Noah’s friend, Raphael van Wyk, is visiting us. Afrikaans in origin, he was given his first name by a mother who hoped he would become an artist.
That he became a lawyer must have been a disappointment to her, but she kept her feelings a secret and took them to her grave.
She lived to see him take silk, a mark of esteem in the profession. When told that he was now a Senior Counsel, she looked anything but gratified. I believe she thought this only compounded the folly of his original choice.
Ruff, as we affectionately call him, is gruff, tough and anything but bluff. His failing, if failing it be, is his rigidity. He detects a principle in everything and then insistently lives by it.
So much so that I believe he is a Kantian. I am not sure and shrink from asking him. Putting this in appropriate terms requires a certain delicacy. You can’t just blurt out “Do you like Kant?” and expect to raise no eyebrows. I say this as a categorical imperative.
I shall deliberate on the best approach to take. In the meantime,
I shall, as Ruffy would say, stay on the kantlyn and dwell on safer subjects. Like Orania.
“Why, Ruffy, does the State tolerate Orania?”
“Why shouldn’t it?” Raphael replies.
“Isn’t it a moral affront?”
“I doubt it. Orania comprises a group of people who share a common language and believe they share a common culture. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, they exclude people who might wish to join them? Surely that’s not right?”
“Isn’t it? You do this all the time. Whenever you have one of your delightful parties, you choose whom to invite and, in the process, whom to exclude. You think nothing of this, and nor should you.”
“But aren’t the Oranians selecting people by race? Isn’t that the problem?” I ask, less certain now.
“As a fact, I don’t think they are. They certainly don’t profess to be doing so.
“Dinner party guests”
“They say that they screen by language and culture. In precisely, my dear, the way you do when you draw up your list of dinner party guests.”
In effect, what they are saying is that they don’t want Oranjemunds. I have a kind of Tourette’s syndrome and keep thinking like this. Luckily, I keep the joke to myself. It’s not really funny, and even if it were, it would still be tasteless and vulgar. A bit like the people I leave off my guest lists.
“People are naturally clannish,” Ruffy continues. “They want to fraternise with people they like and shun people they don’t. To fight against this trend is just futile.”
So, I say to myself, discrimination is fine, be it cultural, linguistic or, heaven forbid, racial? I say the same thing to Ruffy.
“Not fine so much as tolerable,” he says, “and then, not always, only sometimes.”
“Where do we draw the line?”
“Fasten your seatbelt and I shall tell you.
“American constitutionalists have the answer. They distinguish between the private and public domain. In the former the State has no interest. Private is private, personal is personal.
“In the latter, the public domain, the matter is otherwise. Now we are concerned with the exercise of power devolved by the community and the expenditure of money raised from it.
To be rational
“The State, to which both are granted in trust, must under law discharge its functions properly. This entails decision making that is meant at least to be rational.”
Things are becoming esoteric: the airplane needs landing.
“Which side of the line does Oranje fall on?” I ask. I know something about philosophical aviation.
“Oranje is private. It exists on private property that was bought by private owners and developed by them privately. They call on the State for nothing and interact with the State only to pay taxes by way of tribute.
“Orania’s objects are private. They are simply to provide facilities for the use and enjoyment of the community in whom they vest.
“Its means and methods are independent and autonomous.
“Isolated in the world they have created, the people of the town want nothing to do with South Africa generally. Much like the Amish, they are a group in and of themselves, stuck if not in time then altogether in place.
“They chose the people with whom to associate and those from whom they dissociate. This process makes them inclusive and exclusive. They desire to bother no one else, and see no reason why others should bother with them.”
I begin to understand: they are harmless. I see why black leaders come to inspect the place and, no longer suspicious, leave unconcerned.
Replicated countrywide?
But would the matter be otherwise, I wonder, were Oranjes to be replicated countrywide? I put the problem to Ruffy.
“If whites throughout SA were to segregate themselves by ‘culture and language’, would the State then have a justifiable concern?”
“Decidedly,” says Raphael. “The nation state has an interest in social cohesion. Enclaves of segregated communities pock-marking the country is the antithesis of what is demanded by such a structure. What now exists is far from harmless but socially highly disruptive.”
“So it is all a matter of extent and degree,” I say tentatively.
“Well, yes. The matter is one of social impact. In matters of this sort, it invariably is.”
“How then do we resolve such problems?” I ask.
“Ah. By judgment, larded with wisdom, case by case. No cut-and-dried rules can help us, I fear. The best we can hope for is that our politicians will be statesmen. Only then will people prosper.”
“Would you like another cup of coffee, Ruffy dear?” I ask, so bringing the discussion to a close.
Snuggled up in bed, I say to Noah. “You were very quiet. Were you in a vacant and pensive mood?”
“Not a bit,” he replies. “I was listening intently.”
“Weren’t you surprised by the line Ruffy took? Isn’t he thought to be principled, doctrinal, even dogmatic?”
“Yes,” says Noah. “But rationality is the principle, the doctrine and the dogma he espouses. The sensible is what ultimately makes sense to him.”
“Do you agree this is all we have?” I ask, perturbed.
“Yes, darling.” He wants to reassure me, I know. He is a sweetie, I think, as I ruffle his hair. It is the ruffle of a simple man.
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