HACkers blog

Jimmy Manyi from the Black Management Forum caused a stir recently with his assertion that it was time to drop white women as an affirmative action category, based on their relative representation levels in the formal economy vs in management positions.

His argument is not without merit when one considers the skewed interpretation of the Employment Equity Act in some instances, and the variable degree to which historical disadvantage has seen redress through the letter, rather than the spirit, of the legislation being embraced.

I've always argued for a more nuanced view; I do not see why "women" as a category should enjoy legislated priority for appointment or promotion in areas which have traditionally been dominated by women (secretarial positions and HR, for example) but I also baulk at the notion of preferentially appointing white men into areas in which they are numerically (proportionally) underrepresented - generally the "lower" payclasses. I feel that the intention of the legislation was primarily redress, and secondarily diversity; and that there is a world of difference between exercising a choice not to enter into a job you consider low status, and being structurally excluded from consideration from such positions - both of which lead to low respresentivity, but only one of which, in my opinion, should warrant redress. Choosing to affirm - through appointment, at the expense of others - someone who's enjoyed affirmation their entire life (better schooling, greater cultural and social capital, etc) even for a "low payclass" position is to my mind morally inexcusable and in conflict with the spirit of the legislation - especially when there is no absolute scarcity of white men (albeit at "higher" levels) from which position to argue for the benefits of diversity. 

 I welcome the opportunity provided by Jimmy Manyi's remarks, and hope it leads to a more nuanced discussion of the intentions of the legislation, and the policies instantiating similar intentions at organisational level; a review of the successes and failures of the policies, and their constraints and silences, and some more intelligent proposals on a way forward. 

"Deliver services, not lectures", Mosiuoa Lekota was allegedly told at the recent COSATU gathering.

That same sentiment hung like a nimbostratus over several unrelated conversations recently.

"Lectures are not working anymore", a number of people have confessed. First years are the usual targets of this sentiment - with the word "toxic" an unspoken subtext in several of these confessions.

I'm not entirely sure how much of this phenomenon is predicated on "a different relationship of students to knowledge" - the much-vaunted "web 2.0 generation" - and how much on the dissatisfaction of these teaching staff themselves with what they're perceiving as a growing chasm between the possible, the actual, and the demand.

The possible has certainly shifted - technology and (the locus of) knowledge negate the necessity of synchronous delivery of information; there are many other - and potentially better, depending on the requirements - ways of doing this.

The actual, too, has shifted. As non-recurrent funding allocations shrink, fewer tutorials get offered at the very levels they're needed, and more emphasis is placed on large-class teaching. Where conditions have also changed - ageing data projectors no longer work with modern laptops; acoustics are dire - particularly in venues such as the Beattie Theatre which has both the amplified foyer noise and the horrid hand dryers from nearby toilets drowning out any attempt by the lecturer to be heard - and often worse after "renovation"; time-tabling sends many students on yo-yo runs up and down the Hill causing their own tachycardia to smother any sounds from the front of the lecture theatre...

And the demand... the demand has certainly shifted. Not simply because Dr Google is a more efficient purveyor of information than your lecture, nor even because (Britney Spears notwithstanding) MTV has redefined standards of attention-worthiness. But also, I suspect, because they've bought the market discourse. They're consumers, shopping for the best product, and if they don't like, they won't buy... at every level. 

One of the classical definitions of madness is persisting with a certain behaviour under similar conditions and expecting a different result (Dr Google's taken an early train home for the long weekend, so I won't reference that :) ) which exacerbates the pressure on those of use working in this Knowledge Factory on the Hill to think more creatively about what it is we're doing, and why... and how. 

... with AutoDrink!

Quench your thirst for knowledge!

In four tasty flavours.... 

For those who're still wondering whether it's a Good Thing or a Bad Thing....

Recently, my incoming snailmail included a white C4 envelope, marked "please do not fold". I opened it cautiously - despite not being manila, there was no guarantee that it did not come from Bremner.

As, indeed, it did. Inside the envelope were a letter and a certificate - the certificate marking 15 years of employment at UCT, and the letter - personally signed by the VC - congratulating me on "celebrating" this anniversary.

I've always admired poets for their ability to transform language - to take a simple, everyday word and to turn its meaning around into something quite else, almost by magic. Watching this skill wrought on the word "celebrate" was awe-inspiring.

