Rant & Rave: Don't Bitch About Bush, You've Got Zuma

I am extremely proud of being South African. What we have managed to do over the last 15 odd years have been unbelievable. From the most despicable Apartheid regime to a stable democracy and sound economic growth. From the bottom of the world pecking order, to the leading global voice on justice. A leading light in a world at war. We have shown the world how everyone can live in peace and harmony - and celebrate differences instead of letting it divide us. The region I come from has shown the world how Muslim, Christian, Hindu and Jew can all live together, celebrate our differences and enrich our lives in this melting pot we call home - instead of trying to wipe each other out.

Yes, like all other countries we have challenges. Crime, poverty and HIV/Aids being the biggest. At the heart is poverty - or at least the lack of shared wealth. Too much is still in the hands of a small (mostly white) minority. We have the systems in place to address this - affirmative action specifically aimed at benefiting the previously disadvantaged. These policies have been integrated into our procurement system in innovative ways, as well as in the workplace. At the same time the government has brought electricity, running water and housing to millions of people. We are very much a work in progress. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Change doesn't happen overnight.

And we have won the rugby world cup - twice!

We have shown how democracy can be a powerful way to bring real benefits to all people in South Africa. Since 1994 we have experienced mostly all the good and great things of having a democracy.

And then there was Zuma.

Zuma has just been elected as the leader of the ANC - the political party I supported and voted for in South Africa. He is now in a perfect position to become the next President of South Africa. The 'Comrades' at the Congress celebrated his win as proof that democracy works and that anyone can be elected as a leader in a free and fair election.

Zuma is an idiot. I have met him a few times and he is not the brightest spark. He has the charisma of a damp dishcloth. And the morals of a rat. He didn't deny sleeping with the young girl that was not only HIV positive, but also a family friend. Whether there was consent or not is irrelevant. You would expect more from someone who is supposed to be a leader we look up to - who should be a shining light for us to follow. And the fact that he took a shower afterwards to 'ensure' he doesn't 'catch' HIV speaks to his intellect. And I am not even going to go into the corruption charges. How the hell can the ANC Women's League justify supporting this guy during the election? And we all saw Zuma speak at the COSATU Congress - how could you even think for a minute he would be a leader for the workers or the people?

I know that people don't like Mbeki, but you don't drink cyanide just because you don't like Coke. Pick something else that won't kill you. Okay, cyanide will kill you quicker than Zuma, but the outcome will be the same - Zuma will drag everything that Madiba and all our great leaders have worked for through the mud. We will be the laughing stock of the world. Mbeki is a statesman respected across the world for not bending to popular demand, but sticking to what is just and right. Well, most of the time - he is fallible (read his HIV/Aids policies). Mbeki is a giant compared to Zuma.

What really gets to me is the fact that these same 'Comrades' will be the ones bitching and moaning about Bush and other world leaders , but especially Bush. As they used to say at union meeting - 'Comrade, you are out of order'. You lost your right to criticize the democratically elected leaders from other countries when you elected Zuma as your leader. Bush might be an idiot with policies we don't like or agree with, but he was democratically elected (twice) by his people - just like Zuma. So, stop your bitching about Bush or Brown - or even Mugabe - you got Zuma. YOU voted him in. YOU are responsible. YOU will be the laughing stock of the world. YOU just lost your right to bitch.

The birth of a Comrade (1996)

My meeting with Cunningham for the LRS (Labour Research Services) job went unbelievably well. We hit it off straight away. He was one sharp cookie - and piercing eyes that could see through anything. He asked me questions from every angle. It was like watching Ali hitting his victim from every angle. One-two, one-two. And I had to open up very quickly and admit that I knew nothing of NACTU or what the job entailed. Hell, I didn't even know if he was a General Secretary or Secretary General. But that I had the commitment and passion to be part of the changing South Africa. I wanted this job more than anything. I wanted to be part of the best story ever to be told in the history of South Africa. The story of the rebirth of our country.

Well, he bought that hook, line and sinker. It was true, but I did pull out all my poetic skills to convince him that I was the right one for the job.

