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Going for broke The fate of farm workers in arid South Africa Doreen Atkinson
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Published by HSRC Press Private Bag X9182, Cape Town, 8000, South Africa www.hsrcpress.ac.za © 2007 Human Sciences Research Council First published 2007 The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of the Human Sciences Research Council (‘the Council’) or indicate that the Council endorses the views of the authors. In quoting from this publication, readers are advised to attribute the source of the information to the individual author concerned and not to the Council. ISBN 10: 0-7969-2176-8 ISBN 13: 978-0-7969-2176-5 Copyedited by Angela du Preez Typeset by Jenny Wheeldon Cover design by Flame Design Cover photo by Doreen Atkinson Print management by comPress Distributed in Africa by Blue Weaver Tel: +27 (0) 21 701 4477; Fax: +27 (0) 21 701 7302 www.oneworldbooks.com Distributed in Europe and the United Kingdom by Eurospan Distribution Services (EDS) Tel: +44 (0) 20 7240 0856; Fax: +44 (0) 20 7379 0609 www.eurospangroup.com/bookstore Distributed in North America by Independent Publishers Group (IPG) Call toll-free: (800) 888 4741; Fax: +1 (312) 337 5985 www.ipgbook.com
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Contents List of tables vi Acknowledgements viii Acronyms x Map of South Africa’s arid areas xii Chapter 1 The unseen plight of farm workers in South Africa 1 The aims of the book 1 Farmers, government, farm workers and the unresolved policy void 3 The argument 8 A note on concepts and statistics 11 The genesis of this study 13 Chapter 2 The rise of an unfree labour system before 1970 15 Multiple perspectives of a complex history 15 Race, land and labour in South Africa in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries 23 The origins of the master-servant relationship after 1850 27 Entrenching farm labour servility after 1913: farms as total institutions? 34 The leaven in the dough: paternalism and social bonds on commercial farms 42 Why are there no white farm workers? 48 Conclusion 52 Chapter 3
The forces of modernisation after 1970 53 The changing basis of white commercial agriculture 53 The decline of the unfree labour system after 1970 58 Urbanisation dynamics after 1994 65
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Chapter 4
Government policy dilemmas after 1994 69 The evolution of rural development strategies 69 Ambiguity, indecision and confused loyalties 72 The Extension of Security of Tenure Act 79
Chapter 5
Life on the farm 91 Paternalism as social capital 91 The decline of paternalism? 96 The right to a grave? 99 The development gap 100 The vexed question of access to farms 108 Conclusion 109
Chapter 6
Leaving the farm 111 To move or not to move 111 Wage levels and the propensity to migrate 118 Employment, retrenchments and migration 126 Education and the propensity to migrate 130 Unresolved policy questions 131
Chapter 7 Civil society and farm life 133 The golden age of service delivery: the Rural Foundation, 1982–1998 133 Filling the gap: civil society organisations and service delivery 142 Possible new alternatives in the NGO sector 147 Conclusion 149 Chapter 8
Municipal political representation of farm dwellers 150 The honeymoon period: 1995–2000 150 Amalgamated municipalities and urban bias 158
Chapter 9
Service delivery and the micro-welfare system 164 Farming communities as micro-welfare systems 165 Farm workers on provincial government agendas 168 The contradictory approaches of government departments 174
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The triangular service delivery relationship 179 Municipal service delivery after 2000: a patchwork of district and local functions 182 The role of municipalities in the rural areas 189 The beginnings of a municipal response 191 Conclusion 202 Chapter 10
Tough choices for service delivery 203 What rural services? 203 Linking finance to functions 210 The ‘where’ of development 215 Mobility and transport 223 Beyond infrastructure: towards enabling local government? 225
Chapter 11
The professionalisation of farm work 228 The legacy of poor schooling 229 Towards the professionalisation of farm work? 235 Informal training and professional advancement 242 Training providers 246 Conclusion 249
Chapter 12
A journey to somewhere? 250 Grazing and cropping rights 251 The ideal of farm ownership 254 The private sector’s role in land reform 256 The fate of unemployed farm workers 260 Commonage, peri-urban livelihoods and land reform 264 Institutional support 270 Policy questions 274 Conclusion: an outlook for the future 279
Notes 282 References 286 Index 297
List of tables
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Table 2.1 Agricultural production by black farmers on white farms, 1922–1936 40 Table 3.1 Labour cost as percentage of total cost 57 Table 3.2 Various estimates of the number of farm employees 61 Table 3.3 Racial profile in agricultural employment, 1970–1995 62 Table 3.4 The urban population per settlement category in the Free State, 1991, 1996 and 2001 64 Table 3.5 Number of farm workers on selected farms in the Free State and Northern Cape, 2001 and 2003 67 Table 4.1
Land reforms undermined by evictions 85
Table 5.1
Farm workers’ views on helpful agencies 94
Table 6.1 Length of residence on farms and in the district, Free State and Northern Cape, 2003 112 Table 6.2 Reasons for choosing farm work, Natal and Eastern Cape, 1987 113 Table 6.3 Potential reasons for leaving farm employment, Natal and Eastern Cape, 1987 116 Table 6.4 Farm workers’ income levels, Johannesburg sample, 1990 120 Table 7.1 Farms affiliated with the Rural Foundation and the number of people reached, 1984, 1988 and 1992 140 Table 8.1 Equitable share received by TRCs in the Bo-Karoo District Council, 1999–2000 157 Table 8.2 Funders involved in rural sanitation programmes, Northern Cape, 2000/01 157
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Table 9.1 Farm worker issues in Provincial Growth and Development Strategies 169 Table 9.2 Agricultural and rural development issues in Provincial Growth and Development Strategies 172 Table 9.3 District municipalities as Water Services Authorities in rural areas 185 Table 9.4 Rural service delivery 186 Table 9.5 Service delivery to farm workers in municipal IDPs 194 Table 9.6 Municipal IDPs: service delivery to agricultural areas 196 Table 9.7 Spatial and demographic dynamics in municipal IDPs 197 Table 9.8 Peri-urban emergent and small-scale farming 200 Table 9.9 Land reform 201 Table 10.1 The applicability and practicalities of service delivery to commercial farms 208 Table 10.2 Preferences for farm workers’ residence, nine Free State and Northern Cape districts, 2003 217 Table 10.3 Frequency of visits to town 223 Table 10.4 Transport modes 224 Table 11.1 Changing employment patterns within agriculture, 1970–1995 236 Table 11.2 Formal employment and education in agriculture, 1970–1995 236 Table 11.3 Farmers’ views of farm workers’ training needs 243 Table 11.4 Training experience and training needs 245 Table 11.5 Farmers’ views of desirable training providers 246 Table 11.6 Farm workers’ preferences for training providers 248 Table 12.1 Farm workers’ ambitions to farm independently 254 Table 12.2 Farmers’ views of appropriate support providers for emergent farmers 256
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Acknowledgements
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In many ways, the production of this book was a team effort. Several studies were conducted, which were incorporated in the book. The author would like to thank Prof. Retha du Plessis (Department of Social Work, University of the Free State), as well as the hardworking staff of the Bloemfontein office of the Human Sciences Research Council – in particular, Anja Benseler, Daniel Pienaar and Ntobeko Buso. This book is a testament to the innovative work conducted by the Bloemfontein office, which has unfortunately since closed. Other important contributors were Rev. Carin van Schalkwyk, Mark Ingle, Dr Marlene Roefs, Gwendolyn Wellman, Nhlanhla Ndebele, Victor Mbengwa, Monyake Mothekhe and Pulani Simes. Valuable financial support was obtained from the HSRC’s baseline funds and the Free State Premier’s Economic Advisory Council. The book would never have been produced without the moral support of Prof. Roger Southall and Prof. John Daniel of the HSRC, as well as Prof. Lucius Botes and Mr Malinda wa Mafela of the Centre for Development Support (CDS) at the University of the Free State. Other staff members at the CDS also made valuable contributions, and in particular, the author thanks Dr Lochner Marais and Ms Anita Venter. In addition, the financial support of the United States Agency for International Development must be acknowledged. During 2002, they funded a study trip to the US, to examine policies and programmes for farm workers. I would also like to thank my co-travellers – Mr Mann Oelrich (then MEC for Agriculture in the Free State), Mr Ike Tshitlho (Department of Local Government, Free State) and Ms Baby Ramahotswa (Integrated Rural Development Planning office, Pretoria) – with whom I had lively and informative conversations during that visit. I would like to thank the numerous American officials in California, Texas and Washington D.C. who made time to share their insights and experiences with us. The project also draws on some work done by Daniel Pienaar for the Food and Agricultural Organisation (Harare office), and we would like to thank Ms Kaori Izumi for her support for the Bloemfontein HSRC office.
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In addition, we benefited from the research funded by the UK’s Department for International Development (DFID) as part of their LOGOSUL programme in the Northern Cape. During 2004, the Department of Water Affairs funded research on service delivery to farm workers, for which we remain grateful. I would also like to express my appreciation for the many farmers, farm workers and municipal officials who shared their insights with us. The staff of the erstwhile Rural Foundation were particularly helpful. Finally, I would like to thank my husband and colleague, Mark Ingle, for his unstinting moral support and his editing contributions.
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Acronyms
ABET
Adult Basic Education and Training
AgriBEE
black economic empowerment strategy for agriculture
AgriSA
South African Agricultural Union
AgriSETA Agricultural Sector Education and Training Authority
CDA
Community Development Association
DA
Democratic Alliance
DC
district council
DLA
Department of Land Affairs
DM
district municipality
DMA
district management area
DoA
Department of Agriculture
DoL
Department of Labour
DPLG
Department of Provincial and Local Government
DTI
Department of Trade and Industry
DWAF
Department of Water Affairs and Forestry
ESTA
Extension of Security of Tenure Act
FDT
Farmers’ Development Trust
GEAR
Growth, Employment and Redistribution
HSRC
Human Sciences Research Council
IDP
Integrated Development Plan
ISRDP
Integrated Sustainable Rural Development Programme
LM
local municipality
LRAD
Land Redistribution for Agricultural Development
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MP
member of parliament
NAFU
National African Farmers’ Union
NDA
National Department of Agriculture
NGK
Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk
NGO
non-governmental organisation
NP
National Party
NPO
non-profit organisation
NWGA
National Wool Growers’ Association
PGDS
Provincial Growth and Development Strategy
PRA
participatory rural appraisal
RSC
Regional Services Council
SAAU
South African Agricultural Union
SETA
Sector Education and Training Authority
StatsSA
Statistics South Africa
TLC
Transitional Local Council
TRC
Transitional Representative Council
USAID
United States Agency for International Development
WSA
Water Services Authority
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Map of South Africa’s arid areas
Research site
xii
CHAPTER 1
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The unseen plight of farm workers in South Africa The aims of the book Picture a government official or a municipal planner who is confronted with the following five facts: During the period from 1988 to 1998, the commercial farm sector shed a staggering 140 000 regular jobs, a decline of roughly 20%. (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 3) For increasing numbers of migrants, migration will be in vain. Those who are most likely to lose their jobs are unskilled or semiskilled workers with education levels that make it increasingly unlikely that they will enter the formal economy. (Kok et al. 2003: 60) Paradoxically, South Africa’s cities are the centre of the nation’s wealth but also of its most abject poverty. Without access to land or shelter, work or education, the urban underclass must find resources to pay for basic services and costly rentals while they fight to survive in hostile social and environmental conditions. (Parnell 2004: 2) The availability of basic services like water and sanitation varies extensively amongst different farms. (CRLS 2001: 19) The low levels of education and literacy in rural areas provide a formidable barrier for rural people in engaging with the state and with policy processes. (Husy & Samsodien 2001: 13) These five statements capture a difficult dilemma. Conditions are poor on many farms, so many farm workers are losing their jobs and moving to towns and cities. But deep poverty already characterises the towns and cities, and those farm workers who remain on the farms are unlikely to be able to make their needs known. How can we plan services in ways that improve the living
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conditions of farm workers who remain on the farms, as well as of those who have migrated to the towns, and whose presence will simply swell the numbers of the urban poor?
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This book focuses primarily on the practical issue of how government officials and municipal planners deliver services. It questions the kinds of government services that should be provided to farm workers. This question naturally resolves itself into several subsidiary questions. These questions ask the following: Who should provide these services? At what cost, and with what funding? Furthermore, where should such services be provided? On the farms, or in the towns? Or in specially created farm workers’ villages? But in addressing these practical developmental questions, it becomes apparent that the farm labour issue is a prism through which we should explore a much wider range of far-reaching social phenomena. For example, the practical issues of service delivery give rise to profound questions about the future of agricultural labour. What are the employment trends with regard to farm labour? What kinds of farm work will predominate in the future? Will farm workers be permanent or casual, and will they reside on or off the farms? What remuneration and benefits will they derive from agricultural employment? Will the living conditions of farm workers improve or deteriorate? What commuting and transport arrangements would be most effective? These questions, in turn, presuppose an understanding of the current rural order and of its changing spatial complexion. Why do so many farm workers leave the farms – do they choose to do so, or are they forced out? Will migrant and temporary farm workers, whom contractors often manage, replace permanent and on-site farm workers? And is it really in the interests of contemporary farm owners to maintain a class of servile and subservient unskilled farm workers? These questions raise another, pivotal, question about the future livelihoods of farm workers. Will there be a return to sharecropping, or an advance to new forms of profit-sharing with commercial farmers? Will we see the promotion of some workers into a stratum of highly skilled professional farm managers? Do farmers and farm workers see possibilities for economic co-operation on a more equal footing? Are there unexploited political resources for farmers or for farm workers – through either party structures or interest groups – which may affect development policies and programmes? These spatial, social and economic questions have implications for land tenure and rural development. Where, if at all, should farm workers enjoy
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the unseen plight of farm workers in south africa
secure land tenure – on the farms (as land legislation now provides for), in the towns or in special agri-villages? Will farm workers acquire their own farms through the land redistribution programme? Will at least some farm workers move from working on farms to owning farms? Could such a policy of farm ownership work? And if it could, what kind of preconditions would have to accompany the policy? At the same time as these issues arise, there are indications that the normative social relationships between employers and farm workers are changing. Are farmers still comfortable with a highly unequal social relationship? Do elements of social paternalism remain in the relationships between farmers and farm workers? And if so, is this a good thing? Is there a trend towards a greater degree of professionalisation of farm work and of new management methods? How might this affect the social and status relations of farmers and farm workers? And underlying these issues, of course, is the question about whether trends are moving away from the rigid gridlines of racial stratification. This book is a first attempt at putting these questions on the national policy agenda. Currently, the government has no specific policy towards farm workers. The author hopes that this book will, at least, identify the areas for investigation so that the government can draft a comprehensive policy. Commercial agriculture still provides about 10 per cent of formal employment in the economy (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 8), which is a major consideration in protecting on-farm jobs. The aim of this book is to stimulate questions about the future of farm work and about the livelihoods of farm workers. In particular, the author hopes that the book will promote further research on commercial agriculture, farm labour, rural-urban migration, land reform and emergent smallholder agriculture. Ideally, such research should engage with the enormous complexities of and variations in farm workers’ experiences. It should also engage with possible policy options to promote farm workers’ livelihoods.
Farmers, government, farm workers and the unresolved policy void Because farm workers are dispersed among farms in areas that are often remote, farm workers as a class are invisible in society. A chronic powerlessness
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in their job situation frequently matches their lack of public profile. This powerlessness arises from the unskilled or semi-skilled nature of much farm work, which means that one farm worker can be replaced by another relatively easily. Farm workers who live at their place of work are mobilised with great difficulty, whether by trade unions or by government agencies. Their relationships with their employers – which may be positive or negative – tend to be more important than their relationships with their peers who work on neighbouring farms. Farm workers are often the last social constituency that government agencies reach. This is because farm workers are geographically remote. The need to negotiate the relationship with that most important of mediators, the employer, also plays a part in this distance. Where farm workers lack basic forms of communication, such as telephones or vehicles, the difficulties of mobilisation, or of simply creating opportunities for camaraderie, are greatly exacerbated. These problems characterise farm workers throughout the world, but they are particularly intense in South Africa. The history of farm workers and their current social and economic problems are a product of colonialism, segre gation, apartheid, capitalist development, and post-apartheid development thinking. This book is about the plight of a social constituency which has been moulded, manipulated, and, more recently, marginalised, by those with economic and political power. Farm workers’ status and situation has changed massively during the last hundred years, due to sudden and dramatic reversals in political and economic interests and fortunes. Ironically, and tragically, the post-apartheid government’s attempts to improve the situation of farm workers have been based on a lack of understanding of the longer-term and underlying forces that shape the pressures on farm workers and their families. The result is that most farm workers’ circumstances have worsened. This book is about these invisible workers, and the families that depend on them. It is about their social and economic history, which forms the backdrop to their current experiences. It is about their current place in the social and political order. It examines public attempts to improve the lot of farm workers, and it also addresses farm workers’ future prospects within a rapidly changing economy. This book is by no means a complete and exhaustive study of farm workers’ lives and livelihoods in South Africa. In general, the book focuses less on labour relations and tenure issues, and more on service delivery and public
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the unseen plight of farm workers in south africa
policy. This means that key topics related to ‘employment justice’, such as the emergence of labour contractors, unionisation and foreign immigrants, are not covered in detail. The study is also biased along geographical lines. This is because it foregrounds the experiences of farm workers in the extensive agricultural areas of the arid and semi-arid pastoral regions of the southern Free State and Karoo. It focuses less on the provinces where intensive agriculture is practised. As such, some of the findings cannot be regarded as definitive. A great deal more empirical work is required, on issues that are not addressed adequately, as well as on the wide range of empirical variations and exceptions that characterise farm labour in South Africa. Our research is currently based on small and localised samples. It is instructive to compare our research efforts with the United States, where an annual National Agricultural Workers Survey includes a sample of 4 000 farm workers each year (Gabbard 2002: 16). There is enormous scope here for an entire generation of postgraduate students and researchers in economics, sociology, political science, public policy and development planning. Furthermore, there is even greater scope for comparative international studies on the socio-economic status of farm workers and on the policy initiatives that can be used to improve their situation. This book includes some comparative findings from the United States. While readers may feel that the comparison with a strong developed economy may not be particularly apt, this is not the case. Many farm workers in the US are Hispanic migrant workers, who are marginalised because of their culture, language and low level of education, and by their lack of permanent residence and tenure rights. There is a great deal to learn from policy initiatives in the US and in other countries. This book provides some examples of these policy initiatives. Defining the core issues is a complex task. Even the ‘problem’ is not clearly understood. Is it a problem of absolute levels of poverty among farm workers? And if so, why exactly is poverty so widespread? Or is it a problem of the cultural marginalisation of farm workers, their geographic dispersal and their being sidelined from the mainstream of urban life? Should we rather be concerned about the relative poverty of farm workers in relation to other sectors of society? Perhaps the problem is that farm work is simply not much in demand any more, and that farm workers, who may have valuable agricultural skills, find themselves rootless in an increasingly modern and urbanised society. Perhaps the problem lies with the fact that the entire agricultural
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sector is suffering the painful adjustment to a globalised market, so that farm workers’ interests suffer. Perhaps it is a problem of social inequality, the sheer fact of farm workers’ social powerlessness and vulnerability relative to their employers. Or is it a problem of land tenure insecurity? Or that farm workers have great difficulty in securing land of their own, so that they remain within the agricultural sector but cannot graduate to becoming independent producers? Is it a problem of too much modernity, not enough modernity, or modernity of the wrong kind? Numerous people, including policy-makers, have a vague and discomfiting feeling that all is not well with farm workers, but few people have unpacked their concerns to explore the underlying theoretical assumptions of these concerns. This is a measure of the vacuum in thinking about rural development in commercial farming areas. Defining the problem would entail many arguments and many books. Each of the problems listed above will have passionate advocates for it being the primary problem. And among these advocates, there will be fervent believers that one single solution is the best one. There is, therefore, sufficient food for thought here to keep dozens of philosophers, researchers and analysts intellectualising for a long while. In the meantime, the distress signals are becoming clearer. These include: • The rapid rate of job losses in agriculture; • Accelerating rural-urban migration and burgeoning informal settlements around the towns and cities; • The very slow pace of land redistribution, particularly to ex-farm workers; • The enormous pressure on communal agricultural land, particularly municipal commonage; • The decline in government services to farm workers; • The confusion and lack of synchronisation among government departments about policies and programmes aimed at the rural poor (including farm workers); • The scarcity of formal agricultural training; • The fundamental lack of capacity of most district and local municipalities to deliver any services at all to farm workers. Political tempers have frayed because these distress signals are not being addressed. Many farmers have taken the law into their own hands, and have evicted their farm workers with varying degrees of heartlessness. Publicspirited NGOs despair at the magnitude of the task to bring about a just
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the unseen plight of farm workers in south africa
rural social order. Farmers’ unions oscillate between despair and anger at the inability of the state to address rural problems. The Department of Land Affairs and human rights advocates resort to enforcing land tenure legislation with increasing determination, often demonising an entire stratum of employers in the process. Many anxious farmers feel that land tenure legislation is the thin end of the wedge of a Zimbabwean-type land solution of nationalisation and indiscriminate land-grabbing. Some municipalities have resorted to levying high rates on farms in an attempt to boost ailing municipal revenues. Disaffected farmers and landowners have repeatedly resorted to the courts to secure some kind of procedural and substantive justice in the face of a government that appears to move between confusion and hostility. The problem needs some clear thinking urgently – not only for damage control, but to salvage what is actually good about the current rural social order, and to determine what kinds of governmental policies and commercial interventions are needed to create a viable and just rural economy and society. This book is aimed primarily at policy-makers, to assist them in understanding the position of farm workers within the broader socio-economic context of rural South Africa. In contrast to other public policy arenas, the current and future status of commercial agriculture, and especially the position of farm labour, is relatively under-researched. Consequently, valuable developmental opportunities are being lost. Many farm workers have shown an extraordinary degree of adaptability and initiative in maintaining a precarious foothold in the economy. Farm workers often have valuable agricultural skills and experience, which could be utilised to much greater effect. In many settings, part-time and small-scale agriculture offers unemployed farm workers an opportunity to make a living. These may well be promoted to boost the economies of small towns. The status of farm workers is, on the one hand, a case of tragic neglect. On the other hand, it offers enormous potential for a much-needed economic boost in the rural areas of South Africa. Public policy-makers in South Africa have not recognised this potential, with the partial exception of ambitious land reform schemes. In addition, commercial agriculture offers valuable opportunities for improving the training and managerial skills of those farm workers who do keep their jobs, in an age of globalisation and stringent economic competition. The positive attitudes of many farmers towards ensuring farm workers’ progress also provide a source of important and under-utilised social capital.
