DYNAMITE comes in small packages. In Kader Asmal's case, it came in minute sizes. But the only thing that was diminutive about the late Professor Asmal was his physique and not his intellect, energy and vigour
Since news of his death broke two days ago, many have rightly lined up to write and speak about the consummate intellectual, the fierce debater, the maverick politician and proud husband and father.
How satisfying to observe that in this massive sea of voices, those who insulted him have suddenly become mute and the voices of those who knew the man as he truly was have been amplified.
Nobody can argue that Asmal or anybody else is impervious to criticism and should not be chastised when wrong. But the vicious attacks on him recently were not about a difference of opinion and interpretation on an issue.
There was nothing in the exchanges that reflected a battle of ideas.
Instead, when some of his comrades instructed him to "go to the nearest cemetery and die ...", it became clear that our politics had become vulgar and crass. The intellectual paucity of the debates was tragic and disappointing.
But this column today is not about people whom modern parlance describes as "haters" but rather, it is to pay due tribute to a man whose entire life was rooted in a fervent commitment to human rights.
Former colleagues say he was almost fanatical about the subject. To canonise or deify him is to subvert his humanity.
But that he was a giant of the liberation struggle is not debatable. There is a lot that has been and will still be written about his sterling career in politics - from the early years when he met Chief Albert Luthuli, to leading a stayaway, his involvement in the Irish and British Anti-Apartheid movements, activism in global civil rights campaigns, his participation in international inquiries in human rights violations - the list is endless.
And I will leave that to those who knew him better.
The Kader Asmal that I interacted with over the years was a newsmaker who had no tolerance for the red tape that is paralysing government efficiency. When I called him about a problem I was investigating at a school, he would roll up his sleeves and get involved.
He also did not seem to care for the special or preferential treatment that came with his position as a cabinet minister. He mingled with people, often foregoing the perks of the VIP section.
When arriving for interviews, he'd be walking way ahead of his bodyguards, flapping his arms and stopping to chat and crack jokes with everyone, from the security guards to the sound engineers, the cameramen and everyone who worked behind the scenes. Here was a man who did not have an inflated sense of himself. How refreshing and rare.
He was also exasperating at times. I remember calling him to arrange an interview on the quality of the matric certificate. He gave me a long lecture about the importance of the formative and early stages of education and that instead of the matric debate, I must do a programme on the first six years of learning. I thanked him and promised to delve into this topic in future but that for now, I'd like him to talk about matric.
And then he started with the statistics and trends on primary school education. I thought he'd never get off the phone!
In the end, he agreed to come and I walked away more knowledgeable and informed about a topic I had not bothered to work on initially. He was a fountain of knowledge.
The most memorable time with the late minister was at a Melville, Johannesburg, pub. We spent 30 minutes arguing on a TV debate and afterwards he was laughing, knowing that our debate was not personal. Afterwards he asked, almost agitated, isn't there a pub nearby?" We found one and I sat there being regaled with delightful stories about history, politics, family and his travels. Oh, and the drink went down well!
Rest In Peace, gallant soldier.
Intellectual without inflated sense of himself
DYNAMITE comes in small packages. In Kader Asmal's case, it came in minute sizes. But the only thing that was diminutive about the late Professor Asmal was his physique and not his intellect, energy and vigour
Since news of his death broke two days ago, many have rightly lined up to write and speak about the consummate intellectual, the fierce debater, the maverick politician and proud husband and father.
How satisfying to observe that in this massive sea of voices, those who insulted him have suddenly become mute and the voices of those who knew the man as he truly was have been amplified.
Nobody can argue that Asmal or anybody else is impervious to criticism and should not be chastised when wrong. But the vicious attacks on him recently were not about a difference of opinion and interpretation on an issue.
There was nothing in the exchanges that reflected a battle of ideas.
Instead, when some of his comrades instructed him to "go to the nearest cemetery and die ...", it became clear that our politics had become vulgar and crass. The intellectual paucity of the debates was tragic and disappointing.
But this column today is not about people whom modern parlance describes as "haters" but rather, it is to pay due tribute to a man whose entire life was rooted in a fervent commitment to human rights.
Former colleagues say he was almost fanatical about the subject. To canonise or deify him is to subvert his humanity.
But that he was a giant of the liberation struggle is not debatable. There is a lot that has been and will still be written about his sterling career in politics - from the early years when he met Chief Albert Luthuli, to leading a stayaway, his involvement in the Irish and British Anti-Apartheid movements, activism in global civil rights campaigns, his participation in international inquiries in human rights violations - the list is endless.
And I will leave that to those who knew him better.
The Kader Asmal that I interacted with over the years was a newsmaker who had no tolerance for the red tape that is paralysing government efficiency. When I called him about a problem I was investigating at a school, he would roll up his sleeves and get involved.
He also did not seem to care for the special or preferential treatment that came with his position as a cabinet minister. He mingled with people, often foregoing the perks of the VIP section.
When arriving for interviews, he'd be walking way ahead of his bodyguards, flapping his arms and stopping to chat and crack jokes with everyone, from the security guards to the sound engineers, the cameramen and everyone who worked behind the scenes. Here was a man who did not have an inflated sense of himself. How refreshing and rare.
He was also exasperating at times. I remember calling him to arrange an interview on the quality of the matric certificate. He gave me a long lecture about the importance of the formative and early stages of education and that instead of the matric debate, I must do a programme on the first six years of learning. I thanked him and promised to delve into this topic in future but that for now, I'd like him to talk about matric.
And then he started with the statistics and trends on primary school education. I thought he'd never get off the phone!
In the end, he agreed to come and I walked away more knowledgeable and informed about a topic I had not bothered to work on initially. He was a fountain of knowledge.
The most memorable time with the late minister was at a Melville, Johannesburg, pub. We spent 30 minutes arguing on a TV debate and afterwards he was laughing, knowing that our debate was not personal. Afterwards he asked, almost agitated, isn't there a pub nearby?" We found one and I sat there being regaled with delightful stories about history, politics, family and his travels. Oh, and the drink went down well!
Rest In Peace, gallant soldier.