Aside from the offensiveness of this paternalistic practice - which I won't go into here - I find it odd that in this age of "managerialism" the lean, mean, well-oiled machine that is UCT continues to reward people simply for warming a seat for fifteen (or twenty five, or thirty five... or forty five?) years. The letter thanks the recipient for their contribution - nowhere in the practice is the quality of the contribution at all of issue. It's simply a marker of a temporal milestone - survive here for 15 years, and you too will get one.

But what exactly is being rewarded? The intention was probably to reward loyalty - the assumption being that people stay because they *want* to. An entire body of literature on "job satisfaction" (and its related concepts) distinguishes between three different kinds of commitment in the workplace:

• Affective commitment - people who stay because they want to stay;
• Normative commitment - people who stay because they feel they ought to stay; and
• Continuance commitment - people who stay because they have to stay.

I'm sure that, intending to reward the first kind, this practice is likely rewarding several cases of the third kind - people who stay because they can't find work elsewhere, but are not useless enough to get fired or caught - and a fair number of the second kind (people who stay because they've seen what happens when others leave - posts frozen and colleagues overburdened, or areas restructured or possibly outsourced, etc). The first of these side-effects is a celebration of mediocrity (though, I suppose, this is simply consistent with the labelling of this class of staff "pass staff" in a climate of aspiration to excellence) and the second, anything between a band-aid solution to a systemic problem and an inhibitor of change.

Organisationally healthy? I think not.

Over the past week or so, I've twice phoned call centres, needing local assistance, only to find the call patched through to some call centre in Jozi. How this is deemed efficient I'm still struggling to understand.

Occasion 1 involved a downpour, a deluge, a deep drift and an engine that wasn't designed for submarine conditions. A breakdown, in rush-hour traffic. After about 10 minutes of the "just wait, the engine will dry and the car will start again" mantra, I realised that not only my impatience, but that of every A-type personality driving their SUV backed up behind me was beyond optimism. I dialled the AA. Things went swimmingly (sorry...) until we got to the "so where are you?" bit of the dialogue.

"I'm on Rhodes Avenue, about 200 south of the intersection with the M3".

"The N3? How far from Durban are you?" 

 "About 2 000km. I'm in Cape Town. That's M3, not N3. The upper freeway."

"Threeways? Where is that?"

"No, the M3, outside Cape Town. Rhodes Avenue."

"Which roads?"

"Rhodes. Cecil. Jonty! Jam? Never mind. It's in Newlands."

 "Newlands Avenue?"

"Yes, close enough." Two hundred more metres and it would have been. "Almost at the intersection with Orange St."

"M3? Orange Street? Gardens?"

"No, Newlands. Almond St." 

 "Could you spell that please?"

At which point the car started - no doubt dried out from the increasing heat within the car.

Occasion 2 took place a couple of days later. Driving home after midnight, I came across a car that looked a little funny. Perhaps due to the whisky I'd consumed earlier, it took me a while to figure out that this was because it was upside down. And that - given how brightly the lights were still burning - this couldn't have happened too long ago. So, I pulled over, and dialled the emergency number for an ambulance.

"Where is the vehicle?"

"Ladies Mile Road, a few metres from the intersection with Main Road, in Bergvliet."

"Which suburb is that in?"

"Bergvliet."

"Yes, but which suburb?"

"The suburb's name is Bergvliet. It's in Cape Town."

"Cape Town. Right, what's the name of the suburb?"

"Bergvliet. It's south of Diep River, north of Retreat, west of Elfindale, east of Constantia." 

"It's in Retreat?"

"No, it's north of Retreat. Ladies Mile Road - it runs from the Main Road in Bergvliet through to Constantia." 

Typing noises in the background, followed by "Right, an ambulance is on its way."

Phew! Feeling a little better, I resume my journey home. My phone rings.

"This is Cape Town Emergency Services. You logged a call for an ambulance. It says here Ladies Mile Road, Constantia, near Main Road. Would that be Constantia Main Road?"

"No, Main Road Bergvliet - the other end of Ladies Mile. Just a few metres along, from the Main Road."

"Right - I'll send it now."

A little later my phone rings again. "You phoned for an ambulance? I'm on my way, but I can't find any car on its roof in the Main Road. Where exactly did you say the accident was?"

"Ladies Mile Road, just off the Main Road, in Bergvliet."

"Oh hold on, I see it. Thanks."

By which stage I was wondering if I shouldn't have canned the call for an ambulance, and asked for a hearse instead...