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The argument
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This book makes several arguments. The arguments straddle the disciplines of sociology, economics, politics and policy science. It is unabashedly normative, since its overriding goal is to ameliorate the plight of farm workers by means of public policies. Its goal is also to suggest some meaningful opportunities for the private sector to become involved. Emphatically, the work does not pretend to offer an exhaustive compendium of all the issues and ramifications related to farm labour. It highlights a selection of issues that need to be explored further. The book argues seven points. Firstly, during the twentieth century, the class of black and coloured farm workers was created deliberately as a marginalised and super-exploitable labour force. This trend preceded the advent of National Party apartheid policy in 1948, and can be traced back to the nineteenth century. Secondly, although farm workers have been extraordinarily powerless, significant social relations have often developed between them and their white employers. This has created a paternalistic social order on the farms – albeit on highly unequal terms – which offers an underestimated and neglected opportunity for interracial social cohesion and co-operation. The bedrock of paternalistic social interaction is, however, being rapidly eroded. This is partly due to economic forces, and partly due to government policies that attempt to replace the interaction with a direct relationship between farm workers and the state. Generally this move has failed to deliver real material support to farm workers. Rather, it has left them in a super-marginalised position with respect to their employers as well as to the state. This lamentable state of affairs needs to be analysed in much more detail, and a coherent social policy, based on clear normative choices, needs to be developed to address it. Thirdly, the provision of public services to farm workers has deteriorated significantly since 2000. The end of apartheid in the late 1980s and early 1990s was associated with a rapid expansion of innovative service delivery to farm workers. This should have laid the groundwork for a much stronger rural society. Between 1994 and 1999, some of these innovations began to crumble due to government disinterest, but new initiatives by district municipalities temporarily outweighed this decline. After 2000, the picture became very bleak.
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the unseen plight of farm workers in south africa
With rural areas having been incorporated into municipalities and subjected to a strong institutional urban bias at local government level, a service delivery vacuum has developed. This requires several lines of inquiry. The actions and political ethos of municipalities, and the perverse, built-in incentives implicit in the new municipal system, need to be examined. The ideological blind spots of the government also need to be identified, understood and unpacked into manageable policy components, so that a new governmental vision for rural development can be constructed. In addition, the precarious social and economic position of recent farm-worker immigrants into the towns and cities needs to be understood. This is because these immigrants have become the lumpenproletariat of a hugely unequal urban class society. Fourthly, the ‘development gap’ as experienced by farm workers has to be understood very much better, before social policy is designed. A century of marginalisation has created a farm-worker sector that is hopelessly unequal to the task of dealing with the challenges of modernity. This book will argue, however, that these farm workers might yet harness their agricultural skills to develop future livelihoods. The life-world of the farm worker, therefore, has to be conceived in a much more nuanced and multidisciplinary way. This understanding should encompass dysfunctional household dynamics, gender inequality of often the most oppressive sort, poor education, a lack of social and organisational skills or experience, an enormous want of confidence and self-esteem, a lack of appropriate language skills to negotiate modern institutions and, all too often, chronic substance abuse. At present, the few governmental development opportunities that exist for farm workers, such as land reform, do not adequately address these social realities. There is an urgent need for participatory and bottom-up planning, which will require long-term engagement with farm workers and their families. Fifthly, there is a long-term and remorseless trend in the loss of agricultural jobs, with a consequent drift to the cities. In South Africa, this has amounted to a demographic and societal revolution in the countryside – one which has found no echo in government policy. The implications of this drift are far-reaching, especially regarding the provision of urban livelihoods and services. The drift also affects the future development trends of small towns, medium-sized towns and cities. Several key policy interventions need to be put into place. Appropriate spatial planning and productive infrastructure needs to be provided, and the commercial and institutional capacity of these urban areas needs to be boosted.
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Sixthly, the usefulness of farm work and experience needs to be recognised and capitalised on. In the current South African economic context of jobless growth, a person who has had a job at some period in his or her lifetime – even a menial one – has an advantage over the many people who have never had a job and have no prospect of ever securing one. Despite its many drawbacks, farm labour provides a social and economic resource, which needs to be nurtured. Many farm workers have some understanding of crops and animal husbandry. They have some idea of how an income can be generated, they know about the risks and disasters associated with agriculture, and some have an appreciation for natural resource management and infrastructure maintenance. These are valuable assets in an economy characterised by the profound alienation of many people from the factors of production. Finally, the creative developmental opportunities that are available need to be identified and explored. Many nascent social and economic resources exist which have not begun to be exploited properly. Some initiatives that need to be considered are: • The use of municipal commonage; • The creation of peri-urban spatial land-holdings, possibly as a steppingstone to larger-scale land reform; • The improvement of local agricultural infrastructure and marketing; • The promotion of agricultural support for part-time and smallholder farmers by resourceful institutions such as commercial farmer unions and co-operatives; • The promotion of relevant and appropriate agricultural skills; • The promotion of urban agriculture and small-scale agricultural processing. There are many international precedents for successful development programmes that incorporate these elements. A few have been tried in South Africa, although there are some notable exceptions that have not. Farm labour forms part of arguably the most neglected, marginalised and disempowered social category in South Africa. But, paradoxically, it offers such extraordinary and readily attainable economic and social opportunities. This book does not intend to criticise or blame. It has been written to flag a desperately urgent social tragedy in the making. It aims to draw attention to the plight of a group that has virtually no champions of its own. It also
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advocates the launch of a number of development strategies that draw on a wide range of public and private resources and energies. As such, it is an optimistic book.
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A note on concepts and statistics Figuring out what agricultural statistics actually mean is an art. It is too easy to misinterpret statistics, because they can mean many different things. Consequently, readers can challenge some of the overarching trends identified in this book on the grounds that they do not reflect reality in a specific locality or with reference to a particular social category. This section offers a few caveats. Firstly, it is almost impossible to overemphasise the enormous differences between individual farms and between areas of the country, in a multitude of aspects of farm life (Wilson 1977: 195). This affects, for example, wages, housing, management practices, schooling and migration patterns. These differences occur because farms were never subjected to general industrial legislation, so each farmer developed a sui generis labour relations system. General claims about farm labour trends should therefore be used cautiously, as the exception is sometimes almost as important as the rule. The reader should particularly beware the political, symbolic and rhetorical use of generalisations. It is quite possible to portray farmers and farm workers in a very positive or very negative light using selective statistics as a basis. So this book repeatedly warns of the need for specific and localised research. There are many types of localised differences between farms and farming areas. In some parts of the country, or in some types of agricultural operations, the impact of mechanisation may be to increase or reduce employment. The ratio between regular and casual workers may change in unexpected ways. The ratio between on-farm and migrant workers may show very different trends. Or the impact of exchange rates or interest rates may have contradictory results. As Roberts (1959: 4) notes: ‘Each farm is in a sense unique, so that an accurate system of sampling is virtually impossible to formulate.’ A further source of confusion is that counting seasonal workers is a particularly hazardous exercise. It is profoundly influenced by the time of year in which a survey is conducted. Conducting a survey during harvest-time will dramatically inflate employment figures.
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Finally, many key concepts have meanings that vary widely. For example, ‘casual work’ can be variously defined as work done by seasonal, occasional or part-time workers. ‘Casual workers’ may form skilled teams who market their work to farmers on their own terms (such as builders or shearers). Or they could be workers who are recruited by commercial contractors. They could also be unskilled labourers who are desperate for work on any terms. Furthermore, migrants or on-farm residents may perform ‘casual work’. These options have very different implications. Different types of people perform them, in a wide array of situations and conditions. Take, for example, the case of a migrant worker who is employed for eight months on a commercial farm. He is not ‘regular’, because he is not in farm wage employment for the whole year, and he therefore may miss out on a range of employment perks. But he is not a casual worker who is employed for only two weeks. It is likely that respondents in censuses or surveys interpret terms such as ‘regular’ and ‘casual’ in very different ways (Hendrie 1977: 187). Similarly perplexing concepts and terms are ‘wages’, ‘migration’, ‘child labour’ and ‘labour shortage’. For example, it is well known that wages include cash and in-kind wages. But the ways of calculating in-kind wages can vary enormously. If proxy prices are used for, say, housing, food, clothing and medicines, such proxies may be based on the real costs to the farmer. Or they may be based on the notional prices that farm workers would have to pay if they bought these services from other providers, or what urban workers would have to pay to access comparable services in the cities (Hendrie 1977: 188). Depending on the proxy prices that farmers use, farm wages could seem appallingly low or quite generous. No wonder, then, that there is so much disagreement among organised labour and its critics about the conditions of farm work! The term ‘migration’ is equally multifaceted. As the book will show later, migration could refer to permanent migration, short-term or circular migration, or the movement of itinerant workers. Furthermore, the migrant labour system variously refers to families living in the former homelands and their wage earners working on the farms, or to families living on commercial farms and working elsewhere, on other farms or in the towns. All of these different types of migration take place simultaneously. So it is important to figure out which types of migration seem to be predominant, at least in a certain geographic area or in a specific type of farming operation. It is also
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important to discover how such predominant types of migration may be changing over time. This is a hugely complex exercise, and the data are often simply inadequate for showing what is actually happening. Another source of confusion is the term ‘shortage of labour’. This could refer to an absolute shortage of available workers, or to a lack of labour supply at a prevailing wage, or to an unavailability of workers due to a lack of suitable transport or housing, or to farmers’ reluctance to comply with labour or tenure laws. The farm labour market does not operate according to price signals only, but it has always been profoundly affected by government legislation, service delivery and policies, which impact on numerous aspects of the supply-demand relationship (Wilson 1977: 196). This applies as much to the pre-1994 regime as to the post-apartheid government. Finally, the definition of child labour is also open to debate. The term covers a wide range of practices, from full-time labour during the week that causes children to miss school, to odd jobs on weekends for pocket money. In some cases, child labour is intrinsic to a farm’s production system, and the abolition of child labour may require the farmer to reorient his or her entire business. In other cases, child labour is a way for farm worker families to supplement their income, or for the children to accumulate money for luxuries. These conceptual and statistical problems raise important questions for researchers collecting comparable and longitudinal data in the future. Much more synergy is needed among researchers to collect similar types of data, using the same instruments. Securing research co-operation by researchers located throughout the country and in different types of institutions will go a long way towards refining our databases.
The genesis of this study This research began in a piecemeal fashion. In 2002, the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) undertook a survey of 64 farmers and 64 farm workers, in nine localities in the Free State and Northern Cape (Atkinson 2003).1 At the same time, USAID funded a study tour of the United States to enable an HSRC-led team of researchers to examine policies and programmes for farm workers in the USA. Further qualitative studies were undertaken in the Free State. These include a study of civil society organisations that
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are involved in service delivery for farm workers by Anja Benseler, a review of the work of the Rural Foundation by Daniel Pienaar, a comparison of municipal programmes for farm workers by Monyake Motheke and a study of ward committees in farming areas by Nhlanhla Ndebele. A participatory research exercise with farm workers on several southern Free State farms complemented these studies. This exercise was conducted over a period of about a year by Prof. Retha du Plessis of the University of the Free State, and Rev. Carin van Schalkwyk of the Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk. This book reports on these findings where appropriate. On two occasions in 2003, draft research findings were workshopped with Free State-based agricultural stakeholders.
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CHAPTER 2
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The rise of an unfree labour system before 1970
The story of farm labour in South Africa is largely one of the transformation of an independent black peasantry into a landless workforce defined by race. The story’s key themes are the consolidation of land ownership by white farmers, the concentration of black labour on white farms through pass laws and influx control, and the entrenchment of a quasi-feudal social order on the farms. Historically, the rural social order was largely, but not exclusively, exploitative. This social order also contained important elements of paternalism, limited mutual social loyalties and an ‘economy of affection’, particularly on remote rural farms. But as the agricultural labour system became entrenched during the first six decades of the twentieth century, farm workers had illegal and semi-legal opportunities to escape from the strictures of farm life and to make their way to the cities. This resulted in a generally unskilled and unsophisticated farm labour force. Those constituting this force are deprived of modern education and experience, and are poorly equipped for the globalised modern economy. This process of transformation reached its apogee in the 1960s, after which economic modernisation and international economic dynamics inexorably changed the face of rural farming society. The changes in these areas since the 1970s are covered in the next chapter.
Multiple perspectives of a complex history At the time of writing, the situation of farm workers is highly complex. Many farm workers appear to occupy the lowest rung of the labour market. Their wages are low, their living conditions are poor and their jobs and tenure are insecure. But there are aspects of farm workers’ situations – such as their rights to arable and grazing land, the reciprocal bonds of paternalism with their employers, and the multi-generational tenure of many farm workers on white farms – which confound the appearance of blanket super-exploitation. The origins of this complexity lie in the convoluted history of farm labour in
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South Africa. In addition, some of the most recent land reform innovations, such as share equity schemes and the mentoring of land beneficiaries by white farmers, draw on a reservoir of historical relationships that transcend the simplistic focus on the exploitation of farm labour.
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Researchers have used at least four theoretical paradigms to deconstruct the complex world of farming relationships. The first of these is an approach to the study of farmers and farm workers that is based on Marxist or materialist principles. This approach highlights the mode of production as the key determinant of social class relations. The approach was particularly prevalent in the 1970s and 1980s. It broke new ground in exploring the class dynamics of early capitalist agriculturalists and their links to the colonial and apartheid states. The main theme of these studies was the gradual reduction of landed black peasants to a landless and highly exploited agricultural proletariat, as capitalpoor white farmers strove to compete with the burgeoning mines and industrial areas for a reliable labour supply. Stanley Greenberg’s Race and State in Capitalist Development (1980) and Marian Lacey’s Working for Boroko (1981) provide seminal insights into the evolution of capitalist agriculture in South Africa. A second approach describes farms as ‘closed’ or ‘total’ institutions. In his study of farm schools in the Western and South Western Cape and the Karoo, Nasson (1988) draws an analogy between South African farms and other total institutions such as asylums, jails, army barracks and hospitals. This perspective focuses on the institutional customs of enclosure and depersonalisation. The lives of individuals are regulated into a common discipline. Dominance is exerted over people’s lives, inside and outside their sphere of work, and any opposition or autonomy is impossible (Nasson 1988: 14). This approach is predominantly institutionalist, and offers fertile ground for future empirical enquiry. Are farms really total institutions? If so, what are the underpinnings of the power relationships? Do workers have implicit or explicit choices? Has workers’ room for manoeuvre increased or decreased over time? Have farms become more ‘porous’, as Du Toit (1993) argues – more open to the spread of literacy, transport, radio, television and urban influences? The third approach is the structuration approach, suggested by Johan Graaff et al. (1990). These authors maintain that Nasson overestimated the degree of coercion and domination on farms. The degree of closure on farms is influenced, inter alia, by:
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• Their proximity to urban populations; • The use of migrant and commuter labour; • Mobility of labour between areas; • The activities of trade unions and community organisations; • The size of the farming operation. Authors such as Graaff et al. and Gordon (1991) advance the perspective of structuration, based on the work of the acclaimed sociologist Anthony Giddens (1986). Crucial to this view is that ‘agency’ and ‘structure’ are mutually constitutive: ‘The actions of all of us are influenced by the structural characteristics of the societies in which we are brought up and live; at the same time, we recreate (and to some extent alter) those structural characteristics in our actions’ (Giddens 1989: 19). What this means is that ‘structures’, however defined, do not fully determine human behaviour. Economic or institutional structures do exert a significant influence, but there is scope for individual choice and diverse responses to such structures. In the 1980s, Giddens’ work diluted the excessive determinism of Marxist materialism, and it is instructive to pose similar questions in the current context in Giddens’ footsteps. What kind of choices do farm workers (or farmers, for that matter) actually have about shaping their destiny? A fourth perspective is a hermeneutic and constructivist one, which focuses on the meanings, images, language and myths that social actors use. The work of Andries Du Toit (1993) and Retha du Plessis (2000) ask questions about how meanings are constructed, what exposure the various parties have to different opinions and experiences, and whether they are trapped within their own narrow worlds. In this book, the writer will offer some insights from a more hermeneutic perspective, drawing particularly on some recent historical research that explored the paternalistic social order on the farms. This book uses elements from all of these four perspectives, because they all cast light on different aspects of a complex reality. This will require more deterministic and structuralist perspectives to be accommodated pragmatically, because some underlying dynamics invariably foreclose certain options. It will also require the recognition that individuals, to a greater or lesser extent, can challenge the structural framework that they have inherited. Power relations are seldom equal, but they are also seldom completely hegemonic.
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The theoretical perspectives offer different explanations for how changes occur. For the materialists or neo-Marxists, contradictions, or internal tensions, within economic systems propel change. For the total institution approach, power-holders’ efforts to close off institutions to outside inter ference cause change. The structuration approach shows how individuals who encounter dissonance in their knowledge base can change their situation when new ideas emerge – ideas that sit uncomfortably within inherited institutions. Such individuals may challenge those institutions, even in small and seemingly insignificant ways. The hermeneutic perspective, which focuses primarily on people’s meanings and paradigms, recognises that ideas may have a power of their own.