We sat around talking about the job and the kind of support they needed for a while. We had some crap coffee and a few cigarettes. He was an easy guy to be around and had great stories to tell. But I knew that he wasn't telling me everything of his past and you could see in his eyes that he have been to places some people should never go to - I later learnt that he was a responsible for APLA Intelligence during the liberation struggle. APLA - the Azanian People's Liberation Army - was the military wing of the Pan Africanist Congress in South Africa. APLA was one of the most vicious military wings in South Africa - especially between 1990 and 1994 when the ANC was already unbanned and everyone of note was negotiating for a new South Africa at CODESA. They killed 4 people at a golf club in 1992, 5 people at a hotel in 1993, 11 people in a church in 1993, and 4 people at a tavern I used to go to as a student in 1993. And he headed up their military intelligence.

We got up - wanted me to meet a few other people. First up was Mahlomola 'Shloksh' Skhosana - the Deputy General Secretary. He was fast asleep behind his desk. He sat straight up with his eyes closed. Cunningham just walked in and started talking - as if Mahlomola wasn't asleep at all. Slowly he woke up and wiped his eyes, and started talking as if he was never asleep at all. Odd, but I got used to this later on - he can fall asleep anywhere and still know what is going on around him. What a nice guy though - one of the biggest and warmest smiles you can find anywhere. And not a bad bone in his body.

Two other guys walked in while we were talking to Mahlomola - Joseph Maqekeni and Manene Samela. You could see straight away that Joseph was one of the original good guys. Workers loved him because he was like a father - and that's why he was elected President of NACTU. Always friendly and always listening - and happy to play a secondary role to strong, dominant power players like Cunningham.

Manene was another story. He was huge - from worker stock. In fact, the treatment his mother received from her employers was a major inspiration for his involvement in the trade union movement - fired after 23 years with no pension, just because she got old. And she only saw her kids once a year when she went home for the holidays. Manene had a look in his eyes that made it clear that he was not one to be crossed - ever. He was the General Secretary of the South African Chemical Workers Union (SACWU) - the largest NACTU trade union member. And SACWU was involved in a long running turf war with CEPPWAWU - their main competitor from the largest trade union federation in South Africa - the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU). And it was an ugly battle - huge unions fighting for their members worker by worker - shop floor by shop floor.

At this stage Cunningham hasn't introduced me to anyone yet -not even to Mahlomola. He just started talking to Mahlemola about the LRS and Gordon Young when Joseph and Manene walked in.

No one paid much attention to me - especially when Joseph and Manene walked in. They were now talking trade union talk - another clash with CEPPWAWU and Manene was clearly upset and ready for a fight. About 5 minutes into their chat Joseph looked at me with a slightly perplexed look on his face as if he only realized I am in the room now, but for the life of him couldn't see why I would be there at all. I stood out amongst the men in the room - a young strange white guy not talking at all. Cunningham saw Joseph looking at me and turned around and said - 'Sorry Comrades, this is Comrade H - he is going to work for us on NEDLAC. He'll be our lead representative.'

Just like that. As if it meant nothing - just a matter-of-fact statement from him. And a life changing moment for me. I was shocked - I got the job! No real interview. No long list of questions. No checking of my referees. No multitude of people to interview me. Just a few words from Cunningham and I had it.

I think the surprise and utter ecstasy showed in my face as everyone looked at me and smiled. Joseph looked at me, gave me a big smile, slapped me on the back and said, 'Welcome Comrade H'. Then he turned to Manene and started talking about the turf war again.

And now I was a Comrade. A real Comrade, named by real Comrades.

But I was starting to run late. I still had to catch a cab back to the airport and get home to tell my wife. Those were the days before cellphones and I was dying to tell her the good news. I got the dream job - the break we needed and the chance we wanted.

As I left I got my first 'comrade' handshake from people who had real credentials in the struggle against Apartheid - not just some leftie student who thought it was cool to be radical. It starts like a normal handshake, then shifts to a quick grip similar to someone doing arm wrestling, and then shifts back to a normal handshake - hands always touching and the movements quick, clear and to the point - just like my new comrades.

