but also as a result of its affirmation of social rights. 

Unfortunately, for too many South Africans these social rights have yet to become a reality and in recent years we have experienced a devastating decline in the realisation of these rights. This should remind us that as noble as it may be, our Constitution and Bill of Rights are merely documents outlining our aspirations. It is people, not words, that make them real. Whether they have any positive impact depends on the daily choices and actions of every South African. 

Following the 27 June call by a collective of legacy foundations for a National Dialogue to plot the way forward and correct the unforgivable betrayal of our social and human rights and aspirations, perhaps a question we ought to ask ourselves is whether the Constitution has the nation that it deserves? This provocative question is not posed to denigrate the people of South Africa or to delegitimise our constitutional order. At its heart is a challenge for us to explore a glaring omission in our national approach to redress and reconciliation — that question being how to address the deep social and psychological effects of 350 years of colonialism and apartheid which both understood that in order for a minority to illegitimately maintain power over a majority, it had to destroy the social and psychological fabric of those it sought to oppress. 

If we were to dwell for a moment on these 350 years, we would realise that it translates to a staggering 14 generations of South Africans. During those 14 generations, black and brown communities faced multiple social and psychological traumas resulting from repeated forced removals when critical social bonds were torn apart again and again and again. Over those 14 generations, black and brown adults were horrifically infantilised, legally prevented from making even the most basic decisions about their lives and those of their families; referred to as “boys” and “girls” as a way to reinforce a perpetual state of childhood. For 14 generations they lived with the ever-present threat of the destruction of homes; loss of livelihood; separation; enslavement; beatings; rape; disappearances of loved ones; and murder. 

On the other side, sat the enforcers of this inhumane brutality and systemic dehumanisation as well as those in whose name it was done. What was the effect on the believers in racial hierarchy and its beneficiaries when the truth and security of their world view was shattered? Our attempts at national healing have largely neglected any exploration of the psychological effects of these traumas and their impact on us as individuals, communities and ultimately as a country, today. 

In the aftermath of World War II there emerged a field of study that sought to understand the effects of intergenerational trauma. Yet in a country with our history, we have largely ignored such critical examination. Perhaps it is time, through the dialogue, convened by the legacy foundations, for us to examine the cause and effect between the 14 generations of trauma and our high levels of substance abuse, the pervasiveness of gender-based violence, the shocking brutality of our crime, the utter selfishness and cravenness of our corruption and our daily struggles with distinguishing right from wrong which speak to an entrenched disregard of our fellow citizens. 

Maybe there we will find the path to becoming the people that our Constitution deserves. 

Lindiwe Gadd is a member of the Chief Albert Luthuli Foundation.