The materialist or revisionist perspective The revisionist school arose in South Africa in the 1960s. Revisionist scholars asserted that capitalism intrinsically required and used segregation and apartheid to consolidate the racially based political power of dominant economic classes and to secure a cheap labour supply. Because racial and ethnic divisions tend to serve economic purposes, they are institutionalised for long periods. The apartheid state supported racist policies because key economic classes, and their lobbies and interest groups, controlled or influenced the pivotal institutions of government, including the political parties, the legislature, the senior levels of the administration and specialist government agencies such as parastatals and commissions of inquiry. In sum, the revisionist approach postulates the capitalist economy as the fundamental explanatory mechanism, with the state and its policies and ideologies as dependent variables. In this sense, the revisionist school of thought can be regarded as broadly neo-Marxist. This is a powerful explanatory approach. It explains why racism – which often appears so irrational and arbitrary – becomes institutionalised, and why government agencies create and enforce racially oriented legislation and policies. Stanley Greenberg’s seminal work, Race and State in Capitalist Development (1980), focuses on the development of agriculture, commerce and trade unions in several racially divided societies, including South Africa, the southern United States, Israel and Northern Ireland. As far as agriculture is
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concerned, Greenberg argues, there are numerous commonalities between South Africa and other racially structured societies. Capitalist development in these societies was often accompanied by unfree labour systems, including slavery and indentured labour. These labour systems distorted or shattered the traditional communal cultural ties of indigenous peoples. Premodern societies might persist in a segregated and distorted form, but they are subjected to intense exploitation and prolonged pauperisation, which amounts to a type of uneven development. In many cases, racial divisions were increasingly intensified and institutionalised to ensure a reliable supply of compliant labour. In the process of capitalist development, economic imperatives both preserve and remake the racial order. Economic imperatives extend and reinforce racial barriers, but they also create new contradictions that paradoxically threaten to dismantle them (Greenberg 1980: 26). Greenberg’s analysis is focused on significant class actors, or organisations that represent key economic interests. Such class actors find ways of coping with, ignoring or exploiting the inherited racial barriers in their society. His analysis concentrates on agricultural co-operatives and lobby groups, commercial and business associations and trade unions. Greenberg observes that agriculture, in these racially defined societies, typically set the tone for an intensification of racism. Proto-capitalist agriculture responds to new commercial challenges by entrenching and then plundering the subordinate peasantry. This peasantry is usually, but not necessarily, made up of communities of a different racial group. This undermines these communities’ subsistence production, simultaneously reduces economic competition with commercial farmers, and provides muchneeded labour supplies. But it avoids or delays the creation of a proper labour market. This is typically because the commercial farmers cannot afford to pay competitive market wage rates to attract reliable labour supplies, particularly when competing with mining and industrial labour markets. During the formative capitalist phase in the history of racially divided societies, all élite economic sectors agree to keep political power within the hands of the dominant racial group. For the agricultural sector, political power enables capitalist farmers to acquire control of the land. It also allows capitalist farmers to acquire as much cheap labour as possible, which clears the way for the first steps towards agricultural capital accumulation. For urban
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commercial sectors, including mining and commerce, political power enables the suppression of worker militancy, which helps to keep wages low. These exploitative systems are typical of the early phases of capitalist development, when economic surpluses or savings have to be maximised to lay the basis for a capitalist economy. Greenberg agrees with the revisionists to this point. But from here, he takes the argument further. He shows how capitalist development eventually breaks through the restrictions of a racial order. Gradually, the class actors lessen their dependence on the racial order and on the state’s racial apparatus. Increasing mechanisation, intensive land uses and wage labour transform a rural economy that previously relied on various forms of unfree labour and on a large working class in the countryside. At a certain point, commercial farmers no longer require or demand an elaborate state role in the labour market, and businesspeople take a greater interest in labour stability and domestic markets than in continued labour repression. The racial state becomes increasingly anachronistic. For a time, the bureaucratic institutions of the racial state may continue to administer segregationist policies. But the class élites’ diminishing interest in the racial framework, and the subordinate population’s increasing resistance to it, weakens these institutions increasingly. This may well precipitate a political crisis that threatens the survival of the racial order, and capitalist élites are likely to support sweeping changes in the labour framework, franchise and ruling ideology. They may demand the dismantling of a state racial apparatus that fails to serve their labour requirements. Greenberg’s panoptic view of history in racially divided societies such as South Africa was extraordinarily prescient about the political changes that 1990 ushered in. Chapter 3 covers these dynamics in more detail. The revisionist approach focused on a significant period of history, from 1860 to 1980. This period began with early capitalism in colonial or racially divided societies. During this early period, capitalism required the creation of a racially oppressive social and political system to take off. This was precisely so that one of the key prerequisites of capitalism – the labour supply – could be created. This is particularly significant in the farming and mining sectors. For revisionists, the interplay between land, labour, exploitation, power, inequality and subservience explicitly informs the historical analysis of farm labour. This is far from being the full story of farm labour, but it is an important insight with which to start.
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In racially stratified societies – of which South Africa is only one example – racial domination was typically rooted in the pre-capitalist countryside. Long before there were mining or commercial interests, there were dominant landowners and farmers. ‘Land and labour became race questions: land, because Europeans monopolized large expanses of farmland, while Amerindians, Khoikhoi, black Africans and other subordinate groups struggled with paltry landholdings or highly restricted occupancy rights; labour, because subordinate groups were brought under … systems of unfree labour’ (Greenberg 1980: 53). Examples of these systems of unfree labour are indenture, slavery, condiciones and squatting. According to Greenberg, there are two main routes to capitalist agriculture. Firstly, some societies (the UK, for example) rid themselves of the peasantry by removing the peasants’ land base through the enclosure of commonage land. The peasants either became agricultural wage labourers, or joined the working class in the cities. No vestiges of the peasant economy remained. In contrast, a second route was the German model. Here, the peasantry was retained but increasingly exploited. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Germany, coercive measures were developed to prevent the ‘landflight of the labourer’ (Greenberg 1980: 57). Peasants were required to remain on the land, despite the breakdown of custom and peasant rights, spreading poverty, and the emergence of urban opportunities. Strong state action evolved to limit the labour market and to keep the peasants trapped in the countryside. The state plundered the rural labour force in three ways: • It restricted their landholdings and, consequently, their subsistence production; • It intensified their labour services; • It increased its control over the movements of farm labourers, to prevent their flight to other agricultural areas or to the emerging industrial cities. This resembles South Africa during the years between 1800 and 1950 in a pronounced manner. The only significant difference is the introduction of racial categorisation into this economic process. In racial orders, landowners draw on the lack of social obligations and commonalities across the racial divide to legitimise coercion and enforce labour repression. Racial orders also discourage political alignments that may threaten the position of commercial farmers and the framework of unfree labour. An example of such political alignments is France before 1789, when rural peasants and the urban bourgeoisie made common cause against the monarchy and aristocracy.
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Societies that are racial orders contain a powerful social schism: ‘To the one side, a dominant section with disproportionate control over economic resources, a presumptive privilege in social relations, and a virtual monopoly on access to the state; to the other side, a subordinate section with constrained economic resources and with little standing in social or political relations’ (Greenberg 1980: 30). Land and labour questions contributed significantly to the shaping of a racial society in two particular geographic settings. These were the plantation economies of the New World, and the European settler societies that exploited rather than eliminated the indigenous populations. In his focus on European settler societies, Greenberg observes that had the settlers sought land alone, making room for an essentially European and racially homogenous society, as was done in Australia and the northern states of the United States, race lines might never have emerged as a principal social divide. In these countries, settlers seized land and eliminated or expelled native inhabitants fairly easily. But the settlers in Africa and Latin America encountered stronger resistance. They were also intent on drawing labour out of the peasant economy. The indigenous inhabitants had to be brought into the colonial economy, and this was done by means of state interventions such as land expropriation, reserves, population removals, taxes, forced labour, pass laws and corvée services.2 Unlike Australia and the United States, South Africa introduced a policy of ethnic reserves, which were later called bantustans or homelands. This enabled some vestiges of native tribal life to be retained, and served as a source of cheap labour because the reserves subsidised the reproduction costs of workers’ families. This kept wages low in the agricultural, mining and, later, the industrial sectors. In several African colonies, as well as in Central and Latin America, new patterns of labour exploitation emerged. The hacienda in Spanish America was a system of large estates, each with a servile and dependent labour force. In Africa, the Portuguese colonies of Angola and Mozambique introduced land expropriations, reserves, native pass systems and native labour codes. The British colonies introduced hut and poll taxes, pass laws, masters and servants ordinances and overcrowded land reserves. Europeans controlled the marketing boards, the civil services and police institutions. Tax revenue was diverted to the railroads, roads and agricultural extensions that served the white farmers. In all of these contexts, race lines pervaded before capitalist relations developed. Capitalism took hold of pre-modern racial sentiments
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and gradually formalised them into a system of total labour control. This was the origin of the South African farming class.
Race, land and labour in South Africa in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries In South Africa, the bartering relationship between the Dutch settlers and the indigenous groups in the Western Cape gradually evolved into a highly unequal one. The Khoisan inhabitants became servile labourers in the service of the Europeans. Significantly, the introduction of black slaves from West Africa, Madagascar, Indonesia and Malaya entrenched racial sensibilities at the Cape. Racial divisions became the predominant social characteristic of South African society. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, European farming combined commercial and subsistence agriculture. Farming methods were characterised by extensive use of land and recurrent trekking to new farming areas. By 1795 in South Africa, the trekboers, nomadic Dutch-speaking stock farmers, had reached the Orange River in the north and the Xhosa tribes in the east. For almost two centuries, conflict over land was pre-eminent and resulted in several frontier wars. The unequal racial order originated in the spheres of land and labour. As far back as the seventeenth century, when the Khoisan lost their cattle and faced increasing poverty, they began entering the service of European farmers as labourers. They received, in exchange, food and lodging, some tobacco, and security against attacks by settlers and other African groups. The complete destruction of Khoisan society was the first stage in the creation of a highly developed pattern of racial domination and unfree labour. By 1850, the isolated and self-sufficient trekboers, indifferent to land titles and world market prices, had become settled on their own land. Farmers became enmeshed in an elaborate array of market relations, often exporting products such as wool to distant markets in Europe. At the same time, African farming was also organised around a combination of subsistence production and trading. The latter developed as long-distance barter for cattle, dagga and metals, and later, as agricultural production for the developing European markets. The Xhosa in the Eastern Cape responded to trading opportunities
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with a ‘virtual explosion of peasant economic activity’ in the 1870s (Greenberg 1980: 74; see also Bundy 1988 and Wilson 1971).
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Gradually, the conflict over land developed into a struggle to secure sufficient labour. As black people’s access to land diminished, their availability as labourers increased. But black people’s access to land was never totally eliminated. From a revisionist point of view, this served the useful purpose of providing a regular supply of labour, because black people’s land could not sustain their entire households. Simultaneously, the low-cost reproduction of black workers’ families was ensured, because social functions such as housing, education, family care and basic subsistence were provided at the tribal homesteads in the reserves, and did not have to be included in workers’ wages. This was an advantage to landowners. The frontier conflicts left an increasing number of black workers ‘squatting’ on the European farms. Squatting, in the parlance of the times, referred to the semi-independent sustenance of black families. Black workers could keep livestock and grow crops in return for paying rent or providing labour to white farmers. Gaining access to relatively fertile farm ground was often the prime or sole reason for black tenants’ submission to white landlords, either by paying cash rents or by sharing their produce with the landowner (Bradford 1987: 36). Landlords were amenable to this system, because struggling white farmers were often absolutely dependent on their tenants’ means of production, which were oxen, labour and implements. White farmers favoured the system of squatting because it made a supply of labour available, often on an irregular basis. But by the 1920s, the terms of engagement had worsened for black tenants. This is because ‘farming on the halves’ was replaced by ‘derde-deel farming’, which meant that the tenant kept only a third, and no longer half, of the produce. From where, then, did the idea of white superiority emerge? In the Cape Colony in the seventeenth century, the social structure was based predominantly on class, and relatively little on race. The black members of Cape society were drawn from the slave class, which was imported from various colonies around the world. Several of these slaves received their freedom and ended up as black landowners, who even owned slaves themselves (Cairns 1985). During the eighteenth century, the overlap between racial and class stratification developed because of three distinct historical phenomena. The
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first was the colonists’ experience of imported black and Malay slaves. The second was the growing servility of Khoisan labourers, who typically did not have an independent livelihood. The third was the steady erosion of the livelihoods of black peasants and their gradual decline in status to become landless labourers on white-owned farms. White farmers viewed the Khoisan, Malay slaves and black people as an emerging class of servile labourers, and developed a presumption that ‘non-white’ people were primarily destined to provide labour services. From their experience of black slavery and their contact with the Khoisan, the nomadic Boer farmers carried these supremacist presumptions with them into the African interior. They believed implicitly in the ‘colour inferiority’ of the African, that manual labour in service of another was tainted by the ‘curse of Ham’, and was properly performed by ‘non-white’ people – slaves, the Khoisan and, eventually, the African peasantry (Greenberg 1980: 74). The Khoisan experience set a precedent for low wages and total on-farm servility. Farm workers’ wages remained low during the early part of the nineteenth century. Khoisan labourers were required to live on white farms because they had to have a fixed place of abode. The most common wage was six to twelve sheep per year, supplemented by some clothes and food. The low status and remuneration of Khoisan workers were to become a yardstick for the general remuneration of farm work once black workers became totally dispossessed after 1913. During the nineteenth century, many black farm workers still enjoyed free grazing rights on farms, as discussed in the Legislative Council in 1848: The Kaffirs have, upon an average, each about ten head of cattle; this is a considerable item added to their wages, and much of their time, that ought to be occupied in the service of their masters, is expended in tending and milking their cattle. While it is an advantage to them, it is an annoyance to the farmer, who submits to it for the sake of their services. (Rubidge 1848, cited in Smith 1976: 213) This view supports widespread research that has shown the success of independent black farming in the Cape Colony in the nineteenth century (Bundy 1988). By the mid-1800s, the black squatter was the central figure in the rural economic framework. Until World War I, black squatters were the
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main source of part-time labour on white farms. Increasingly, black squatters became forerunners of the black resident farm labour class, by cultivating the white man’s land, herding his cattle and shepherding his sheep. His labour was available at the white farmer’s will, usually for two or three days a week. In exchange, the black worker might retain a few of his cattle, build a hut, cultivate a small garden plot, possibly receive rations and even a shilling a day for his labour. In some cases, the black people paid an additional ‘ground rent’ for the privilege of squatting. In the absence of a significant number of white agricultural workers, black squatting was the only way to ensure an adequate supply of farm labour. Few white farmers could afford wage inducements, but most could afford to offer grazing rights to a few black families. For black families, grazing rights were important, not only for subsistence, but also because cattle were stores of wealth, items of trade and a key to social status and differentiation (Bradford 1987). Cattle were the source of bridewealth, and therefore it could be said that ‘cattle beget children’. This system had a precarious stability. For as long as local markets were undeveloped and white farmers showed little interest in distant ones, the system of black squatting would not necessarily bring, as it did for the Khoisan, the destruction of black peasant society. But increasing demand for agricultural products in the middle and later nineteenth century brought growing concern over labour supplies. White farmers, previously content with two or three families on or near their land, began thinking in more grandiose and commercial terms. Complaints about the shortage of labour became more frequent. From their precarious base as squatters, many black farmers, who were parttime labourers on white farms, still attempted to produce sufficient output to make a surplus. This was significant because it laid the basis for the practice, which is still found on some farms today, of black farm workers having some limited grazing rights. This lingering echo of an independent black peasantry may partially account for many black rural people’s desire to own land. This forms part of the political pressure for land reform at the present time. By the late nineteenth century, this mutually favourable balance of interests between black squatters and white farmers became increasingly contested. The discovery of gold and diamonds created a huge demand for agricultural produce. As white agriculture intensified, it needed much more labour. The labour system became ever less voluntary and more coercive. So the colonial
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administration took it upon itself to regulate the mobility and service contracts of Khoisan and black farm workers. This created a labour framework, which took the form of a medley of hut taxes, pass laws and constricted black reserves that eroded black peasant society and freed up labour for white farms. Black men had to leave their homesteads to find work, so that they could afford the cash payments required of them. However, capitalism can be a double-edged sword. The new mining economy also became a constant drain on the labour supply available to white farmers, and a century of rapid urbanisation began. The demand for agricultural goods escalated at the very time that labour became scarce. This set the stage for almost one hundred years of conflict between agricultural, commercial and mining capital for an adequate supply of cheap labour. The period 1800 to 1970 can, with hindsight, be described as that within which a servile agricultural labour force was created. After 1970, economic dynamics began to change fundamentally. Commercial agriculture began to shed labour, due substantially to the advance of mechanisation. The period 1800 to 1970 fits well with the revisionist claim regarding the important role of racial segregation and inequality in bolstering a nascent capitalism. However, there are aspects of the experience that can be interpreted from different theoretical points of view. The next section will consider the total institution perspective, because this perspective highlights the totalitarian and coercive aspects of farm life.
The origins of the master-servant relationship after 1850 Total institutions are those institutions that regulate the totality of an individual’s life. Typical examples are prisons, army barracks, mental hospitals and even conventional hospitals. The constraints on inmates’ rights of movement and social interaction are often associated with a greater or lesser degree of ideological conformity. During the nineteenth century, the South African agricultural labour market remained inchoate, and the social relationship between farmers and farm workers also remained contested. White farmers wanted not only plenty of labour, but also the right to control it (Smith 1976: 184–217). Their influence in the Cape Parliament was useful to this end. While some government
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legislation was aimed at protecting workers from the arbitrary rule of their employers, other legislation reinforced restrictions on farm workers’ rights. ‘Master and servant legislation’ continued to be passed during the nineteenth century in the Cape Colony, particularly with regard to black ‘immigrants’ (migrants from the Transkei, the Ciskei and Basutoland). The purpose of the legislation was to ensure the employer swift access to the criminal courts to deal with desertion, insubordinate behaviour or dereliction of duty. Contracts of service were made mandatory for the first time, and they were backed up by the force of criminal law. Several laws regulated terms of service and prescribed harsh penalties for entry into the colony without a pass. A growing number of black workers resided on the farms. For example, in the census of 1856, it was estimated that the white population of the Orange Free State was just under 13 000, while there were 7 454 ‘coloured’ dienstboden ‘servants’. Many of these dependants were Afrikaans-speakers, of Khoisan or slave ancestry, who had accompanied white families on the trek northwards. Their numbers were supplemented by the purchase of ‘apprenticed’ children. These were acquired by Boer military forces in warfare, or purchased from black peoples mostly north of the Vaal. ‘Bushman hunts’ were common in the 1840s and 1850s, in which parties of white people attacked kraals, killed the parents and captured the children (Keegan 1986). The apprenticeship system was a form of slavery designed to tie black workers to the Boer household by capturing them young and bringing them up as deculturated dependants. This practice had characteristics of both slavery and proletarian labour systems. The system was regulated in the Orange Free State by means of an ordinance passed in 1856, which provided for release at the age of 21 for males, and 18 for females. But in reality, once apprenticed, the apprentices were tied to the colonial economy for life. As they reached maturity and married, they were granted a degree of independence and might have been loaned stock by their owners. Thus, the farmer was not burdened by the expense of maintaining wage labourers, but labour was available on call. From the 1850s, several laws were promulgated to control black people living among or on white farms. The Pass Law of 1854 sought to control movement into and within the state by means of a pass system. In 1855, an amendment added that a black person ‘without an honest livelihood’ – that is, a person not in the employ of a white burgher – was liable to criminal prosecution. The law also empowered veldcornets (field officers) to disperse black squatter
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communities on white-owned land if they inconvenienced neighbouring white people. Popular agitation for the control of landlopery (vagrancy) and plakkery (squatting) continued throughout the 1850s and 1860s (Keegan 1986: 7). In practice, this system of control was rudimentary and often ineffective. The work of Timothy Keegan (1986) indicates that it took several decades before the unfree labour system was consolidated. There were still too many options for black households to engage in production, or to sell their labour at higher prices elsewhere – particularly on the diamond and gold mines – for the system to be entirely successful. While the status of on-farm labourers was becoming increasingly servile, some black peasants retained their foothold in agriculture. Sotho agriculturalists’ success in the wheat, maize, wool and mohair markets meant that labour on the white farms was often scarce. Many Sotho farmers responded vigorously to the expanding markets for produce occasioned by the diamond and gold mines. This, too, constrained labour supply for the farms. Farmers’ complaints were frequent about the Sotho grain trade, which was ‘holding our burghers back from cultivating the land and [was] enriching the Kaffirs’ (cited in Keegan 1986: 13). The question of labour supply was intensified by the rise of production on white farms, and by the lucrative wages offered on the mines. Black labour was becoming very much in demand, and this increased the options open to black individuals and households. White farmers who were frustrated by their inability to attract adequate labour supplies subjected black people moving through the white areas to harassment. In 1874, a shilling pass was imposed on all black people passing through or leaving the Free State, eliciting strong protest from the Sotho people. From the 1860s, as the sources of supply of apprentices dried up, the Boers became more reliant on tenant labour, particularly in the aftermath of the Sotho wars. Refugees from further afield settled for varying periods on white farms. These tenants became sharecroppers, labour tenants or squatters. During this time, black people may have been offered a piece of arable land for household cultivation in return for their work on the white farm. Some black people migrated from farm to farm, particularly for sheep-shearing (Keegan 1986). Increasing numbers of black people found themselves on white-owned land against their will, as white livestock owners encroached on their settlements and as title deeds were issued to white land claimants. To re-establish their homesteads, Sesotho farmers entered into relationships
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with white landlords at the cost of producing a surplus as rent, or of rendering intermittent labour service (Keegan 1986). A squatter, as defined by the notable author Sol Plaatje, is a ‘native who owns some livestock and, having no land of his own, hires a farm or grazing and ploughing rights from a landowner, to raise grain for his own use and feed his stock’ (Plaatje 1982: 22). This led to a gradual distinction between squatters and sharecroppers, who paid rentals, and labour tenants, who provided labour at certain times during the year. The distinction between these systems was often blurred in practice, however (Keegan 1986). The system of labour tenancy did not take hold very extensively in the Cape Province or the Free State, but it was a pre-eminent form of labour organisation in northern Natal and most of the Transvaal. Labour tenancy involved workers residing on white farms, with a period of service of up to 180 days per year on the farm. During the rest of the year, the tenant was free to seek outside employment. In exchange for these services, the labour tenant received a small cash compensation, some rations and grazing rights for a few head of livestock. The black sharecropper economy was based on an extended household, since household members frequently supplemented the communal labour of kin and neighbours. This was organised on the basis of reciprocity. The sharecropping economy could only flourish if white landholders’ demands on the heads of families in black communities did not interfere with the productive activities of the tenant homesteads. Such arrangements were suitable for commercial crop production, as well as for the sheep-farming areas. A system of ‘sharing on the increase’ was a normal part of both Boer and black societies (Keegan 1986: 51). Some black farmers were very skilled, as many sources testify. Using white landowners as intermediaries, they could access land, bank credit, seed loans and transport. Many landlords actively enticed black families with skills and resources onto their land as sharecropping tenants or squatters. Tenants’ services were not secured by cash, but by the security of their tenure on the land, the crops they reaped and the stock they grazed. These arrangements had definite advantages for white farmers with liquidity problems. If the crop failed, the employer was under no obligation to pay a fixed wage. It also meant that labour was available for the short periods of ‘labour time’, during sowing and reaping, while no wages had to be paid during the long growing time.