Meeting Mr Cunningham (1996)

I got my big break - an interview with Gordon Young for a job as Developmental Economist / Researcher at the LRS (Labour Research Services). The LRS was the leading trade union support organization in South Africa. Well respected by overseas donors and at the center of policy making in the trade union movement. And it played a huge role in the anti-Apartheid movement during the struggle years.

Of course I knew nothing about all this when I got the call from Gordon Young. Hey, I applied for a job that was advertised in the wrong newspaper. And I was only a minor player in the anti-Apartheid movement at my university. How was I supposed to know who they were? I would have thought that it had something to do with taxes if someone mentioned the LRS to me.

But I managed to wing it at the interview. Gordon and myself did not hit it off straight away. I think that he thought I was a bit of a lightweight. He was right of course, but he also realized that I knew research methodology inside out. And that, combined with the lack of competition, got me through to the final round of interviews. With the LRS partner - NACTU - that I will be working with.

Again, I knew nothing of NACTU. Absolutely nothing. Thanks to my Apartheid education, I was never taught anything about trade unions in South Africa - not even at university. Never mind the smaller of the three trade union federations.

My initial research also let me down. I thought NACTU stood for the National Azanian Council of Trade Unions. It made sense. NACTU was closely aligned with the black consciousness movement and had close ties with organizations such as the Pan Africanist Congress of Azania (PAC) and Azanian People's Organization (AZAPO) - two of the dominant black consciousness organizations in the fight against Apartheid. But I was wrong - although they were somewhat aligned with the PAC, NACTU stood for the National Council of Trade Unions. And their members had the freedom to choose who they wanted to support politically.

But I didn't do that much research, thinking that I can wing it again as I did with Gordon. All I knew was that NACTU was a trade union federation and that the job would focus on supporting them with research.

Gordon told me I was to meet Cunningham in Johannesburg. If he liked me I would get the job as he would indirectly be my boss. Hey, they pay my salary - I just work for the LRS.

I started picturing Mr Cunningham. He sounded like a typical middle aged white English guy - most likely from the 'old country' - England.

I got on the plane to Johannesburg from Cape Town to meet Mr Cunningham at the NACTU offices. Grabbed a taxi from the airport and off I went to Fox Street in the center of Jo'burg. I was shitting myself as I have only been to Jo'burg a few times, and the horror stories people told me sounded like something from Gotham City - muggings, car hijacking, stabbings etc. Not the place for a young white boy from a small town. But I made it to the NACTU offices in one piece.

As I entered the NACTU offices I immediately realized that I have never seen so many black people in one office. Everyone was black. It was a bit of a cultural shock - but a pleasant one. At last I found a place that looked like it represented South Africa. Anti-Apartheid slogans and pictures were posted all over the walls - clenched fists and all. I thought it was odd that a white middle aged English guy would head up all of this, but this is South Africa and anything is possible.

So I sat around and waited for Mr Cunningham to come and call me for my interview. A tall, thin black guy in overalls walked past me and stopped. He looked back at me and said - 'You must be Henk'. He came over and introduced himself. 'Hi Comrade, I am Cunningham. Cunningham Ncgukana'. He wasn't even middle aged.

Wrong degree, wrong timing, wrong newspaper, wrong colour - right job? (1996)

Like most students in South Africa, my wife and myself decided to go on a working student holiday to the UK after we finished our studies. We had fun, but decided to come back after six months - we missed home way too much.

Now it was time to get a job. We both took jobs that paid the bills, but not what we had in mind as a career. Every day we will go through the newspapers and see what is available in line with our interests. We had different interests and had to look at different newspapers to make sure we cover all angles. Whenever we had a chance we would look for jobs for each other as well.

But it was a tough time to be a political scientist. No way in hell was I going to work for the Apartheid government - even though they already unbanned the ANC and released Nelson Mandela. I had the wrong degree to take any other job and had to settle for battling it out until something better came along.

And with so many exiles coming back, there were very few jobs open in more radical and left-leaning organisations. And, of course, I was a minor student activist at one of the most conservative universities in South Africa - not the right qualifications at that time in South Africa either.