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For many cash-strapped white landowners, black labour was preferable to that of white labourers, or bywoners, who wanted to be paid in cash. In the early years of the twentieth century, black tenants typically rendered their labour service for free (Keegan 1986: 31). There were several reasons why the white bywoner class disappeared. They did not use family labour and reciprocal work teams; they did not have access to the web of mutual help and co-operation that cushioned black people against difficulties; and they were reluctant to let their wives and children work in the fields. It was more profitable for white workers to hire a farm and then to induce black people to settle on the land to sow it for them on shares than it was for them to do the work themselves or to employ white wage workers. Sharecropping had the mutual advantage of protecting the landlord against desertion, and the tenant against eviction. It was a partnership, even though one party, the white man, strove to maintain the putative status of master in his own eyes (Keegan 1986). During the nineteenth century, an unfree and racially defined labour system was created to meet the interests of white commercial farmers. As white farmers improved their agricultural methods, they intensified the use of their land for commercial production, and this meant that they lost interest in black tenant farming. Capitalisation and mechanisation of white agriculture, stimulated by state assistance, eventually destroyed the vestiges of black peasant and tenant production. Gradually, black labourers lost their rights to grazing and arable land. Once the capital base of white agriculture was developed sufficiently, and as land values rose, black tenants had fewer opportunities for escaping to other farms or other landlords. The process of dispossession and coercion intensified. The modernisation of agriculture required a much more tightly controlled and readily available labour force. The prosperity of the black farmers led some policy-makers to argue for antisquatting legislation to limit the economic competition for white farmers, and to require rural black people to become farm workers on white farms. Numerous petitions were sent to the Free State Volksraad (legislative assembly), asking the government to act against the plakkersplase (squatter farms). Ordinance 7 of 1881 of the Free State Republic laid down that no landholder was to allow more than five black families on his farm, or two if the farm was unoccupied by a white man. This was done to disperse squatter communities, to provide an equitable supply of labour to all the white farmers. Enthusiastic populist support for this legislation came from the non-arable southern and western districts of
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the Free State and Karoo, where there were few squatter communities and where white farmers depended on contracted wage labour. In the northern arable areas of the Free State, however, the law caused some antagonism among white landowners who found it convenient to have a tenant peasantry on their farms. As the maize and wheat industries developed, a commercialised sharecropping economy based on black peasant production blossomed. In the end, antisquatting legislation was never vigorously implemented, given the state’s lack of coercive muscle. Its existence illustrates the emerging strains and tensions within the burgher community, however. The South African War (1899–1902) was a major setback for Boer families. In the economic collapse during and after the war, many well-to-do black farmers expanded their operations, particularly because they had their own stock and equipment. Sharecropping became more entrenched than ever. On farms owned by absentee landlords, black farmers became a common feature. Schools were built on many farms in the sharecropping districts – often because of the initiative of the tenant communities themselves (Keegan 1986). During the early twentieth century, governmental pressure to reduce the tenuous autonomy of the African sharecroppers increased. The political pressure that white farmers exerted fuelled this. The constant theme was the shortage of labour, whether on the farms or in the mines. White people maintained that the independent livelihoods of black workers were the root cause of this labour shortage. During the first half of the twentieth century, the sharecropping system was gradually eliminated in favour of a wageearning agricultural proletariat. The 1913 Natives Land Act encapsulated a new segregationist fervour. It was an explicitly racial law, prohibiting white farmers from renting land to black tenants, and it decreed that all black sharecroppers should, from that time, work as wage labourers or relocate to the ‘native reserves’ with their livestock. Its origins lay in a confluence of two powerful social dynamics. The first was the need to secure a labour force, primarily for the mines and the farms. The second was the racial anxieties of landlords who were verging on ‘poor whiteism’ and who resorted to much older notions of conquest, civilisation and savagery to differentiate themselves from the heathens (Bradford 1987: 41). In the words of Mr JG Keyter, a Free State Member of Parliament, ‘The OFS was a white man’s country, and they intended to keep it so. The coloured people were not to be allowed to buy or hire land, and [they] would not
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tolerate an equality of whites and blacks’ (cited in Plaatje 1982: 45). As Plaatje commented, ‘Awakening on Friday morning, June 20 1913, the South African native found himself, not actually a slave, but a pariah in the land of his birth’ (1982: 21).3 The Natives Land Act contained enough loopholes to prevent its full-scale implementation throughout the Union of South Africa, but in certain areas, such as the Free State, the Act led to immediate and drastic evictions of black tenants. Curiously, many white parliamentarians, churches and other constituencies, as well as many white landowners who derived much revenue from the renting of their farms to black people, opposed the law. But the Act represented a new tide of primarily Afrikaner hostility to black advancement in all spheres, notably in agriculture and in the labour market. This hostility would later find even stronger expression in the Native Affairs Act of 1920, the Native (Urban Areas) Act of 1923, the Native Administration Act of 1927, and the Native Trust and Land Act of 1936. When the National Party came to power in 1948, it perfected the segregationist system. It did this through the Verwoerdian ‘homelands’ policy, by removing South African citizenship from black people, by residential segregation, and by the policy of ‘influx control’. Anti-squatting legislation was not the only reason for the decline of sharecropping. Because of black tenants’ insecurity of tenure, permanent improvements or soil conservation were seldom worthwhile. In addition, black tenants had to abandon their houses with distressing regularity, as Charles van Onselen’s study of black sharecroppers shows poignantly (Van Onselen 1996). The livestock were susceptible to natural disasters such as rinderpest and drought. On other occasions, landlords refused to cater for large stock numbers, and this led to evictions of black tenants. After 1908, when more and more land was being turned to maize cultivation, evictions of wealthy stock-owning black tenants reached alarming proportions. Many black farmers found themselves borrowing money from white moneylenders, often at extortionate rates of interest (Keegan 1986: 84–5). The migrant labour system became entrenched as some members of rural black families sought work in the towns to complement their rural livelihoods. The emerging policy of racial segregation represented a fundamental onslaught on black rural land ownership. The 1913 Natives Land Act and the 1936 Trust and Land Act were decisive in whittling away the remaining economic foundations of the black peasantry. The implementation of the Land Act in
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the Free State was the most stringent of all the provinces. Many landlords took the opportunity in the winter of 1913 of removing Africans who would not sell off excess stock or submit to the landlords’ authority. A great trekking began as black families wandered around the countryside with their livestock, looking for farmers who would be prepared to take them in as squatters. Many families lost their livestock in the process. Typically, these migrants were sophisticated people, ‘respectable persons – law-abiding, thrifty and comparatively high in the scale of civilization’, as one magistrate wrote (Keegan 1986: 185). Essentially, this represented the destruction of the emergent black agricultural middle class. One of the long-term consequences of the 1913 Act was that sharecroppers lost their belief in investment and self-improvement that had previously manifested itself in building schools and hiring teachers (Keegan 1986: 195). This probably contributed substantially to farm workers’ growing apathy and defeatism as the twentieth century wore on.
Entrenching farm labour servility after 1913: farms as total institutions? After 1913, the white farmer functioned increasingly as the master at all stages in the production process. The farmer had the added advantage that the black household head was held responsible for labour discipline (Keegan 1986: 124). The degree of coercion embodied in the labour tenant system should not be underestimated. The historian De Kiewiet maintained that there was little difference between the labour tenant and the medieval serf: ‘There is the same exchange of labour services for the permission to cultivate the land and graze on the common … the same tendency for the tenant’s entire family to be bound by his “contract” ’ (cited in Greenberg 1980: 81). This was particularly important because it secured the immobility of the African population. Unlike conventional systems of wage labour, the farm owner had a hold on the tenant’s entire family, a quasi-feudal hold that was checked only by the most tenuous of contractual arrangements. If a member of the family failed to perform to the satisfaction of the white farmer, the whole family could be evicted. Only when the farmer felt the service had been adequately completed could any member of the household gain a pass to seek work away from the farm (Roberts 1980: 81). Cash-strapped farmers’ attraction to the system was understandable: not only could they harness patriarchal authority to replace
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one deserting family member with another, but they could also obtain the services of the entire household at a much lower cost than that of paying the equivalent number of wage-workers (Bradford 1987: 38). The brunt of the work often fell on male youths and, to a lesser extent, on young women and children. The position of black tenant farmers gradually weakened. One problem was the loose verbal agreements that household heads made with farmers, which often resulted in misunderstandings and wranglings. The Masters and Servants Act of 1873 had laid down criteria for contracts – that they had to be witnessed by two persons, for example – but in practice, contracts were vague. Farmers could use the Act against the breaking of contracts, carelessness or irresponsibility in carrying out duties, incapacity to work as a result of drunkenness, insubordination, or damage to the master’s property. The criminalisation of a potentially very wide range of conduct by servants applied only to black people, and laid no corresponding legal sanction on employers (Keegan 1986: 132). Where black households resisted such onerous conditions, as Sol Plaatje recounted, they had to be prepared to pull up their roots, collect their belongings and search for a more benign landlord or employer. On many farms, labour tenants were expected to make their children available to herd small stock or to help at harvest time, and young children were often employed as livestock herders (Bradford 1987: 40). The Native Service Contract Act of 1932 provided that an entire black family might be evicted from a white farm if any member of the family failed to provide the necessary labour services. Some tenants disputed the terms of using family members as farm-hands. Demands for the labour of women were also major potential flashpoints in the relationships between employers and tenant households. Workloads showed a steady upward trend on both a daily and a yearly basis. But tenants who wanted to leave a farm in protest found it increasingly difficult to find alternative accommodation or employment that was viable. The Masters and Servants Acts of 1911 and 1932 tightened commercial farmers’ grip on farm workers even further. These Acts prohibited the breaking of contracts, the changing of employers or the assigning of family members to other employers. The Native Regulation Act of 1911 was modified to state that, from that time, all black male and female workers over 16 years
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of age were required to register with a labour bureau. Once registered as farm workers, they could not switch to industrial employment (Mbongwa et al. l996: 47). The very fact that farm workers were defined, for many decades, as servants and not as individually contracted employees working for a wage, had considerable implications for the legal status of tenants and the sanctions that could be wielded against them. The extension of the masters and servants law to all tenants effectively stripped them of their legal defences against landlords. Masters could obstruct tenants or temporary workers wishing to leave their farms in many ways (Keegan 1986: 149–153). Often the alleged loss of livestock while in the care of a servant served as a pretext for keeping the servant on the farm. Refusal of wages or of a trek pass was particularly common. Black tenant families who left farms to seek out new tenancies were very vulnerable to arrest and to the confiscation of their stock. The illegal practice of levying spot fines was apparently widespread, and charges of landlopery or vagrancy under the pass laws were the most common cases in the small courts. The local magistrates’ courts typically continued to impose punishments on labourers and tenants alike. Such punishments included corporal punishment and imprisonment (Keegan 1986: 142–6). The full force of the criminal court in all its solemnity could be called into session to intimidate a recalcitrant worker threatening to leave his master’s employ, even where no criminal act had been committed. However, such government controls were often not very successful. Farm workers developed numerous evasive skills, ranging from forging passes to social sanctions against informers. The sheer difficulty of accessing magistrates in vast geographic areas and understaffed government agencies militated against farmers resorting to the police and the courts. Concomitantly, where government agencies were weak, farmers tended to resort to their own style of coercion. Whipping of recalcitrant workers by their masters was widespread (Keegan 1986: 156), and murders were not uncommon. The Afrikaans author, Louis Leipoldt, wrote in 1937 of his experiences as a doctor in a bushveld community: ‘The native [is seen as] a chattel, to be treated as such … the tradition that the native, like the child, should learn discipline and authority was observed’ (cited in Gordon 1991: 35).
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In the Free State, the bulk of black people’s livelihoods consisted of cash and in-kind wages such as food, stock and clothing. But the prevalence of wage labour by no means indicated a free labour market. The 1936 Native Trust and Land Act provided for additional taxes on black adult males who failed to produce a three-month labour contract. The 1936 Act also barred all black people from the white rural areas, except those formally registered as a ‘servant of the owner’, a ‘labour tenant’ or a ‘squatter’ (Greenberg 1980: 83). After 1948, the government explicitly sanctioned the unequal social relations on the farms. In the words of HF Verwoerd: ‘On the farms there is no question of equality. The relationship of master and servant is maintained on the farms, and there is no danger that conditions on the farms will develop in the same way as in the cities, where they are working with the Europeans on an equal footing’ (Hansard 1950, cited in Gordon 1991: 55). After World War II, the Nationalist government abolished squatting altogether, thereby consolidating an agricultural proletariat. The only remnant of the system of squatting is that some farm workers continue, until the present time, to be granted grazing rights by their employers. The government also intensified the pass laws and influx controls. The Native (Urban Areas) Act of 1923 constituted the foundation of the modern system of influx control. The Native Laws Amendment Act of 1952 developed the barrier between country and town into a veritable Berlin Wall. It provided for a system of labour bureaux that allocated black labour either to urban or to rural areas. Before any black person could leave a rural district, the local labour bureau had to be satisfied that the labour situation in that district was adequate. The labour bureaux did not allow black people to leave their family and go to work in an urban area without the permission of the white farmer (Giliomee & Schlemmer 1985: 2; Greenberg 1980: 85). The labour bureaux also redirected unemployed urban black workers to work on the farms. Commenting on the bureaux, Helen Suzman (MP) said: ‘State machinery is being used to keep up a cheap supply of labour at the disposal of farmers whose conditions of employment do not attract labour voluntarily. Their choice is to accept or to go to gaol’ (Hansard 1959, cited in Gordon 1991: 55). There was virtually no legal protection for farm workers. Before 1994, farm labourers were explicitly excluded from the scope of urban labour legislation. This included the Labour Relations Act, the Wage Act, the Unemployment Insurance Act and the Basic Conditions of Employment Act (Gordon
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1991: 60). The only legal protection was the Workmen’s Compensation Act. Therefore, unless a contract existed between a farmer and his workers, the workers were not legally entitled to take public holidays, or receive sick leave or overtime pay. Farmers could also decide unilaterally on working hours. Farm workers had no recourse to the Industrial Court to contest unfair behaviour or dismissals. They had no social security or insurance against losing their jobs. Under the Illegal Squatters Act of 1951 and the Trespass Act of 1955, a worker could be summarily evicted from a farm. The only effective weapon that farm workers possessed was the threat of resignation – but that required that workers could find jobs elsewhere (Roberts 1959: 3). The Education and Training Act of 1979, which prohibited anyone from withdrawing a child from school, was not applied to children living and working on white-owned farms. As a result, child labour practices were integral to the farm economy until they were outlawed by the Basic Conditions of Employment Act of 1997. It is estimated that there were over 60 000 black child farm labourers in 1990, many between eight and 14 years of age. Many production teams included women and children. Children over the age of seven could enter into contracts of employment that their guardians ratified. Parental consent was unlikely to be refused where a showdown with the employer could lead to the dismissal and eviction of the entire family (Gordon 1991: 128). The use of child labour has declined since 1990. Even in 2004, however, there were sporadic reports of such practices, leading to more farm inspections by the Department of Labour (Farmer’s Weekly, 11/6/2004). A 2003 survey by the International Labour Organisation and Department of Labour found that about 9 000 children were still working for up to 12 hours a week in South Africa. Organised agriculture also has exerted pressure to end child labour practices. The South African Agricultural Union (AgriSA) has participated extensively in the government’s Child Labour Action Programme, as well as in international workshops and conferences on child labour (Farmer’s Weekly, 28/5/2004). The unfree labour system was possible because the white agricultural lobby had strong representation in political parties and in Parliament for virtually the whole of the twentieth century. Leaders of agricultural unions frequently served as Members of Parliament. This political advantage was not used only
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to create an unfree labour system; it was used also to channel state revenue into agricultural subsidies and protectionism. After World War II, the state created the marketing boards, export and import controls, and credit arrangements that granted farmers almost unlimited price-fixing powers. These measures laid the foundation for mechanisation (Greenberg 1980: 88–9). Given the rigours of early commercial farming, the need for inexpensive and tightly controlled labour was not surprising. Commercial farming was a difficult financial endeavour for most of the twentieth century. Many farmers were undercapitalised (Nattrass 1977: 53), markets were unstable, droughts, stock diseases and economic depression had to be contended with, and infrastructure was poor. Commercial farms required ever-increasing amounts and kinds of state support to remain viable. State support took the form of subsidies, low-interest loans, credits and technical assistance (Gordon 1991: 49; Mbongwa et al. 1996: 48). The capitalist farming sector was chronically short of labour. This was not necessarily due to the absence of black people in the countryside. It was, significantly, due to low agricultural wages, which made farm work unattractive compared to urban opportunities. This, in turn, was caused by the risky nature of early capitalist agriculture. It was not only rural ‘poor white’ farmers and urban capitalists who argued for the demise of the labour tenant system. From the 1920s, progressive capitalist farmers became increasingly critical of labour tenancy because: • The quality of livestock was poor; • Methods of cultivation were primitive; • The pattern of migrating to the towns and back again was unstable; • Labour tenancy exacerbated the problems of soaring land values by holding land out of the land market (Bradford 1987: 55). Such farmers believed that modern agriculture would be best served by a skilled black labour force, paid exclusively in the form of wages. They began to calculate the cost (or opportunity cost) of providing land to black tenants, especially in areas where smaller and more intensive farms became the norm. Labour tenants were no longer considered to be working for nothing. They were recognised as becoming prohibitively expensive. Tenants’ land was increasingly circumscribed, and their livestock holdings dropped dramatically (see Table 2.1).
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Table 2.1 Agricultural production by black farmers on white farms, 1922–1936 1923
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Cattle
1936
1 246 000
1 341 000
Woolled sheep
338 000
145 000
Mutton sheep
273 000
162 000
Angora goats
125 000
37 000
1 032 000
856 000
Mealies
319 million lbs
269 million lbs
Sorghum
117 million lbs
47 million lbs
1 499 million lbs
644 million lbs
315 million lbs
104 million lbs
Other goats
Wool Mohair
Source: Union Office of Census and Statistics (1937)
Significantly, the changeover from squatting to labour tenancy, and thereafter to wage labour, brought in each instance diminished access for black rural labourers to subsistence production, whether in the traditional black farming areas or in the reserves, and to grazing and cultivation rights on European farms. Evidence of the decline of land tenancy was visible throughout the 1920s in evictions of squatters and in destitute and landless stock-owners. These stock-owners drifted through the countryside in search of land to rent until they found a tenuous home in a native reserve, or simply sold off their remaining livestock to become wage labourers in the towns or on farms (Bradford 1987: 57). Paradoxically, once black workers had nothing to sell but their labour, urban employment became ever more tempting. The unfree agricultural system laid the very foundations for resistance and evasion. Consequently, farmers had to insist on state controls to keep black workers on the farms at artificially low wage rates (Greenberg 1980: 86). For almost a century, a vast bureaucratic apparatus was systematically constructed to implement influx control. From the 1930s, in the wake of the economic depression, white farmers demanded ever more vehemently that the state limit African labour mobility. They complained to the Farm Labour Committee of 1937–9 that the pass laws were not effectively enforced, that travelling permits were granted even when farm labourers lacked proper
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approval from their employers, and that inadequate forms of identification made it possible ‘for Natives to desert with impunity’ (Greenberg 1980: 84). The Department of Native Affairs tightened up on regulations during 1938, particularly regarding travelling passes and permits to seek work. Consequently, the number of black farm workers increased from 488 000 in 1918 to 963 000 in 1957 (Hobart Houghton 1967: 47). In fact, if domestic workers on farms are included in the calculation, then the agricultural sector provided employment for nearly 1 850 000 people (black and white, excluding the reserves) in 1958, or nearly 40 per cent of the economically active population of South Africa. At that time, the actual number of people engaged in agriculture exceeded the combined total of all workers in the mining, manufacturing and construction industries. The restrictions on the movement of black farm workers kept the wage rate depressed. This contrasts strikingly with policy in the United States, where movement out of agriculture was encouraged. Between 1948 and the 1970s, several major policy interventions attempted to subvert normal urbanisation trends and partially succeeded. Official policy was aimed at tying much-needed workers to the farms; at the same time, the National Party government endeavoured to remove ‘surplus’ people (typically, independent black labour tenants and their families) to the homelands. There have been various estimates of the scale of forced removals. It is possible that around 1.4 million labour tenants and squatters were removed between 1960 and 1974 (Stavrou 1987: 45). The system of labour tenancy was virtually destroyed. Between 1964 and 1970, labour tenants decreased from 163 000 to 27 585 (Greenberg 1983: 93; Stavrou 1987: 45). The government used several far-reaching bureaucratic methods to create the desired system of labour distribution. One of these methods was the forced removal of thousands of black households, living in the so-called rural black spots, to the homelands. The system of racial population registration, and the intensified enforcement of the pass laws, created the legal underpinnings for influx control. Influx control and ‘efflux control’, or the restriction of farm workers’ movement away from the farms, were implemented first by Native Affairs Commissioners and later by Bantu Affairs Administration Boards. Labour bureaux distributed workers throughout the farming areas. By enforcing influx control, the government tried to pin down full-time agricultural labourers on the farms. This set into motion an entire train of socio-economic dynamics. These deviated from the normal urbanisation
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dynamic of modernising societies, because the government tried to channel the black rural dwellers away from the towns and cities. The government, there fore, partially reinforced the normal modernising trend of a declining labour force in agriculture (Nattrass 1977: 52), but it cut across normal patterns of urbanisation by trying to redirect population flows to distant rural homelands and away from urban areas. Urbanisation patterns were delayed and distorted. Consequently, the urban areas remained chronically unprepared to cope with urbanisation, and rural areas remained artificially overpopulated. By 1970, an unfree labour system had undoubtedly been created. At this point, a curious contradiction emerges. The unfree agricultural labour system was a key pillar of the emergence of capitalist agriculture because it enabled developments such as land and ownership consolidation, capital accumulation, and investments in infrastructure and machinery. This commercial agriculture was innovative, dynamic and competitive – some of the key hallmarks of a modern capitalist system. But the essence of a capitalist labour system is precisely that it is free, in the sense that employment is regulated totally by the market, and not by non-market legal constraints. In many ways, then, the labour system before 1980 was feudal, even though it operated in a modernising capitalist economy.
The leaven in the dough: paternalism and social bonds on commercial farms Did the pre-1990 history of farm labour create a total institution on the farms, as Nasson (1988) suggested? A proper answer to this question requires much more research, from a diversity of viewpoints, including social psychology. But one can make a few generalisations. Firstly, the apartheid state certainly intended to tie down and isolate workers on the farms. A key message emerg ing from the revisionist and total institution perspectives is the sheer length and intensity of the period of labour repression in South African agriculture. It covered a period of at least 130 years (from around 1850 to 1980), which included several generations of farm workers’ families. This lengthy period of submission to white rule would have greatly impaired black workers’ ability to visualise themselves as free economic agents. At the present time, this legacy continues to hamper the prospects of farm workers’ development.
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Secondly, it is doubtful whether the apartheid government ever fully achieved total social domination of farm workers. Despite the pass laws, many workers managed to leave the farms and migrate to the cities. Many workers did so illegally, but influx control legislation also created a few loopholes for enterprising rural black people. The so-called Section 10 rights4 allowed urban residence for people who had worked continuously in an urban area for one employer for at least ten years, or who had lived in an area for at least 15 years. This meant that if a farm worker managed to find a job in an urban area, and managed to keep that job for a decade, he or she could bring their family to live with them in the town. The influx control functions of Administration Boards became increasingly more difficult to enforce (Bekker & Humphries 1985: 80). Until the late 1980s, Administration Board officials continued to register black farm workers, but this was a costly and timeconsuming exercise, which was not universally implemented. Ethnic and cultural factors also underpinned rural black subcultures. The four to six homesteads on an average farm tended to create strong social bonds, sometimes reinforced by ethnic solidarity, language and loyalty to specific chiefs. Kinship links created networks between farm dwellers and township residents. Traditional feasts, initiation schools, weddings and funerals were important occasions for reasserting social bonds. Many farm workers belonged to black nationalist churches such as the Zionist and Ethiopian churches. Such influences could underpin overt or covert resistance to farmers’ authority, particularly if farmers attempted to overstep implicit understandings. Where labour tenants had lived on a farm for several generations, they felt that they had as much right to the farm as the farmer (Bradford 1987: 47, 51). Farms were never quite total institutions and, therefore, black residents’ recognition of white farmers’ authority was always qualified. Thirdly, the revisionist approach paid too little attention to the psychological responses of farmers and farm workers to their situation. Materialist perspectives typically do not do justice to the complex normative dimensions of social life. By focusing on relations of exploitation, the revisionist approach foregrounded the forms of domination that characterised farm life, and downplayed the co-operative and paternalistic relationships between farmers and workers. There is a great deal of evidence that social life is not always experienced in such terms. People’s understanding of their own situation is informed by important normative and ideological concerns. The repressive
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farm labour situation was often tempered with paternalism, which softened the harsh legal measures imposed by apartheid. Afrikaans literature and folklore abounds with stories of loyal black retainers who were treated well, albeit paternalistically and in a highly unequal social context, by their employers. In the words of Sol Plaatje, writing in 1916, ‘The good-humoured indulgence of some Dutch and English farmers towards their native squatters, and the affectionate loyalty of some of these native squatters in return, will cause a keen observer, arriving at a South African farm, to be lost in admiration for this mutual good feeling’ (Plaatje 1982: 28). Such mutually appreciative sentiments were widespread, and some farmers made a point of providing food, schools, churches and recreational facilities for their workers (Bradford 1987: 43). The farmer’s family and the farm workers’ families lived in close proximity, often with intense relationships of loyalty, reciprocity and mutual expectations that transcended the workplace situation to include matters such as housing, education, health, transport, religious practices and even friendship. Where the relationship went sour, farmers could resort to intimidation and coercion. But there was a definite sense that farmers and their workers formed an organic social unit, often lasting from generation to generation. Even today, there is evidence that elderly farm workers still feel a symbiotic relationship with their employers, and are concerned about their welfare. As Van Dongen (2003: 328) comments, ‘Symbiotic relationships are often seen as unhealthy and oppressive, but we must acknowledge that there are positive dimensions to them, especially for older people’. Like loyal feudal retainers, many farm workers cared about the success of the farm and were interested in the fortunes of the baas and miesies; like benign feudal lords, many farmers cared about the welfare of ‘Outa Klaas’ and his family. Paternalism is a complex phenomenon. The term can refer to a set of social relations, as well as to a specific conception of moral action (Van de Veer 1986: 31–40). As moral action, paternalism consists of one agency (the superior one) deliberately doing something to another agency (the inferior one), in the belief that it will promote the good of the latter. The superior agency believes that he or she is qualified to act on the other person’s behalf. The principle of legal paternalism, for example, implies that the state may understand the best interests of individual citizens better than they can themselves (Feinberg 1983: 3; Atkinson 1991).
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In certain situations, this type of moral action may become institutionalised into a set of paternalistic social relations. Various authors have argued that this is precisely what happened on South African farms during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Du Toit 1993; Ewert & Hamman 1999), with specific reference to farms in the south-western Cape Province. These social historians argue that to enter a farm is to enter a different world – one with a normative logic which varies markedly from that of the town. In particular, Andries du Toit’s seminal study (1993) poignantly and sensitively sketches a finely balanced social compact, which gives meaning and security to social actors whose very survival depends on maintaining the compact. There are several dimensions to the paternalistic order on the farms that distinguish it from broader social relations (Du Toit 1993). Firstly, the social compact was constituted by moral obligations on employers and workers, which lessened the degree of exploitation and brutality that might have existed. Were the favours that farm workers enjoyed (such as free food or land for grazing) privileges or rights? Some historians believe that they were privileges, because they could be revoked at any time (Roberts 1959: 3). What kept the system in balance, however, was that farm workers took these privileges very seriously, and where farmers did not provide these privileges, they would very often vote with their feet and try to find employment on another farm. Farmers had to be careful to make work on their farms attractive, particularly in areas with a labour shortage. In effect, then, these privileges sometimes did become de facto rights. Secondly, there was no convenient distinction between public and private matters. On the farm, labour relations are not as easily separated from the broader social context as is the case in the towns. Many farming families enjoyed the services of the same farm worker family for several generations (Grosskopf 1932: 154). Farmers developed a real loyalty to such black families, especially where workers were subservient and obliging. Obligations between worker and farmer extended far beyond the labour-wage nexus; the farmer concerned himself with all aspects of his workers’ lives (Roberts 1959: 75): Farm workers see the farmer not only as an employer, but as a source of strength when they are in need of help, the authority from whom they must obtain permission for almost everything they do, even out of working hours … In turn, the farmer must
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see his workers not only as factors of production, but as heads of households or members of families with whose whole welfare and with whose problems he is concerned at all times.
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The paternalistic social order includes all aspects of farm workers’ survival: money, housing, water, electricity, food and drink. A farm worker who has lost his job has lost his home. Not only were the public and private realms blurred at the workplace, but the boundaries between the farm and the state were unclear. This accounts for the fact that farmers called the police to reprimand, fine or punish farm workers for their misdemeanours. As Roberts (1959: 70) found in the Eastern Cape, farm workers resented this practice deeply. More progressive and benevolent farmers tended to avoid calling the police because of the harsh treatment that the police meted out. Within the paternalistic system on the farms, the farmer stood in loco parentis. There was a general theme in the relationship between the employer and the worker. This was a theme of ‘understanding one another’ (mekaar verstaan) (Heunis 1993: 21). It entailed the mutual recognition and acceptance of all the obligations, rights, benefits and duties associated with membership of the farm community. For the farmer, it accorded the respect due to him because of his authority; for the farm worker, it was the knowledge that the farmer recognised him or her as reliable and trustworthy. This, in turn, meant that the farm worker could feel entitled to favours and assistance. For farm workers, the employer was ‘our white man’, and the employer’s family was ons witmense (‘our white folks’); for the employer, the workers were ons volkies (‘our little folks’). For both parties, this arrangement sustained the belief that worker and farmer ultimately shared a common interest in the survival of the farm community, and that everyone on the farm was part of an organic ‘family’ (Du Toit 1993: 330). This apparent mutual understanding accounts for the fact that there were few formal disciplinary methods. Discipline tended to be based on a subjective agreement between farmer and worker, rather than on following objective procedures. Statements such as ‘My workers know what I expect of them’, or ‘The “baas” and I understand each other’ (Heunis 1993: 21) are evidence of this.
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This paternalistic relationship masked unequal power relationships. It was the farmer’s definition of ‘understanding one another’ (ons moet mekaar nou mooi verstaan) that was the final arbiter on farm matters, including employees’ behaviour. The farmer’s goodwill could never be taken for granted, so a farm worker’s life was based on perpetual insecurity. In fact, far from being an indispensable part of the farm, the worker and his family were always vulnerable to the termination of employment and eviction. But the employer’s dependence on the loyal service of his employees usually tempered this vulnerability. While the paternalistic type of relationship allowed a large degree of benevolence, it was open to serious abuse (Roberts 1959: 66). Because of the strong role of the farmer as pater familias, paternalism denied workers’ individuality and inhibited the space in which they could exercise their independent judgement. As is shown in more detail later, this resulted in some cases in a poor sense of self-identity on the part of farm workers. This is a phenomenon with profound consequences for development and upliftment programmes. In this incipient social order, every farm had its own distinctive brand of paternalism, with different farmers adopting their own theories about how to handle their workers (Roberts 1959: 76). One way of categorising these different types of paternalistic moral actions is to distinguish between ‘liberal’, ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ paternalism (Dworkin 1983: 107). The most permissive form of paternalism is ‘liberal paternalism’, in which the inferior agent’s right to express his or her preferences is recognised. In contrast, ‘soft paternalism’ assumes that the inferior agent is in some way incapable of acting in his or her own best interests. This is usually the case with children or the mentally ill, for example. Soft paternalism may lead to extensive interventions in people’s lives, as institutions in authority may judge ordinary people’s own rationality to be deficient. ‘Hard paternalism’ claims that intervention is legitimate even if the inferior agent judges his or her own actions to be fully rational. In effect, hard paternalism includes the use of coercion or manipulation by the superior agent, who feels that there are very good reasons to override the explicit wishes of the other party – actions which may lead to serious abuses if social norms do not check them. These distinctions hint at the complex forms that paternalism may take in almost any context. On South African farms, the more coercive forms of paternalism have probably contributed to farm workers’ chronic sense of disempowerment
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and alienation. More ‘liberal’ paternalists, however, provided significant leeway for their employees to build a sense of responsibility, to develop their own views and to trust in their own judgement. This allowed employees to facilitate their self-development. The advent of the Rural Foundation in the 1990s, as well as improved agricultural skills training, was conducive to a more liberal form of paternalism. Chapter 5 of this book discusses this question in greater detail. But paternalism, like other dimensions of farm life, underwent significant social changes during the twentieth century. For Sol Plaatje, it was the Natives Land Act of 1913 that ‘succeeded in remorselessly destroying those happy relations’. As government segregationist policy gradually reduced black sharecroppers to landless agricultural labourers, the voluntaristic dimension of this relationship dwindled. More often than not, economic and legal coercion replaced this dimension.
Why are there no white farm workers? In Africa today, there are virtually no white farm workers, in the sense of farm labourers. Many farms have white managers, but there is no white menial agricultural class. The story of white farm labour is intimately related to that of the rural class of ‘poor whites’. The phenomenon of poor whites was first noted in 1890 (Grosskopf 1932: 19). In the 1930s, the problem became acute. The number of poor whites was estimated to be between 120 000 and 160 000 in 1923, comprising people who ranged from ‘desperately poor’ to ‘less poor’ (Grosskopf 1932: 21). The class of poor whites consisted originally of rural, often landless, people, many of whom moved to the cities in the first decades of the twentieth century. The landless and resource-poor class of white people originated during the period of colonial expansion in the eighteenth century. At that stage, aspirant farmers could obtain land in the interior by renting it from the colonial government. It was easy to obtain land, and a great geographic expansion of stock farming began. By 1800, farmers had reached Algoa Bay in the east and Colesberg in the north. These rented farms were originally intended as temporary grazing fields for transhumant agriculture, but farmers began gradually to settle permanently. In 1813, the tenure of these farms was transformed from rented land to perpetual tenure, which amounted to full freehold (Grosskopf 1932: 31).
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During this phase, a white agricultural labouring class could not emerge because virtually every person could, by working on another person’s farm, build up a small herd or flock and then apply to receive a government farm. At the same time, such farmers could sustain themselves on virgin land by means of hunting. As the available land dwindled in the Eastern Cape and the Free State, the areas in the north-western Cape and the Transvaal opened up. During this era, a stock-owner who lived temporarily on land that belonged to another farmer was not considered to be of a lower status. The arrangement would simply be a matter of convenience. Farmers often began their farming careers in this way. As the available land was taken up, however, a class of people emerged who had very small land holdings. This took place in two different contexts. Firstly, large farms were subdivided among descendants who were all equally entitled to an inheritance. Secondly, in the newly established towns, smallholdings were made available mainly for cultivation, while the owner also had access to municipal commonage. The result was that many families became dependent on these small farms and smallholdings for residential purposes, but they lacked the economic means to make a livelihood from such tiny land parcels. These people also often lacked the capital means to develop the land for intensive agriculture (Grosskopf 1932: 39). Those stock-owners who failed to secure their own farms or smallholdings became truly migrant trekboers, particularly in the Karoo, Bushmanland and more remote parts of what is now the North West Province. These people became extremely impoverished. As they gradually reduced their assets such as horses, carriages and livestock, they became increasingly isolated and dislocated from the mainstream economy. For the landless and resource-poor white workers, the new diamond and gold mines offered opportunities for survival. Many people became traders, artisans and transport-riders. Some of these people managed to work their way out of poverty, but their new professions also provided a highly insecure livelihood. New innovations and infrastructure, such as tractors and railways, undermined independent livelihoods even though they created new opportunities for labourers. These labourers were often black competitors. For those white workers who remained as bywoners on other people’s land, or found themselves living with meagre livelihoods on smallholdings, the most likely escape from increasing penury was to leave the rural areas and
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to head for the cities. The rapid growth of railways, into even the deepest rural hinterlands, enabled people to pack up and leave. After 1911, a large number of Cape and Free State districts lost a significant proportion of their rural population (Grosskopf 1932: 66). Between 1926 and 1931, only the Transvaal showed an increase in its rural population. The rural exodus had begun in earnest. In the towns, the poor white workers faced stiff employment competition and often desperate poverty. They benefited from the growing number of racial colour-bar measures on the mines, in the factories and in the civil service, however. At the same time, white farmers who stayed in the rural areas had to contend with a more sophisticated economy. Farming became a more specialised occupation that required more capital and skill. For those farmers whose capital resources were inadequate, or who lost their assets due to the depression, dramatic price fluctuations, debt, droughts or natural disasters, the prospects were bleak. It was quite possible for a fairly well-to-do farmer to overcapitalise on or to invest in the wrong types of infrastructure or livestock, and to experience almost complete impoverishment – as the ill-fated ostrich industry of the Southern Cape illustrated. Some farmers left farming at an appropriate time to start a new life in the towns, while others clung to the land in a worsening spiral of poverty, land degradation and educational disadvantage. Demoralisation, isolation, spiritual poverty, fatalism, a loss of entrepreneurial energy and a lack of social capital accompanied this (Grosskopf 1932: 105). In many cases, these rustic farmers were poorly matched with urban sophisticates such as traders, speculators, lawyers and financiers, and they lost heavily when they sold assets or purchased unsuitable goods. For these rural people, securing work on commercial farms was the only way of finding a livelihood in a rural context. But such work became increasingly scarce – particularly due to capital innovations such as jackal-proof fencing and the mechanisation of agriculture. Those bywoners who managed to retain their jobs on farms tended to lose their livestock, and they became little more than wage labourers. In the early 1930s, there were still a few white shepherds in the older Cape livestock areas. Some retained grazing rights for a few animals, others received some food and housing, but the wages for all of these people were extremely low. The erstwhile patriarchal relationship between farmers and white farm workers gradually dwindled as employers became more pressured to make hard-nosed financial decisions about land use and employment. Most contracts with employers were verbal, which created great scope for confusion and conflict. This left white farm workers with few
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options aside from finding other jobs. In some areas, the better-quality white workers gradually became foremen and managers; in other areas, they were so poorly remunerated that they had little choice but to leave the farms for the cities. The calibre of these white farm workers was often poor. As Grosskopf (1932: 135, 169, 171) notes, ‘[t]hey tend to be unskilled, unreliable and lazy, unaccustomed to regular work’; many were reluctant to do, or expected higher wages for, the kind of work that black labourers usually performed. In comparison, many black labour tenants were: thorough, reliable and more experienced, who will sacrifice a great deal to keep their livestock and to maintain a rural residence for their households; and in addition, their cash wage requirements are small, and their wives and children are available as extra labour. (Grosskopf 1932: 164) This was tough competition for white farm labourers. By 1926, the small class of white farm workers was estimated at about 14 700 (Grosskopf 1932: 126, 139). Many lived more poorly than black labour tenants. They sometimes even depended on black tenants for piece-work opportunities such as ploughing or wagon repairs. At the lower end of the class continuum, the white rural poor found themselves in direct competition with black labour tenants. In some cases, the wealthier black farmers began to experience the resentment of white people who had lost the economic struggle (Grosskopf 1932: 163). This was a direct cause of segregationist legislation. Political spokesmen for poor whites became increasingly strident in their desire to lift white workers out of poverty, even if it meant severely circumscribing the land and employment prospects of the emerging black middle class. Racial superiority became a rallying call. As Grosskopf comments, ‘It is particularly tragic that some people with ambitions for political office tend to plant irresponsible and unrealistic expectations in the heads of the poorer voters’ (1932: 171). But segregationist measures did not protect poor whites in agricultural areas. Their numbers kept dwindling as they sought refuge in the towns, cities and mining camps, where employment was easier to obtain, salaries were better, schools were more available, and social welfare assistance was easier to come by. By the mid-twentieth century, the white agricultural labour class had essentially disappeared.