I was browsing through the Cape Times, searching for a job for my wife, when I came across a very small ad for a developmental economist / researcher job for a trade union support organization. This was very, very odd. Not only because it was in the 'General' job section, but because of the newspaper that the ad was placed in. The Cape Times was the South African equivalent of the USA Today - full of short stories, bordering on tabloid news, and leaning slightly to the right. (Why did I read this? Hey, we only had two daily newspapers in the area I lived! And it was before the Internet took off.) Hardly anyone was going to see this ad stuck in a corner in the wrong newspaper.

This gave me the perfect incentive to try for the job. Hey, the competition was going to be weak and I might actually stand a chance. So I rang the number and it went through an agency they were using - Action Appointments. The person who spoke to me, Annelie Marais, sounded slightly taken aback when I said I was interested in the job. She eventually came out with her problem - after a few minutes of throat clearing and obviously stumbling around for the right words - and said: 'Sorry sir, but our client is looking at an affirmative action appointment'. I didn't get it straight away, but she made it clear - her client wants a black person for the job. I was dissapointed, but thanked her for her time and said goodbye. I was just the wrong colour for this job.

I had no problem with affirmative action. In fact, I have always been a big supporter of affirmative action and would later become part of the group who would write this into policies and laws as we rewrote almost every piece of legislation in South Africa after winning the election in 1994. But it was the first time this was used against me - so it was a bit more personal.

I mulled it over for a few days and decided to give her another call. This time I mentioned to her that we spoke a few days earlier and that she mentioned that this position is an affirmative action position. I went further to say that she is the agent and do not make these decisions - she should at the very least forward my CV with all the other applicants and let the employer make the call. I would be more than happy to stick with their decision - but it was not her decision to make. She was very nice and tried to talk me out of it, but in the end agreed that because the ad did not say it was an affirmative action position, she would give my CV to the client - I also had a suspicion that she didn't have too many CV's to start off with due to the newspaper she picked. (Annelie and me became good friends later on, but we never spoke about how we met the first time).

And a few days later I got a call from Gordon Young, the founder and head of the Labour Research Services and highly respected in te labour movement, saying that he would like to interview me for the position of Developmental Economist / Researcher.

This was my big chance - and the process of trying to get this job was another experience all together.

The accident (1985)

As I mentioned before, I grew up in a very traditional racist Afrikaans house in South Africa. We always lived in pretty white-only areas and were almost completely cut off from the reality outside our little neighbourhood. Yes, we had a black maid working in our house and a black gardener, but it never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with the way we lived. It wasn't discussed in our homes, or in church, or in school, or on television, or in newspapers, or even in general conversation at the braai (barbecue). All of these where controlled by the Apartheid regime - everywhere where you would expect issues to be raised were controlled by the Apartheid regime. When you live in a controlled environment, you pretty much never know what you are missing - a 'great' controlled social experiment.

A question that I get asked often is 'how did you land up this way? And it is difficult to answer. There wasn't a single 'big event' that influenced me. It was a combination of many little things. And it added up. It is still the same process today - every experience adds a little bit of new insight and knowledge... and a realization that I still have much more to learn and still don't know anything!

I'll just highlight a few things that played a role in my initial 'transformation' while I was still at school. It didn't change me overnight, but it did point me in the right direction and laid the foundation for my future behaviour.

It started with my mom. She wasn't a liberal by any stretch of the imagination. But she wasn't a racist the way my father was a racist. She always told me to never except anything as a given and to always question everything until I am satisfied with the answer. And I did. Maybe she didn't want me to question the 'establishment', but she gave good advice.

Another major influence was my history teacher at school. Again, not a liberal at all. But he was a good teacher. We were never taught anything about the ANC, Nelson Mandela or the struggle against Apartheid in history classes - it was all about the white history. And specifically the 'struggle' of the Afrikaners against pretty much everyone. I loved history. Always did well and studied hard. Mr Grant knew that I was interested in history and always gave me a little more attention than the other kids. And then one day he stopped me as I was about to leave his class. All he said was 'you know, there is another history of South Africa that I am not allowed to tell you about' - and then walked out the class. That was it. Nothing more. But enough for me to start asking questions and dig around a bit more to find out about this 'other' history.