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Conclusion
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The evolution of farm life in South Africa is a story with several threads, encompassing: • The destruction of an independent black peasantry; • The consolidation of a landless black agricultural working class; • The creation of laws and practices that institutionalised white employers’ authority and severely restricted black people’s mobility and residential options. This was a difficult period of agricultural modernisation, which occurred in a context of exclusively white ownership. This laid the basis for global economic integration in the late twentieth century. At the same time, some vestiges of paternalism remained. In fact, these were strengthened on many farms, where white employers and black workers developed their own ethos of co-operation and mutual assistance. This complex mix of quasi-feudal characteristics has been carried into the modern economic order, with multiple and often mutually contradictory results. The chapters of this book that follow will show how historical inheritance has laid the basis for rapid urbanisation, growing rural unemployment and the decline of paternalistic bonds, but also, paradoxically, for new forms of interracial co-operation in agriculture. The most significant developmental theme in this historical process is the destruction of the black peasantry and the virtual elimination of small-scale black agriculture. This prevented the development of a viable, employmentintensive rural economy centred on agriculture (Kirsten et al. 1998: 4). Inequality of opportunity and structural imbalances were built into South African agriculture for many decades, and this systematically placed black farmers at a disadvantage. By depriving black farmers of their land and by ending sharecropping and tenant farming on white land, an important agricultural tradition and indigenous knowledge of farming were destroyed (Terreblanche 1998: 22). This means that farm workers’ agricultural prospects are poor, as workers or as independent agriculturalists. Well-considered private and government interventions will be needed to improve farm workers’ economic and social welfare.
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CHAPTER 3
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The forces of modernisation after 1970
The quasi-feudal agricultural labour system discussed in Chapter 2 of this book remained in force because the demand for labour outstripped its supply. Legal restrictions and cultural domination were required to keep farm workers on the farms and to prevent them from seeking more lucrative employment in the towns. After about 1970, this began to change. Despite the government’s fervent demographic interventions to resist black urbanisation, longer-term structural economic changes were taking place in South African agriculture. With mechanisation, farmers began to shed labour. From being a much-needed factor of production, farm workers now became increasingly redundant and superfluous. The apartheid government described them as the ‘surplus people’. Gradually, the labour system did become free, in the callous sense that surplus workers and their families lost their livelihoods and homes on the farms and found themselves having to fend for themselves in the towns and cities. Increasingly, commercial farmers rid themselves of the numerous social obligations imposed by the quasi-feudal work situation. By the 1980s, as will be shown below, the loss of agricultural jobs was widespread.
The changing basis of white commercial agriculture Until the 1970s, white commercial agriculture remained remarkably undercapitalised. The ratio of capital to labour in commercial agriculture grew at only 1.9 per cent per annum between 1946 and 1971 (Nattrass 1977: 54). This implied that the sector was very slow to release labour that the new techniques no longer required. Underemployed workers continued to live on the farms. It also meant that, for several decades, much of the new capital was applied to capital widening (employing more machinery and expansion of production) rather than to adopting new production techniques. A major shift took place during the 1970s, when the capital stock began to grow rapidly (Nattrass 1977: 54). Agriculture became a large foreign exchange earner. A 1970 government public relations document extolled the achievements of modern South African farming:
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Efficiency is transforming the agricultural outlook. Modern methods, mechanisation, fertilisation, pesticides and improved seed strains are producing spectacular results. Branches of farming are becoming more intensive. The old extensive system, prodigal of land and resources, is being swept away. A recent development has been the move into farming of powerful companies who buy up farms and consolidate these into vast tracts, which are then profitably exploited, with all the economies which go with size and centralisation. (Da Gama Publishers 1970: 82) Commercial agriculture reached a landmark stage in the 1970s, when it became self-sufficient in terms of its labour needs. This phase was also associated with larger farm sizes, and a correspondingly smaller number of farms. This heralded a second phase of capitalist agricultural development, based on capital-intensive, mechanised production with more limited labour requirements. Farmers were more likely to evict squatter or family labour groups and to replace them with a less land-intensive wage labour system. This led to even more out-migration from agriculture (Nattrass 1977: 54). As already mentioned, the decline in agricultural employment reflects a typical trend in developed countries. Initially, technological innovation increases output per area, which increases the demand for harvesting labour. During this phase, capital and labour play complementary roles. However, with the advent of mechanical harvesters and weed killers, a massive reduction in agricultural labour is brought about (Robertson 1988: 41). The sea change from a labour shortage to a labour surplus took several decades. Margaret Roberts’ 1959 study of farm labour in the Eastern Cape captured this unevenness effectively. Of 63 farmers surveyed in that study, 10 experienced labour shortages, 12 had to be careful in dismissing labour for fear of not being able to fill vacancies, 24 farmers felt no effects of a shortage of labour, while 17 said that there was a surplus of labour in the sense that work-seekers outnumbered vacancies (Roberts 1959: 86). These results were greatly affected by the type of agricultural activities on the farms, the location of the farms and the management styles of the farmers. South African agriculture became increasingly dominated by large farms that were owned and operated by a small number of individuals or companies (Van Zyl 1996: 3). This saw a steady outflow of farmers from the agricultural
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sector. According to Statistics South Africa, in the nine years between 1993 and 2002, the number of commercial farming enterprises decreased from 57 980 to 45 818 (cited in Landbouweekblad, 24/9/2004). Again, this is a normal trend in developed countries: ‘Fewer farms, fewer farm operators, fewer farm families, and more off-farm employment among those who remain in agricultural production’ (Findeis et al. 2002: 1). The agricultural sector’s pattern of growth was affected, however, by distortions occasioned by persistent government intervention in its favour. These interventions led to excessive growth in farm size and mechanisation, and accelerated shedding of labour (Van Zyl 1996: 5). Like countries such as Brazil and Colombia, in South Africa the government subsidised the commercial farm sector heavily. This resulted in rapid agricultural modernisation. In these countries, politically articulate farmer groups were able to obtain producer subsidies in the form of subsidised credit, low interest rates, irrigation investment without cost recovery, agricultural extension, parastatal marketing, export subsidies and sometimes monopoly marketing or trading rights. They also obtained tax privileges with regard to income, land and capital gains (Binswanger 1996: 24). Compensatory programmes are usually heavily biased in favour of owners of large farms. The lower administrative cost of dealing with large-scale farmers rather than with small-scale ones provides an additional rationale for the concentration of the farming sector. Mechanisation in South African agriculture has followed the trajectory of developed countries in that technical innovations are so superior to labourintensive techniques that even a large fall in the price of labour is insufficient for labour-intensive techniques to be maintained. Mechanisation was also hastened by various government policies that reduced the cost of capital relative to the cost of labour. These policies included tax write-offs and low interest rates (Robertson 1988: 57). Developed countries market their technical equipment in countries such as South Africa aggressively. In the process, a skills hierarchy is created, with more technically skilled workers being sought and unskilled workers being displaced (Stavrou 1987: 209). This trend is continuing today, although its impacts on farm worker migration are still unclear. Furthermore, many of these compensatory policies tend to drive land prices above the capitalised value of farm profits because they provide the better-off with additional income from farming, such as tax shelters or access to subsidised credit (Binswanger 1996: 25). This results
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in increased mechanisation, even in a context of extremely plentiful and low-priced labour.
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The fact that mechanisation has intensified in South Africa, in a context of extremely low wages, requires some explanation. One part of the story is the cheap price of capital equipment due to government subsidisation of interest rates. But the characteristics of the labour market must also be considered. The reasons for the low level of agricultural wages are considered in the next section of this chapter. Since the 1970s, the hassle factor and transaction costs associated with labour may well have made the use of labour unattractive to farmers. As Van der Vliet and Bromberger (1977: 130) assert, ‘There is some evidence that maintaining numbers of people on farms as residents involves costs of subsistence and an effort of management and control that for some farmers there is a clear incentive to reduce their labour force (and dependants) over time’. Under the apartheid government, farmers had to comply with influx control legislation, which required a host of administrative obligations and constraints. In fact, the South African government wanted farmers to reduce their use of black labour, to bolster the homeland policy and the concomitant loss of South African citizenship for black people. The National Party government hoped that the majority of the 2 400 000 black people living on white farms could be encouraged or compelled to relocate to the homelands, leaving only the full-time wage labourers still residing in the white rural areas (South African government’s Report of the Commission of Inquiry into European Occupancy of the Rural Areas, 1959, cited in Greenberg 1980: 81). Since 1990, new wage laws have made provision for minimum wages, the registration of workers for unemployment insurance, benefits such as paid leave and maternity leave, and a skills development levy. These have added to the transaction costs of employing labour. Due to the relative attractiveness of mechanisation compared to labour, commercial farmers in countries such as South Africa and Brazil have been prone to reducing their employment of unskilled workers. This has resulted in large destitute populations seeking refuge in rural and urban slums (Binswanger 1996: 29). While these decisions were privately profitable and technically efficient, they reduced economic efficiency. South African agriculture makes sub-optimal use of its most abundant resource – labour. Subsidised low interest rates and various tax breaks
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encouraged the excessive substitution of capital for labour. (Van Zyl 1996: 5) The labour substitution trend has become increasingly significant since the 1970s. In a survey conducted in 1987 in the Natal Midlands, Northern Natal and the Eastern Cape, 38 per cent of farmers maintained that they consider mechanisation as an important factor in determining their personnel requirements (Robertson 1988: 5). Table 3.1 illustrates changes in the relative importance of labour as a cost item in South Africa between 1970 and 1983. Table 3.1 Labour cost as percentage of total cost Type of farming
Labour cost as % of total cost (excluding interest) 1970–1973
1980–1983
Western Transvaal
19.1%
10.3%
Transvaal Highveld
18.3%
10.2%
North-West Free State
23.7%
13.8%
31.0%
28.2%
Dairy
16.1%
13.4%
Beef
21.5%
18.1%
Mutton
23.1%
24.4%
Maize production
Sugarcane production Natal and Eastern Transvaal lowveld Animal production
Source: Fenyes & Van Rooyen (1985) cited in Robertson (1988: 24)
It would oversimplify the issue to attribute the decline in farm employment to mechanisation alone. One consideration is that mechanisation only affects certain types of agricultural production, such as large-scale cropping and dairies, and not livestock farmers. Another factor is that mechanisation may decrease the demand for some kinds of labourers, but increase the demand for others (Maree 1977: 133). The loss of farm jobs, in different localities, may be due to a wide variety of political and business factors (SAIRR 1983: 158): • The abolition of the labour tenancy system in 1980, which forced labour tenants to work as full-time labourers for relatively low wages and made many decide to leave the agricultural sector altogether;
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• The concentration of farm ownership in fewer hands, leading to a streamlining of the labour force; • Farmers’ need to extend the use of their own land, thus limiting workers’ grazing or cropping land and causing workers to leaving voluntarily; • Changes in farm ownership; • Action by farmers against elderly workers or those perceived to be unproductive; • Drought and farm insolvency. So for a wide range of reasons, modernising countries such as South Africa, Guatemala, Colombia and Brazil have successfully abolished feudal landlabour relations in their large-scale farming sectors and have modernised these sectors into large-scale commercial farms. This has had a heavy fiscal cost and drastic consequences for employment, however. Modernising countries have also fostered a dynamic, technologically sophisticated and politically articulate class of commercial farm owners. At the same time, they have seen most of their smallholder sectors decay and sink more deeply into poverty. Rural labour forces have been largely excluded from participation in the modernisation process and have become slum dwellers in rural towns and in cities. Most of these countries are characterised by high rates of rural violence, peri-urban slums and urban crime (Binswanger 1996: 31–2).
The decline of the unfree labour system after 1970 The revisionist approach explains not only the rise of an unfree labour system but also the inherent dynamic that brought about its decline. By the 1960s, the supply and demand for agricultural labour slowly began to balance out. Agricultural employment grew considerably more slowly than did the black rural population, indicating widespread rural underemployment (Nattrass 1977: 54). Commercial agriculture secured labour from the large numbers of black residents on white farms who did not have the requisite influx control permits to move to the towns. But these black residents were not necessarily available as farm workers, as many rural black residents still attempted to make a partial living from stock farming or agricultural crops. Farmers’ attempts to force black residents to perform poorly paid agricultural work were often countered by black workers’ attempts to move to the towns illegally.
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By the late 1960s, commercial agriculture became focused on developing a rural economy based on land consolidation, mechanisation and a reduced but better trained black labour force. Black farm workers were expected to resettle in the homelands. This was an unrealistic expectation; instead, many farm workers escaped the commercial farmlands and moved – illegally – to the towns and cities. They encouraged their children to move to the towns and cities, to secure an education and a better-paid job (Schirmer 1995). Ruralurban migration has been an inexorable process, and it has had a massive, and unanticipated, impact on South African towns and cities. Increasingly, the apartheid government’s attempts to stem the flow of urbanisation failed, due to the dynamics of modernisation. Organised agriculture gradually lost interest in labour controls aimed at tying down a large black rural population. New innovations were being introduced on some of the farms to improve relationships between employers and workers. Some white farmers introduced liaison committees and workers’ councils to improve communication on employment and management matters. By 1993, about a third of the farmers in a Bloemfontein area survey had introduced workers’ councils (Heunis & Pelser 1993). By the 1970s, the coercive labour framework that had tied black workers to the farms had become, at best, a notional structure. In fact, it had become a drag on the agricultural economy. Influx control was poorly implemented. On many commercial farms, there was an increasing interest in skilled black employees. This was allied with a concern about reducing the size of the surplus black rural population, and, in particular, the many underemployed and unproductive family members living on the farms. Between 1955 and 1962, the number of black workers in the white commercial farming areas, after a century of almost continuous growth, remained steady. An historic decline began after that. By one estimate, 438 000 black workers abandoned agricultural employment between 1960 and 1971. Between 1971 and 1973, an additional 248 000 made their exodus (Republic of South Africa, Second Report of the Commission of Enquiry into Agriculture, 1970, cited in Greenberg 1980: 96). Between 1970 and 1990, the number of people employed in the agricultural sector dropped from 1.6 million to 1.2 million (StatsSA 2000: 42). The rapid loss of agricultural jobs in South Africa is a rural social revolution in its own right. The scale of the phenomenon is remarkable. When the social
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consequences are taken into account, it is extraordinary that there have been no government attempts to research the phenomenon or official policies to address the situation. In 1998, the commercial agricultural sector provided 30 per cent of all employment for rural black people in South Africa (excluding self-employment). This was by far the largest single category of employment for rural black people. Yet, from 1988 to 1998, the commercial farm sector had shed a staggering 140 000 regular jobs, a decline of roughly 20 per cent (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 3). In this chapter, the historical emergence of this trend is explored. Chapters 4 and 5 consider the phenomenon from the point of view of the choices made by households. White farmers remained concerned about the possible loss of their skilled workers, which occurred because of unrelenting wage competition by the mines and the urban industries in particular. While the agricultural sector no longer needed large black families living on the land, it retained a vested interest in restricting the movement of skilled workers to the cities. The South African Agricultural Union (SAAU) began to urge the government to improve social services on the farms, particularly through the subsidisation of primary schools and clinics for farm workers. SAAU began to resist the worst excesses of the NP government in enforcing the homeland policy and homeland citizenship for all black residents. The SAAU successfully resisted an attempt by the government to limit the number of black farm workers who might be housed in family accommodations (Greenberg 1980: 101). It has become axiomatic that urbanisation is an inexorable feature of modernisation and economic development. As Bishop (1961: 36) notes, ‘In a highly dynamic economy, labour mobility is essential for the most efficient use of resources’. Since the mid-twentieth century, the technical rate of substitution of labour and other resources (land, capital and machinery) has changed drastically. The great growth of urban industry, with its concomitant demand for workers, has sustained the need for labour. International comparative figures for migration to towns and cities are astounding. In the United States, the 25-year period following 1929 produced a 28 per cent decline in the farm population (Sjaastad 1961: 11). Williams (1961: 84) notes: ‘The vast movements which occur decade after decade are well-nigh incredible … The volume of population movement is an index of the extraordinary responsiveness of our people to differentials and changes in economic returns and employment opportunities.’
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In South Africa, urbanisation pressures continued apace, mainly because of the dwindling agricultural opportunities for black people and the very low wages in commercial agriculture. Urban expansion was stimulated by rapid improvements in agricultural production, secondary services, commercial development and the extension of government services. But although towns continued to grow rapidly before 1994, the NP government’s policy of reverse urbanisation meant that South African towns remained singularly ill-prepared for coping with rapid in-migration – which has bedevilled urban planning and service delivery ever since. The decline in agricultural employment during the latter half of the twentieth century was largely due to a decline in the two primary sectors (agriculture and mining) and the rise of a tertiary service sector (Bhorat 2000: 442). Consequently, throughout the twentieth century, there was a constant drain of farm workers and their families to the cities. Although black farming employment expanded before 1970, there was a continued outflow of people who migrated to the towns. In the twenty years between 1950 and 1970, a phenomenal number of 1.5 million people left the farms. Of these, an estimated 1 million settled in the urban areas, while half a million moved to the homelands (Nattrass 1977: 57). Table 3.2 Various estimates of the number of farm employees Year 1960 1970 1988 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 2001
Number of farm workers (permanent and casual) 1 221 000 (Robertson 1988) 1 600 000 (StatsSA 2000) 1 219 648 (StatsSA 2000) 1 184 676 (StatsSA 2000) 1 115 562 (StatsSA 2000) 1 051 000 (StatsSA 2000) 1 139 427 (StatsSA 2000) 927 429 (StatsSA 2000) 918 735 (StatsSA 2000) 930 141 (StatsSA 2000) 787 000 (StatsSA cited in SAIRR:2006)
Number of farmworkers (permanent only) 767 664 (Nattrass 1977) 741 704 (Nattrass 1977) 724 000 (StatsSA/NDA 2000)
610 000
(StatsSa/NDA 2000)
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Table 3.3 Racial profile in agricultural employment, 1970–1995
African
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Coloured
1970
1995
2 259 895
930 227
Percentage change – 58.8
116 835
220 111
+ 88.4
Asian
7 317
2 167
– 70.4
White
97 913
86 339
– 11.8
2 481 960
1 238 844
– 50.1
Total Source: Bhorat (2000: 445)
The racial profile of formal employment in agriculture also changed dramatically from 1970 to 1995 as can be seen in Table 3.3. The onset of mechanisation from the 1970s intensified the urbanisation trend (Stavrou 1987: 36; Nattrass 1977: 61; Mbongwa et al. 1996: 48). This exodus from the rural areas took place despite the application of pass laws. Influx control was abolished in the mid-1980s, but had effectively broken down long before then (Todes 1999: 2). The percentage of the black population residing on commercial farms had dropped from 33 per cent in 1936 to 14 per cent in 1970. The apartheid government still seemed to view this as excessive however (Nattrass 1977: 60) and pressured surplus residents on farms to move to the rural Bantustans (reserve areas). These macro-dynamics were complex and implied important social changes. One subsidiary trend was the distinction between permanent migrants and labour migrants. Permanent migrants left the farming sector with their families, to settle either in the growing urban areas or in the black reserve areas. In the former case, they became the nucleus of the contemporary urban middle class. Labour migrants, who were often labour tenants, sought temporary work outside agriculture, leaving their families residing on the farms during their absence (Nattrass 1977: 54). Many contemporary farm dwellers have long experience of labour migrancy. A general observation is that permanent migrants were likely to secure a better foothold in the modernising economy than were the labour migrants who earned low incomes on the farms and tended to perform the most poorly paid jobs in the towns.
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Nevertheless, labour migrancy continued, partly because of some black households’ desire to continue with an agricultural way of life and partly because of restrictions on urban residence due to government policy. Farmers responded to the migrant labour system in different ways. Francis Wilson (1977: 195) provides a helpful categorisation by distinguishing between three types of farm: • Labour reserve farms, where the ratio of dependants to workers on the farm was abnormally high, and from where migrant labour was supplied to other agricultural areas or to the mining and industrial sectors; • Steady-state farms, which had approximately the number of workers required by the farmer, together with a balanced ratio of women, pensioners and children; • Migrant labour farms, which relied predominantly on migrants from elsewhere. These different scenarios complicate any broad generalisations about migration flows. Another subsidiary trend was the gradual shift from permanent black farm labour to casual or temporary farm labour. From 1910 to 1970, the rapid outmigration of farm workers did not mean an absolute decline in the number of agricultural workers. The absolute numbers of permanent black farm labourers started to decline in 1951, but until the 1970s, this was more than offset by the increased employment of casual and part-time labourers. The absolute decline of farm workers only began after 1970 (Stavrou 1987: 36; Nattrass 1977: 56, 61). But as Chapter 1 warns, these macro-figures conceal wide geographical variance, as well as statistical and conceptual confusion. And many farmers wanted to reduce their on-farm African and coloured populations and to employ workers who had fewer on-farm family requirements and commitments. Two causal mechanisms explain the large exodus of farm workers from 1950 onwards. The first mechanism was made up of the ‘pull’ forces that drew people to higher wages and better living circumstances, including a greater measure of personal freedom, in the towns and cities. This took place despite the best efforts of the state to stop such migration. The second mechanism comprised the apartheid practices that functioned as ‘push’ forces by evicting squatters and labour tenants and substituting them with resident wage labourers or migrant workers.