Music also played a major role in my transformation. It didn't play a role in my early years as most of the music my parents played was pretty crap - Afrikaans music sucked back in those days, and still do. And then one day someone slipped me a tape with some music of Billy Bragg, The Smith and The Cure. That made me sit up and take notice, but not much. Springsteen did it for me. I was listening to Born In The USA when my brother walked in and gave me some of his old Springsteen tapes - Nebraska and The River. And I was hooked. I started listening to every word he had to say. Although he sang about the US and 'his' people, I knew that the same issue was true for most blue collar workers in South Africa. And most of them happened to be black.

All of these influences played a role. But they never connected. The light switched on when I was involved in a very typical but minor motorbike accident while going to school. It was rainy and I was running late. And I was about to write a history exam. I had Springsteen blasting away before I jumped on my bike. No Surrender was playing, and I had these words stuck in my head while driving to school - 'There's a war outside still raging, you say it ain't ours anymore to win'. Bam! I hit the car in front - never saw it stop. I went flying, bounced off the back window, and was knocked out cold by the time I hit the road.

It was only for a few minutes, but when I woke up I had this group of people looking down at me and talking among themselves. And for some reason the first thought that crossed my mind was 'why are they all white?'

And by accident I became an activist. But it all came little by little. One experience after the other. Always questioning a little bit more. Always digging for more information behind the story. It's still the same today - open to listen to and learn about new views, but being critical of anything and everything.

I had many similar accidents in my life that made me who I am today. No big plan - just a few 'minor' accidents that happened to shape my life.

Thank you Mom. Thank you Mr Grant. Thank you Bruce. And thank you Yamaha.

Rant & Rave: Do They Know It's Christmas?

I really don't like Christmas songs. No one will like Christmas music if the topic was anything else. Imagine the same tune but another topic. Would you buy or listen to Boney M if they didn't play Christmas music?

But there is one specific song that really gets to me. Band Aid's Do They Know It's Christmas?

I know they mean well. And their heart is in the right place. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions - well, that's what my mother used to say.

There is one specific line that sticks out and gets to me. 'And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas'. Uh-duh. It is summer in most of Africa at Christmas time. Of course there won't be any snow in Africa this Christmas. Or the next. No matter how many times you sing the song - there will be no snow in (most of) Africa at ANY Christmas.

It used to baffle me at Christmas time when people used to send us cards with snow scenery - snowmen, Father Christmas on his sleigh, snowflakes falling etc. What's that all about? We never got snow - Christmas or any other time. It never really got cold enough in winter for snow - never mind at Christmas time during the summer. It was a completely foreign concept. So when they started singing about it during Christmas it bugged me even more. Never got it. I was 30 before I saw it snow for the first time - in Europe.

But maybe it isn't the song or my childhood memories driving my dislike of Christmas songs - especially Do They Know It's Christmas? Maybe what gets to me is that more than 20 years later we still have all this shit going on in Africa. People suffering at a time when the world is indulging. Things are a little better than 20 years ago, but for the majority of Africans it is still marginal. So many of them work hours we can't imagine and under conditions we will never survive. And they don't bitch and moan. They just live their lives and carry on. They DO know it's Christmas time, but just don't see the point. It's not much better than in 1984. Except it is now Sir Bob.

The (student) spy amongst us (1989)

Like all good young Afrikaners fresh out of school, I started studying at the University of Stellenbosch in the late 80's. Well, it was the only university that my dad was willing to pay for - anything else was seen as way to 'left' for him. He did agree for me to study political science, hoping that I would be like all good Afrikaners and become part of the Apartheid regime's 'braintrust' - Stellenbosch University was the intellect behind Apartheid. Even the building that I studied at was named after one of the leading Apartheid politicians - Prime Minister BJ Vorster. Vorster was so right wing that he even opposed South Africa supporting the allies during World War II.