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Throughout the twentieth century, rapid migration occurred into the towns and cities. For example, Beinart and Murray (1996: 14) estimate that the Free State farm population lost 30 per cent of its numbers between 1980 and 1991. This trend continued in the 1990s. The extent of more recent urbanisation in the Free State can be seen in Table 3.4. Table 3.4 The urban population per settlement category in the Free State, 1991 and 2001 Cities 1991 2001 Change per annum, 1991–2001
Regional towns
Middleorder towns
Small towns
1 028 841
124 042
257 515
245 168
1 097 182
158 617
355 661
435 607
0.9%
3.1%
3.5%
8.9%
Source: Marais (2004)
These figures show that small towns grew much more rapidly than the larger towns and cities during the ten years leading to 2001. Many small towns have experienced economic decline accompanied by population growth (Todes 1999: 15), which has created a huge unemployment problem. Leslie Bank (1997) notes that 43 per cent of recent squatters in small towns in the Eastern Cape in 1993 were from commercial farms. Research has shown that ex-farm workers made up a significant portion of the housing demand in small towns, and that farm workers tended to move to the nearest town, rather than further afield (Todes 1999: 15; Simbi & Aliber 2000: 7). The scale of the demographic changes in the small towns over the last ten years can be better appreciated with reference to the town of Colesberg. A study of the Cape Colony, undertaken in 1842, stated that Colesberg had around 2 000 residents, whereas the surrounding rural district had a total of just under 10 000 inhabitants (Chase 1967: 16, 75). This implies that the spread of population was predominantly rural. By 2001, the town’s population was over 17 000, while the farming population was just less than 4 000. According to the Demarcation Board (www.demarcation.org.za) in the five-year period between 1996 and 2001, the urban population grew from 12 752 to 17 847. During this period, the rural population declined by about 1 000. This suggests a great deal of in-migration to Colesberg from the surrounding countryside, as well as from further afield.
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Urbanisation dynamics after 1994 By 1994, many farm workers had left agriculture due to eviction, retrenchment or voluntary migration. A second transition has taken place since 1994 and has hastened the exodus of farm workers. As Beinart and Murray (1996: 9) commented in 1996, with reference to the eastern Free State, A renewed bout of farm evictions is eroding the old rural networks of farm workers, and many former farm families are now migrating to the small towns. Improved transport links, largely through the spread of mini-bus taxis, have made it more feasible for households to straddle rural, small town and urban employment and informal sector activities. Farmers appear to call largely upon local resources, rather than migrant workers, when attempting to meet peak seasonal labour requirements. While the drive towards mechanisation may have abated somewhat since 1994 due to a deteriorating exchange rate and increased interest rates, it is possible that this trend was more than off-set by a number of new factors. An example of such a factor is the reduction of trade protection for agriculture and the rapid emergence into a globalised economy. This resulted in changes in types of crop and methods of production and in the threat of unionisation. Government land tenure legislation and minimum wage legislation have introduced unintended disincentives for hiring farm workers (Ewert & Hamman 1999: 205). South African agriculture now operates under very difficult circumstances. The government has drastically reduced public subsidies in this sector. Since 1994, South African agriculture has moved from being heavily protected by state subsidies and tariff barriers to being exposed to global competition to an extent that is paralleled only by New Zealand (CDE 2005: 13). South African agricultural subsidies are now among the lowest in the world, amounting to roughly 2.7 per cent of total output. This compares to 16 per cent in Canada, 22 per cent in the United States and 45 per cent in the European Union. Farmers are more vulnerable to international shocks and deteriorating terms of trade. The debt situation is also worsening. Numerous farmers have gone out of business. This pattern of pressures forced many less competitive farmers out of the agricultural system. The number of (predominantly white) commercial farmers has dropped from 78 000 to about 45 000 over the past 15 years.
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It is generally agreed that there has been a constant decrease in employment within the agricultural sector over the last decade, with a 10 per cent fall in employment since 1989. StatsSA’s October Household Survey has indicated large decreases in numbers of farm workers. A government survey of 4 100 farms conducted in 2000 revealed a marked drop in employment. Between 1994 and 1999, the number of regular workers in employment had fallen by 7.6 per cent. Almost all types of farm reduced their numbers of regular workers, with the only exception being horticulture. The employment of seasonal workers also fell, particularly in the case of livestock and mixed farming operations (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 36). As was the case before 1994, there is reason to believe that farmers’ decisions are sometimes based on ‘non-economic’ considerations (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 3). Such considerations now include the fear of losing control of one’s land to resident farm workers, due to new and possible future tenure legislation. The Extension of Security of Tenure Act of 1997, discussed in greater detail below, was a particularly important symbolic event. Also, because of labour legislation, farmers appear to believe that farm workers are more difficult to manage than they were prior to 1994. In 1994, the Agricultural Labour Act extended the provisions of the Basic Conditions of Employment Act of 1983 to farm workers. This Act improved farm workers’ working conditions, particularly through regulating their working hours. Minimum wages were introduced in the agricultural sector in 2002. There does seem to be a longer-term change in the profile of farm workers. The number of family-based workers has declined in favour of single workers and casual workers. Between 1995 and 1999, the employment of family-based workers decreased by 5.3 per cent, with a major decline of 27.6 per cent on livestock farms (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 35). At the same time, the skills profile of the agricultural sector has changed. Whereas 22 per cent of farm workers were semi-skilled in 1995, this number had climbed to 56 per cent by 2002. In this period, the proportion of lowskilled workers dropped from 77 per cent to 43 per cent (DoL 2003a: 15). Table 3.5 illustrates the rapid decline of farm workers on a sample of 64 farms in the Free State and Northern Cape. The 64 farms under review employed a total of 953 farm workers in 2001. Two years later, this number had dwindled
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to 607 – a decline of 36 per cent (Atkinson 2003: 15). According to several farmers, this was due to the new labour and tenure legislation.5
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Table 3.5 Number of farm workers on selected farms in the Free State and Northern Cape, 2001 and 2003 Number of farms interviewed
2001 Total number of farm workers
2003 Average number of farm workers
Total number of farm workers
Average number of farm workers
Northern Cape Colesberg
7 (livestock)
54
39
5.5
Hopetown
7 (irrigation)
478
68.2 (9.6)*
7.7
226
32.2 (8.8)
Philipstown
8 (livestock)
46
5.75
36
4.5
Ritchie
8 (irrigation)
75
9.3
65
8.1
Fauresmith and Jagersfontein
8 (irrigation & livestock
71
8.8
74
9.3
Ladybrand
8 (intensive)
147
18.3
95
11.8
Philippolis
8 (livestock)
44
5.5
36
4.5
Luckhoff
7 (irrigation)
38
5.4
36
5.1
61
953
Free State
Totals
607
Note: *In 2001, the largest average number of farm workers in the sample was the case of Hopetown. However, this finding is skewed by one farm that has 420 workers, which reduced to 173 workers in 2003. If this anomaly is corrected, there is an average of 9.6 workers per interviewed farm in Hopetown.
However, there are some countervailing factors, which may yet boost employment to some degree. The decline of the South African currency has stimulated agriculture. The resultant growth in exports has led to additional farm employment in export-oriented products (Hansard, 7/10/1998, col. 3363), even though much of this employment takes the form of casual labour at an increasing rate (Du Toit & Ally 2003: 11). This may account for the increase of 98 000 jobs between 2003 and 2004 reflected in Table 3.2, although the increase may be due to sampling and statistical errors.
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After 1994, urbanisation trends have continued apace, but they have responded to somewhat different underlying dynamics. Currently, migration to the towns and cities is continuing, despite increased urban unemployment, thus adding to the social burdens of the urban areas. Some of these dynamics run counter to what might be expected. In KwaZulu-Natal, for example, a full three-quarters of recorded moves were within the rural sector, whether from farms to former homelands, from farms to other farms, or from former homelands to small rural villages (Cross et al. 1998: 644). The observations in this chapter only scratch the surface of a very complex topic. There is a great need for additional research on farm workers’ current urbanisation patterns from the perspective of a diversity of disciplines. Migration has been a combination of pull factors, such as the attractions of the towns and cities, and push factors, such as the retrenchment and sometimes forced eviction of farm workers (Cross et al. 1998: 648). The relative weight of these factors is still unclear. With a few exceptions, such as the work of Gordon (1991), Stavrou (1987) and Cross et al. (1998: 2003), the issue has not been researched adequately. The analysis of these factors should be an important foundation for the realistic social and demographic policies that are explored in the final chapter of this book. Chapter 5 considers farm life at a household level. How do individuals and households experience life on the farm? What are the triggers of migration to urban areas? What push factors are encouraging people to leave the farms? What pull factors are encouraging people to move to the cities? Are pull factors stronger than push factors? How do we understand people’s propensity to migrate? For people with few resources and insecure livelihoods, it is a major decision to uproot their families and launch into a new world. But it is first necessary to consider government policy towards rural development and farm workers since 1994.
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CHAPTER 4
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Government policy dilemmas after 1994 The evolution of rural development strategies Soon after the new government took power in 1994, rural development became an important issue in policy discourse. The new government imple mented three successive strategies that overlapped each other partially.6 These strategies are different in significant respects. However, there is still a complete policy void as far as farm labour is concerned. A particular difficulty that characterises all three strategies is an almost exclusive focus on ex-homeland areas. This is not surprising, given the concentration of people and poverty in these areas, as well as the fact that many homeland residents had borne the brunt of apartheid policies. But it does have the unfortunate consequence that the problems of farm workers have received short shrift. The government first attempted to draft a coherent rural development strategy in 1995, with the publication of the Rural Development Strategy of the Government of National Unity. This strategy mentioned farm labour only in passing, as one of the most impoverished rural constituencies. However, an important contribution of the strategy was its awareness of spatial dynamics: With few exceptions there are two types of rural town: those in the large scale farming areas, which have often lost their connections with the surrounding rural areas as more and more farm production is moved directly to the national market; and those in the former homelands which grew in response to the pressure of displaced people, or were created for specific administrative functions. In both cases great efforts will be required to build a local economy based on the exploitation of local resources in the rural areas around, such as the development of the small farm sector, of agri-industries and other resource-based production, and of tourism and ecotourism possibilities. (Office of the President 1995: 26)
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The strategy document thereafter argues for periodic markets and Local Service Centres to strengthen rural entrepreneurship and livelihoods.
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This focus on spatial types and dynamics was carried forward in the government’s next rural policy document, the Rural Development Framework (DLA 1997). The framework highlighted the problems of poor rural-urban linkages, labour migration and insecure land tenure as contributing to rural poverty. It also added some insights about farm labour, in particular the problems of low wages and seasonal work. Like its predecessor, the framework was aimed primarily at homeland areas and, consequently, at framework agricultural production and rural small, medium and micro enterprises around small towns. The framework paid greater attention to the issue of farm labour than did the strategy. In particular, it mentioned the basic rights of workers, their entitlement to government services and subsidies and the problem of unfair evictions. It fleetingly suggested the need to promote farm employment by creating small-farm systems (DLA 1997: 30). But the framework had nothing of substance to offer in terms of an understanding of farm life or of the future of farm labour. The government’s third rural policy document was the Integrated Sustainable Rural Development Strategy (ISRDS) (DPLG 2000). In terms of the ISRDS, the Integrated Sustainable Rural Development Programme (ISRDP) was subsequently launched. So the ISRDS can be regarded as the first really operational rural strategy. Thirteen nodal districts have been selected by the government in terms of this programme.7 The ISRDS proclaimed a vision of rural development: ‘To attain socially cohesive and stable rural communities with viable institutions, sustainable economies and universal access to social amenities, able to attract and retain skilled and knowledgeable people, who are equipped to contribute to growth and development’ (DPLG 2000: 1). But once again, it is evident that its focus was primarily on traditional ex-homeland areas and the artificial rural settlements created under apartheid. The main contribution of the ISRDS was its focus on developmental rural nodes, in terms of which a few localities were to be selected to test a new style of integrated government service delivery. The ISRDS was less clear on what would happen in non-nodal areas, although it acknowledged the danger of
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the nodes becoming artificial developmental showcases. The issue of farm labour received even less attention in the ISRDS than in the two earlier documents. The ISRDS duly noted the poor wages and living conditions of farm workers and their low level of education (DPLG 2000: 22). But it did not offer guidelines regarding the future of farm labour. In the sectoral government departments, a similar policy void concerning farm labour has persisted. One department that has shown some appreciation of the issues of urbanisation and migration is the Department of Social Development. In April 1998, it produced a White Paper on Population Policy. The White Paper noted that urbanisation was proceeding apace in South Africa, overwhelmingly in the metropolitan areas. The White Paper predicted that black people would urbanise rapidly during the first decade of the twentyfirst century, which would mean that urban areas would have to provide infrastructure and services for a growing and younger black population. The White Paper was concerned about this: ‘Because cities are already large, natural population increase affects the size of cities by the addition of large absolute numbers of people’ (DSD 1998: 50). In general, the White Paper regarded urbanisation as normal but problematic. The White Paper stated that urbanisation should preferably be diluted and delayed. It offered few concrete suggestions about how different urbanisation patterns should be understood and about what should be done about them. The document proposed two strategies: • Increasing alternative choices to migration from rural to urban areas through the provision of social services, infrastructure and better employment opportunities in the rural areas; • Reducing backlogs in urban infrastructure and social services. Curiously, when the Department of Social Development published its proposed Strategy on Population and Development for 2004–2009 six years later, the topic of urbanisation was totally eclipsed by the HIV/AIDS issue and, to a lesser extent, by the focus on the rural and urban development nodes. Another department that could have been expected to develop a coherent strategy for farm labour is the National Department of Agriculture (NDA). Its Policy on Agriculture in Sustainable Development (n.d.), states that ‘the main tools towards sustainable agriculture are policy and agrarian reform, participation, income diversification, land conservation and improved
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management of inputs’. It contains not a single mention of farm workers, however. The NDA’s Strategic Plan for Agriculture (2000) has only a few cur sory mentions of farm workers, in the context of promoting organised labour in the agricultural sector and the low level of skills. It did envisage compiling a report on the changing conditions of farm labour in the future, however. The only government policy paper that has an explicit focus on agricultural labour is the Determination of Employment Conditions in South African Agriculture (DoL: 2001). This paper was commissioned by the Department of Labour. Interestingly, some effort was taken to consider the views of the agricultural establishment, such as AgriSA and various provincial agricultural unions. The main purpose of the document was to debate the desirability of a minimum wage for farm workers. However, the Department of Labour also specified a number of subsidiary concerns. These concerns considered the impact of a possible minimum wage on: • The ability of employers to carry on their business successfully; • The operation of small firms and new enterprises; • The cost of living; • The alleviation of poverty; • Wage differentials and inequality; • Conditions of employment; • The likely impact of minimum wages on current employment or the creation of employment. The document argues for a minimum wage, despite an awareness that this measure may increase agricultural unemployment. Unfortunately, given its narrow brief, the paper tends to deal with agricultural labour in a vacuum. It does not consider the broader questions of the future of farm workers in relation to settlement strategies, urbanisation, service delivery, professionalisation of farm work, or the relationship between workers and employers.