I was already leaning slightly left by the time I started university and decided to join the most prominent 'leftie' group at university - NUSAS (National Union of South African Students). NUSAS was the only liberal student group for white students during Apartheid. It was a pretty good organization at most universities - allowing for information you wouldn't find in too many places.

The first meeting I attended was to discuss a major protest march on campus. The leading light of NUSAS in those days where a guy called Mark Behr. He was handsome and laid back - a prerequisite for any student activists who wanted to lead an organization. Just enough knowledge to pass superficial debates, but enough looks and attitude to get laid. The meeting went fairly well - a lot of talking and organizing. And it did result in a pretty good march the next day - well attended for Stellenbosch University. But I just had this gut feeling that Mark couldn't be trusted. I didn't say anything as I couldn't place my finger on it - and I was a junior.

But my problems started the next day when we got back together to discuss the march. We didn't get into what we were trying to achieve or what we managed to do. We got straight into discussing the next march. I tried to raise the point that maybe we should decide what we want to achieve and how best we can achieve this. But I was told to keep quiet. Hey, I was a junior and it was only my second meeting.

I tried to talk to Mark afterwards and said that maybe we should arrange for either the local trade union or the UDF (United Democratic Front - the ANC ally) to march with us to show unity. I can't repeat his words - he said it in Afrikaans and it was clearly racist, even though he tried to make it sound as if he was an 'independent thinker'. My initial distrust turned to dislike. I left NUSAS after 2 meetings.

A few month later Mark made headlines - he reportedly got shot at while studying. Boy, did this make him popular. Here is a guy who is so powerful that the Apartheid regime would actually go so far as to try to kill him. Stellenbosch University had a bona fida anti-Apartheid superstar - the man almost got killed. I didn't buy it. The glass was on the outside of the window and they couldn't find the bullet hole.

I shared my thoughts with a few people I knew that were still at NUSAS. But they didn't take my bait. They supported Mark and thought of him as the 'real thing'. In fact, a few of them made it clear that I was only going to create more trouble for myself if I don't shut up. My parting words was - 'I don't trust him and it will all come out at some stage'. In the meantime Mark remained the darling of the student activists, and the 'hit' solidified his reputation.

But it did all come out. Many years later Mark came clean. He was a spy for the Apartheid regime. Yes, during those student days we shared.

It was a shocker to everyone. We knew there were spies everywhere. Every hostel had at least one. But we knew who they were - or most of them at least. But everyone was shocked that Mark was one. (Of course not me - I rubbed it in). He betrayed all of those who trusted him and worked with him. He went to his 'handler' and shared their most secret talks and made them targets for the Apartheid regime. He was everything they despised, and more because he made out as if he was one of them.

But what struck me was the timing of his announcement - 1996. It was odd. Why now? Because his first book just got published and a little publicity never hurt anyone. That's Mark, always staying in the limelight and looking after number one.

Things have changed over the years for Mark. He moved away from South Africa and went on to study at Notre Dame. And living a quiet life in Santa Fe.

Oxfam maths - it just doesn't tally up (2003)

The Oxfam Coffee Campaign - or Mugged - was the major Oxfam campaign in 2003. And it was timely. Coffee prices were at an all time low and coffee farmers were suffering. And it helped bring to life the struggles farmers face in the current multilateral trade system - a global trade system that held very little benefit for the small farmers.

It had all the ingredients for a successful Oxfam campaign - a product that people consume in abundance (coffee is the second most traded commodity in the world - only oil beats it), an alternative with a catchy name - Fair Trade, the faces of African farmers on all materials to get supporters going, and well known brands that people could brand as the 'evil predators' - Nestle, Kraft, P&G and Sara Lee. A lethal combination and the bread and butter of campaigning. And luck was on my side - a few things went my way and I was asked to head up the campaign a few months after joining Oxfam in 2002. (Previous campaign lead Sophia Tickell left within a few months of me joining Oxfam).

I thought we had a good campaign. We asked coffee companies, or Roasters as we called them, to commit to very specific actions to help address the coffee crisis. And many of the companies we targeted did take up our challenge - not all of them, but at least a few did. I thought we should 'celebrate' our first year of the Mugged campaign by doing some proper quantitative research to assess whether the Roaster did what we asked them to do. It was going to be easy - tick the box and move on. We even came up with the idea of giving companies a report card to show the progress they made. And the campaign anniversary took place in September when so much focus would be on the report cards kids receive at school - easy publicity.

But there was a major problem I did not even think of - what will happen if one or more of the companies passed? For me it was easy - if you pass you pass. It would show people that progress has been made and that we can be part of the change we want - that their support and our campaign can make a real difference. And that we are grownup enough to tip our hat to those companies who recognize their mistakes and made the changes we asked them to make.

We did our best research and even developed a 'bean count' system - 0 was ' just not coffee' and 5 was 'the fairest brew'. And the nightmare began when we realized that the most boycotted company in the UK, and major campaign target, Nestle passed the test. Most people just couldn't stand the possibility of acknowledging anything good at Nestle - never mind saying publicly that they did okay in doing what we asked them to do. It just wasn't cricket.

Still, for me it was easy. We had to do what was right - report our findings. I had a daughter that just started school and wouldn't want anyone to move the goalposts for her when it came to school. And I couldn't do it to someone else - even if I didn't like them. So I stuck to my guns and argued that we should do what was right and acknowledge that companies made progress and that they got a pass on their report card. Mind you, they didn't get A's in our initial research - they got C's. A pass, but not a good pass - 'room for improvement', 'work harder' and 'showing promise' would be the taglines that would accompany the report cards. Not glowing grades, but a pass nevertheless.

I had to go on a trip and left the work for others to complete - do the graphics and get the campaign materials ready. Boy, was I in for a surprise when I got back. Someone senior (and someone I respected and liked) decided that we just couldn't give companies any credit and changed the maths. Instead of grading them on the things we asked them to do, Oxfam changed the grades and decided to make one of the four things we asked them to do count for 70% of the grade. Why? Because almost all of them failed this part of the test. It didn't matter that Oxfam believed that this one part wasn't more important that others. What mattered most was to fail the companies. All of them. And they did. Nestle got 43% in the report card.

I learned a harsh lesson. I might have taught research methodology at university, but when it came to social maths you can't beat a campaigner. Truth and fact was truly in the eye of the beholder - Oxfam.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I refused to budge and refused to lead the report card campaign. It did happen. Just not with me leading it.

I wasn't born to be an activist

I wasn't born to be an activist. Quite the opposite, really. I was born to be the stereotypical 'good, racist Afrikaner' in Apartheid South Africa. My family supported Apartheid and all of them worked for the Apartheid regime at some stage in their lives.

My dad was a Brigadier in the South African Prison Services, and one of his last assignments was to look after political prisoners at Pollsmoor prison. But I will leave my dad for another day. Both my sisters worked at the prison services and married guys who worked at the prison services. And my brother worked for the prison services on Robben Island - where Nelson Mandela was jailed.

I grew up in a home that did everything the Apartheid government wanted us to do. We were part of the Dutch Reformed Church - the Apartheid government in prayer. We watched rugby - then the sport of the white Afrikaner. I went to school at Paarl Gymnasium - one of the best Apartheid schools in South Africa. I attended the University of Stellenbosch - the 'brain trust' of the Apartheid policies and politics. We read the Apartheid government approved newspapers and watched their TV. I benefited from the education they provided and the money they paid my dad. I was made for a life supporting and working for the Apartheid government.

I was well on my way to become one of them. I did everything they expected me to do. I was a young racist Afrikaner, ready to take my place in their world. Well, at least the small world within the white community in South Africa.

Somewhere along the line things didn't work out the way they planned. I became everything that Apartheid was against - an activist with a social conscience who loves being an 'African' on the global stage. Instead of being the man they wanted me to be, I became the man I wanted to be. It hasn't always been easy. It hasn't always been fun. But it always felt right. From Stellenbosch to Seattle, Mali to Monterrey, and Lusaka to London - no matter where the road took me, it always felt right, and it always felt as if I belonged.

That's the beauty of life - you can be who and what you want to be no matter where you come from.