Ambiguity, indecision and confused loyalties The government’s unresolved sentiments on farm workers and urbanisation have left government departments to figure out their own spatial strategies, regardless of whether these stategies are in concert with one another. Several
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research reports note the lack of a post-apartheid framework for regional development at the provincial and the national levels and within line departments. For example, Kitchin (1997) found that limited co-ordination existed with regard to regional and development planning and that some government departments had limited or no frameworks at all for regional planning. By 1999, the Department of Land Affairs’ Green Paper noted that government thinking on urbanisation showed very little coherence: ‘There is no evidence of a shared vision of what planning should be trying to achieve in the ‘new’ South Africa … [There] is little evidence that these documents are actively informing the work of other departments or the national allocation of resources’ (DLA 1999: 24, 39). By 2005, no shared vision regarding farm labour had emerged. Even since the implementation of the ISRDP, rural policy has been drafted in a piecemeal and fragmented fashion. One government department is concerned with farm workers’ tenure rights and land redistribution, while another focuses on agriculture. One department is in charge of skills training, while other departments have their own – and widely differing – approaches to health, education and social welfare delivery to farm workers. Municipalities are responsible for spatial planning and infrastructure provision. National and provincial departments adopt their own strategies, or curtail their service delivery activities, with little attempt at comparison, reflection or investigation of developmental alternatives. Rural development has become sidetracked into a preoccupation with arbitrarily selected rural development nodes, instead of searching for universal and systemic development strategies, institutions and mechanisms that farm workers and other rural dwellers can use to create their own development opportunities. In sum, no single, coherent governmental agency addresses these issues. This is a notable case of governmental failure. In a context where the government is clearly concerned with improving the fortunes of the poor and the destitute, this is a great pity. Why, then, is there a policy void about commercial farming in general and farm labour in particular? Why has there been no conceptual headway on understanding and addressing the multifarious problems of farm workers? The policy void is not peculiar to South Africa. In countries such as the United States, there is also an unresolved question about what agricultural labour policies make the most sense. Different observers and activists tend to answer this question in different ideological ways (Findeis et al. 2002: 11). In the US,
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for example, one approach is to view the farm worker problem as intrinsic to entry-level unskilled work. This implies that farm workers should be helped to move away from farm work into better employment opportunities. A second school of thought says that too many farm workers will never be able to move out of agriculture, so policy should focus on limiting immigration to reduce labour market competition and on improving wages and benefits. South Africa has its own distinctive political history, so some highly politicised factors contribute to its policy void. At the heart of the matter, the white commercial farming sector raises sensitive normative and political issues. These issues are too sensitive for any of the current policy-makers to come to terms with. The farming sector is certainly characterised by a painful past, of low-paid farm workers, of unequal power relations between farmers and employees and of racially defined land tenure. But multiple dilemmas face the democratic government. By solving one problem, it risks being impaled on the horns of another. There are at least five dimensions to the current policy stalemate. Collectively, these explain why the policy dilemmas in the agricultural sector have been more acute, painful and intractable than the economic and political problems of the urban industrial and commercial sectors. The first dimension is an unresolved transformation dilemma. In the industrial sector, the working class has managed to equalise power relations to a significant extent by means of the trade union movement, at least since 1973. Clearly this has not happened in the agricultural sector, partly due to the difficulties of organising such dispersed employees and partly because agricultural employment is often linked to family housing, which creates a huge power disequilibrium between farmer and farm worker. The fact that agricultural trade unions have not achieved much success, with the possible exception of plantation and horticultural workers, means that the government intuitively feels that the rights and dignity of most farm workers have never been forcefully asserted. This does not mean, of course, that no farm workers’ rights and dignity are recognised; in fact, there are many employers who do respect their employees’ rights, welfare and dignity. But the forceful assertion of rights and dignity by oppressed peoples is a very important emotional and symbolic rite of passage in the achievement of political and social equality. South African farming areas have never experienced such a process of liberation. This means that government policy-makers have ambivalent
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sentiments regarding commercial farmers. White commercial farmers are often politically conservative. They have never been challenged politically in their own conservative and racially defined communities. This may be one of the reasons for some very ill-considered legislation that, in many cases, has pernicious consequences for the farming community. Unlike urban white communities, white commercial farmers have proven adept at bypassing the government’s policies. As white commercial farmers have experienced intensifying political heat from the new government, many have simply withdrawn from public life. These individuals have, literally, retreated to their homesteads, like the proverbial Englishman to his castle. As public services have declined, or become more attuned to the urban black community, many commercial white farmers have come to bypass public services in favour of their private equivalents such as private schools, hospitals, road maintenance, policing and home education. These trends remain poorly understood and certainly unquantified, but impressionistic evidence for their prevalence is widespread. Political decision-makers may, therefore, have a nagging sense that many white commercial farmers have not fully accepted the new democratic order. Trade unions have not challenged white commercial farmers within their productive operations. White commercial farmers have resisted being coerced into the local government system. There is a sense of unfinished political business and of social relations that need to be transformed. The importance of the agricultural sector as producers and employers may have meant that the government had to restrain itself from more drastic attempts to transform the rural economy. Ultimately, the government does not appear to know what to do with commercial farmers. On the one hand, the economy benefits from the stratum of resilient and competitive farmers that its tough macroeconomic policies since 1994 have created. On the other hand, the role of commercial farmers within the new dispensation has not been conceptualised yet. Commercial agricultural organisations are also grappling to find a meaningful niche in the broader social order. Despite their political overtures to the government, they have repeatedly found their interests being treated with peremptory disdain, causing enormous confusion in their ranks. So South Africa has an economically resilient category of producers with their own unexamined racial and status baggage and a democratic government with unresolved normative and emotional resentments towards these producers. In
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the rural areas, the slate is not clean. The urban commercial and industrial élites are politically progressive and have adjusted gracefully to the new democratic order by means of extensive corporate social responsibility programmes. But the commercial farming élite remains wary, unpersuaded of the bona fides of the government, awkwardly conscious of its own ideological incongruities in the present political order and extremely nervous of the radical land tenure solutions that have been adopted in Zimbabwe (and increasingly, in Namibia). White urban communities have had no option but to adapt to democratically elected black municipal councils, but the rural areas remain effectively out of the reach of third-tier democratic government. Radical transformation does not challenge the urban commercial and industrial élites as much as it challenges their country cousins, of course. For commercial farmers, coercive land reform can entail the loss of their entire livelihoods, whereas there is simply no comparative challenge to urban factory owners or business people. For a commercial farmer, land tenure security for employees means the inability to shed unwanted, unproductive labourers who may even constitute a security threat. For an urban businessperson, the factory or business is situated a long way from home; for commercial farmers, the enterprise is situated on their doorstep. There is often no safe commuting distance between the workplace (which may well be, on occasion, a site of struggle) and the farmer’s private residence. No wonder, then, that commercial farmers’ ideological complexion is a great deal less refined than that of urban élites, and that some farmers have become increasingly angry and resentful about bearing the entire brunt of land reform. Many farmers are experiencing a strong sense of alienation from the government; a sense that white farmers are generally under attack (Du Toit & Ally 2003: 20); a feeling of aggravation about what is perceived to be government interference; and a sense of foreboding about future political developments (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 30). The second dilemma that accounts for the policy void can be termed the GEAR export-led conundrum. The Growth, Employment and Redistribution policy (GEAR) promotes a competitive South African economy that can stake its claim in a globalised world. The agricultural sector has always been a major producer and employer in the South African economy. The democratisation of South Africa coincided with South Africa’s entry into the global economy. Farmers have been hard-pressed to adjust to the loss of tariff protection and
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fluctuating exchange rates. In fact, it may well be that the post-1994 South African government’s ambivalent attitude towards commercial farmers was instrumental in its exposing the agricultural sector to the full rigours of the global economy. It soon became clear after 1994 that many farmers were battling to cope. Many white farmers lost the economic battle, lost their farms and livelihoods and had to move to the towns. The economic survivors, however, are doing increasingly well. Not only have they not been transformed in the political sense, but they have emerged stronger, more confident, and better networked globally. They have also increased their exports, which generate valuable earnings. Thus, commercial agriculture remains critically important and the government cannot move too intimidatingly against a goose that is still laying golden eggs. Commercial agriculture is also politically important, because it illustrates to political sceptics that GEAR can actually work. A third dilemma is that, as South African agriculture’s globalisation proceeded apace, the agricultural sector shed jobs at a rapid rate. Commercial success does not necessarily translate into employment. Where reasons of sentiment might previously have militated against evictions of the old, the infirm and the very young from the farms, such sentiments increasingly fell by the wayside. Ironically, this process of shedding jobs and the resultant displacement of rural residents was probably hastened by land tenure legislation, which had been devised to achieve precisely the opposite. In the context of globalisation, unto which the government had delivered the agricultural sector so unfeelingly since 1994, farmers needed to become hard-nosed, unsentimental and commercially minded. They needed to extract every ounce of value from the land. Unneeded and unproductive employees became dispensable. Costs had to be trimmed and labour-intensive products were replaced by lowcost products. For farmers bent on economic survival, mechanisation and the use of agricultural chemicals such as pesticides and herbicides became preferable to creating employment, especially in the context of labour and tenure legislation. Before 1994, the primary moral objection to the commercial farming order was that workers and their families were trapped on the farms by quasifeudal influx controls. In contrast, in the post-1994 era, commercial farmers actually need far fewer farm workers. The global economy has made farm workers, with their agricultural skills, redundant. Farm workers have become
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anachronistic, often unemployable in the formal economy, with few relevant skills for a modern society. Paradoxically, the government’s policies towards globalisation and tenure security have undermined one of its most fervently held goals: to create jobs and redistribute wealth. An unintended consequence of GEAR and agricultural globalisation is that the commercial farming sector, increasing in international economic confidence, is reacting to government policies by reducing employment. Farm workers are cast adrift into even greater degrees of marginalisation, redundancy and powerlessness, having to take refuge in urban areas where they are no longer the moral responsibility of their employers and where they depend on limited government resources for their welfare. A fourth dilemma for the government is that the racial complexion of commercial farming is changing. The post-1999 Mbeki government has become ever more desirous of promoting black commercial agriculture. The new Land Redistribution for Agricultural Development programme has a much stronger commercial bent than its predecessor, the Sustainable Livelihoods in Agriculture Grant. The new black commercial farmers also have to cope in a pitiless economic climate. If the government were to press too insistently regarding minimum wage legislation and land tenure for farm workers, the new generation of black commercial farmers is likely to find these measures too onerous as well. This has possibly made the government’s stance towards the commercial farming sector more lenient than it would otherwise have been. The lines of race, class and ideological division are becoming blurred, at a time when fundamental issues of social structure in the countryside have yet to be resolved. A fifth factor is that the agricultural sector is not homogeneous. Farmers work in various regional settings, producing different types of crops or products, with disparate levels of resources and global penetration. This has led to correspondingly diverse responses to the political challenges that the ANC government has posed. In many cases, the leadership of farming organisations is fairly progressive, but many of their members are more sceptical about social and economic change. Agricultural organisations, therefore, have their own difficulties in binding their membership to political undertakings. Given these five factors, an uncomfortable political stasis has prevailed for the last ten years on the topic of the future of farm labour. The government’s policy position sends contradictory signals, partly appeasing and partly
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undermining commercial agriculture. The globally oriented South African economy benefits from agricultural exports, and yet commercial agriculture is hamstrung by numerous onerous regulations. Furthermore, the government’s overt concern for the welfare of farm workers is belied by the decline in services to that sector of society. Tragically, in this policy limbo, the main losers are the farm workers. Before 1994, farm workers’ presence was, at the very least, desirable enough to exploit; now, many farm workers find themselves redundant and cast adrift. In the process, their families have lost their precarious rural homesteads and livelihoods and have to cope in a competitive urban environment. Unemployed and illiterate ex-farm workers eke out a living in shanty towns, dependent primarily on government social grants to survive. While the old agricultural élite and the new political élite continue with their game of shadow-boxing, often accompanied by ill-considered policies and poorly targeted programmes, nobody defends the real material interests of farm workers. Nobody seems sure of farm workers’ proper place in the rural economy, and very few institutions are promoting the up-skilling of farm workers and employment on commercial farms. When farm workers do benefit from land reform programmes, they find that government resources are too limited to provide effective support. They, therefore, have to rely on the generosity and assistance of their white commercial farming neighbours. When ex-farm workers wish to engage in smallholder agriculture, they find that urban spatial planning and agricultural regulations preclude the subdivision of land into suitable and affordable parcels. Farm workers and their families find that government policies and programmes are confused, poorly designed, sluggishly implemented and often internally contradictory. They have no way out of their grinding poverty, marginalisation and redundancy.
The Extension of Security of Tenure Act A key aspect of the current situation of farm workers is that arbitrary evictions are illegal. The Extension of Security of Tenure Act (ESTA) of 1997 is based on Section 25(6) of the Constitution, which states: ‘A person or community whose tenure of land is legally insecure as a result of past racially discriminatory laws or practices is entitled, to the extent provided by an Act of
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Parliament, either to tenure which is legally secure or to comparable redress’. ESTA sets out detailed procedures for removing unwanted farm workers. Evictions are indeed legal, provided that such termination of residence is ‘just and equitable’. The latter criterion is determined according to factors such as the fairness of the original residential agreement, the conduct of the various parties, the interests of the parties and the comparative hardship of the owner or occupier if residential rights are terminated, the existence of a reasonable expectation of the renewal of the agreement, and the fairness of the procedure followed by the owner. Stronger tenure rights are given to occupiers who are 60 years old or older, who have lived on the land for longer than ten years, and who can no longer supply labour to the owner due to ill health or injury. On the death of an elderly occupier, the right of residence of his or her dependants may be terminated only on 12 calendar months’ written notice. Any eviction of farm workers requires a court order. If the landowner has complied with all the legal stipulations, the court will uphold the eviction. However, the owner must formally give at least two months’ notice of the intention to obtain a court order. Such a court order must be submitted not only to the occupier but also to the municipality and the provincial office of the Department of Land Affairs (DLA). ESTA draws an important distinction between occupiers who took residence before 4 February 1997 (when the Act came into force) and those who took residence after that date. For those occupiers who took residence after February 1997, the right to residence is less stringent. It enables employers to specify that residence is granted for a fixed period only. In such cases, evictions will be upheld by the court, but in making its decision, the court shall have regard to various factors, such as: • The period for which the occupier has resided on the land; • The fairness of the terms of agreement; • Whether suitable alternative accommodation is available; • The reason for the proposed eviction; • The balance of interests of the owner, the occupier and the remaining occupiers of the land. For occupiers who took residence before 4 February 1997, the right to residence is a stronger right. Eviction orders may be granted only under two types of circumstances. Firstly, if an occupier engages in conduct that
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‘intentionally and unlawfully’ harms any other person on the land, or causes material damage to property on the land, or threatens or intimidates other lawful occupiers, or assists unauthorised persons to establish new dwellings on the land in question. Secondly, if the occupier has ‘committed such a fundamental breach of the relationship between him or her and the owner or person in charge, that it is not practically possible to remedy it’. Even if these conditions are met, the owner and occupier must both make efforts to secure suitable alternative accommodation. The court may indeed decide to enforce an order of eviction if suitable alternative accommodation is not available within a period of nine months after the eviction order was given, and if the owner needs the residence of the occupier for productive operations, if it is convinced that the necessary efforts had been made. For farm workers, ESTA does not therefore confer hard residential rights. As long as farmers follow the correct procedures, evictions can legally take place. But ESTA is extremely onerous on landowners, in terms of the effort required to secure a legal eviction. This inconvenience is probably one of the greatest factors in discouraging employers from creating jobs. A further difficulty is that ESTA is shot through with subjective terminology. What should count as ‘suitable alternative accommodation’? What would count as reasonable efforts to secure such accommodation? What would count as ‘comparative hardship’ of the landowner and the occupier? Would the occupier’s inconvenience and stress in having to relocate count as greater than the landowner’s frustration with an unsatisfactory work relationship with the individual in question? What would count as a ‘fundamental breach of the relationship’ between owner and occupier – whose idea of a breach will prevail in the courts? Furthermore, the notion of consent is very generously defined. In terms of Section 3, a person who resides continuously on land for a period of one year shall be presumed to have consent, unless the contrary is proved. For a person who had resided on land before February 1997 with the consent of the owner, and if such consent had been then lawfully withdrawn prior to February 1997, the person would nevertheless still be deemed to be an occupier, provided that he or she had resided continuously on that land since consent was withdrawn. This means that any occupier who received permission to reside on the farm at any time before February 1997 still has residential rights. In such cases, the landowner will have to take the matter to the courts to secure a legal
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eviction. Section 8(6) of the Act is particularly fanciful. It specifies that any termination of the right of residence of an occupier ‘to prevent the occupier from acquiring rights in terms of this section, shall be void’. How would the state ever prove that this was the intention of the land owner?
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These convoluted legal prescriptions create highly imponderable circumstances for an employer, particularly if he or she is not familiar with a new employee. They also subject the employer to potential future scrutiny by lawyers, the DLA, the courts and the municipality. The scope for bureaucratic and legal wrangling is great. No wonder, then, that many employers have either reduced their labour requirements or separated employment from residence rights. There are, in fact, no reliable data on either legal or illegal evictions, but the available data indicate that illegal evictions may outnumber legal ones by as many as 20 to 1. Consequently, farmers have become much more cautious about building new houses or providing access to existing housing to those who are not already living on the farm. They are also reluctant to improve existing housing, because ESTA requires that if a farm worker’s right of residence is terminated, he or she is entitled to ‘suitable alternative accommodation’, which may be defined as ‘no less favourable than the occupier’s previous situation’. Given the already poor state of farm worker housing across the country, it is very unfortunate that farmers perceive ESTA as a disincentive to invest in decent housing standards (Hall et al. 2001: 5). Invariably, this will place additional burdens on municipalities, which will have to provide accommodation for farm workers in the towns. The better the farmers familiarise themselves with the law, the more legal evictions are likely to occur. The only real benefit for farm workers from ESTA is that evictions are delayed, because legal evictions require a court order to be issued. This will discourage evictions that are based on the arbitrary whims of landowners. It gives farm workers some time to make alternative residential arrangements. When the Act was passed, there had been no proper public critical scrutiny of the normative principles that underpin ESTA or of the administrative burden it would place on the DLA. There had been no assessment of the ways in which it should be implemented, the likely response it would engender and the unintended impacts it might have. In fact, after three years of negotiations
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between the government and agricultural stakeholders, the Bill was amended at the last minute and rushed through the Portfolio Committee on Land Affairs three days before it was passed by Parliament. Opposition parties that had approved an earlier version of the Bill found themselves unable to support it in Parliament. This was because of the Act’s new requirement that landowners have to find suitable agricultural land, with equivalent services, for evicted persons, as well as a new stipulation that family members of a deceased worker also have tenure rights. Opposition spokespeople warned that this Act would be disastrous for job creation (Hansard, 28 August 1997: 4500): The bigger the staff, the bigger will be the hassles and headaches. For this reason, the stream of labour currently coming off farms will soon become a torrent. The legislation before us might secure rights of tenure for hundreds, but it will inevitably cost the jobs of thousands. The government dismissed criticism of ESTA as opposition by reactionary farmers, but farmers sincerely believe that they have been unfairly singled out. Urban businesspeople and industrialists are not expected to recognise people’s rights to land or buildings or resources, so why, farmers ask, should they be expected to carry these costs and burdens. There are important and unexamined ideological undertones to the ESTA debate. The main argument made by the Minister of Land Affairs, Mr Derek Hanekom, was that ESTA will prevent or relieve the suffering of farm workers who have lost their jobs (Hansard, 28 August 1997: 4478–4480): We are saying: Let our people suffer no further humiliation. Let no further injustices occur. Let there be no further violations of their humanity. How can anyone say that this is wrong? … The legislation will provide security and protection to over six million people. This humanist perspective was accompanied by the more black consciousnessoriented sentiments of other ANC speakers. According to Mr Holomisa (MP) (Hansard, 28 August 1997: 4482–4484): This measure, minimal as it is in terms of interference in property rights, is being opposed by organised agriculture, most of which is white, and the NP, which is predominantly white and naturally
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is serving the interests of whites … Armed robbery, in the form of racist wars of dispossession, fraud and subterfuge, are the means by which whites came to occupy the 87% of our country which they still own in terms of the law.
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The impact of land legislation on farm workers’ tenure rights has had severe unintended consequences. These consequences were not entirely unforeseen, however, because the opposition parties raised concerns in Parliament. Many farmers feel anxious and threatened by ESTA-type land claims (Simbi & Aliber 2000; Atkinson 2003). ESTA has resulted in pre-emptive evictions before farm workers managed to achieve the ESTA-defined minimum of ten years’ occupancy. More than 942 000 farm workers were evicted between 1994 and 2004 (Nkuzi 2005). These evictions correlated significantly with the introduction of ESTA and the new Basic Conditions of Employment Act (in 1997) and the introduction of the minimum wage in agriculture (in 2003). In effect, the Act was an attempt to secure rapid land reform and redress for historical racial injustices. This has several logical and practical difficulties. Firstly, it places the burden of land reform on current landowners, few of whom had even been born when the racist legislation was passed, or when their ancestors acquired the land. Secondly, it places disproportionate burdens on agricultural landowners, compared to commercial or industrial landowners. The nub of the matter is that, in South Africa, land has great symbolic and political significance, and the current landowners are apparently expected to shoulder this burden on their own. The Bill was supported by the Landless People’s Movement (LPM), which was particularly in favour of the key principle that farmers must provide alternative land if they want to evict farm workers. This land should be acquired with or without a government subsidy. Furthermore, this can only be done if the alternative land is acceptable to the affected farm workers, and government officials must monitor the process. The LPM is not only frustrated by continuing illegal evictions; it has concerns about the DLA’s apparent inability to help people to buy land (Farmer’s Weekly, 28/5/2004). The third difficulty is a practical one – the law is not easily implementable. For the DLA, there are two significant provisions in ESTA. Neither of these tasks has been accorded adequate financial resources by the DLA (Hall 2003: 4, 5). The first requirement is the procedural requirement that evictions may only take place in terms of an eviction order issued by a court. This, in
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turn, requires that legal and illegal evictions should be monitored. In most provinces, the DLA has insufficient staff to implement the legislation, monitor evictions or prosecute offenders.
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In fact, it is possible that the sheer scale of farm worker evictions has outpaced all the good land reform work done by the DLA (Nkuzi 2005). See Table 4.1. Table 4.1 Land reforms undermined by evictions Type of land reform
Beneficiary households
Restitution*
90 282
Redistribution*
66 360
Tenure for farm dwellers (ESTA and Labour Tenants Act)
7 543
Total households that gained land or tenure security from land reform, up to July 2005
164 185
Farm dweller households evicted 1994–2004
199 611
Source: Nkuzi (2005) Note: *No information is available on how many were farm dwellers
A final difficulty is that ESTA has withdrawn attention from the need for government programmes to assist farm workers to re-establish themselves elsewhere. The vast majority of evictees did not know where to go for assistance when they were evicted, despite a desperate need for a place to stay, financial support, legal assistance, mediation, transport or employment (Nkuzi 2005). Instead of spending scarce state resources to prevent evictions, the government could have spent those resources assisting municipalities and other service delivery agents to plan and implement various housing and livelihoods schemes to place farm workers back on their feet. Comparisons with the United States and Canada are useful here, because in those countries, various housing, welfare and skills training programmes have been launched to assist farm workers to enter other types of employment. Furthermore, such programmes may well have drawn additional farm workers off the farms, which would have had the beneficial consequence of forcing farmers to improve on-farm wages and working conditions – a goal that the Basic Conditions of Employment Act has not achieved successfully. ESTA provides that farm dwellers are entitled to apply for, but are not guaranteed, government grants with which to purchase land. Farm dwellers
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may use the grants to purchase a portion of the farm, as long as the owner agrees to sell, or to purchase alternative land. The allocation of subsidies to purchase alternative land for evicted farm workers has been severely circumscribed, partly due to constrained DLA budgets and partly because of the relative importance of other land reform programmes. By 2004, only 32 farm worker settlement projects had been financed in terms of DLA grants (Hall 2004). In deciding whether to grant the application for such a subsidy, the DLA must consider several principles: • The proposed development must take account of the interests of occupiers and owners of the land in question; • The development must be cost-effective; • There must be good reasons why the development is not an on-site one; • There must be an urgent need for the proposed development. These practical difficulties have meant that evictions have continued apace, but with little real use of ESTA. By 2002, only 719 ESTA cases had been heard by the courts since the inception of the Act in 1997 (Hall 2003: 6). In fact, many magistrates continued to use common-law criteria for evictions and were not actually applying ESTA. There are indications that farmers short-circuit the legal procedures by agreeing informally with their employees that the latter will vacate the land on the basis of an incentive payment. But many farm workers still suffer illegal evictions, at least partially because they do not know what their rights are, or do not know what avenues of redress to use. Accurate data are not available, but anecdotal evidence from the DLA, NGOs and farm worker organisations indicates that illegal evictions are widespread. The general failure to enforce ESTA has been a major shortcoming. Several human rights-oriented NGOs have undertaken programmes to spread awareness of land rights amongst farmers and farm workers. They assist farm workers in understanding and protecting their ESTA rights. The impact of NGOs is, however, limited to specific areas, with the result that many evictions are still taking place. Where appropriate levels of support have been provided to farmers, ESTA has indeed led to innovative off-farm schemes where farm worker agri-villages have been combined with the creation of farming trusts, sharecropping, profit-sharing and combined product marketing programmes (Hamman &
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Ewert 1999: 452). But such projects demand extraordinary innovation and lateral thinking by commercial farmers. They have exacting requirements in terms of farm worker management, leadership and facilitation skills. This has had the further unfortunate consequence that some government efforts to promote household infrastructure for farm workers have walked into a wall of suspicion that such programmes will lead to ESTA-type claims. It is also likely that ESTA decreased the demand for labour, with farmers moving away from labour-intensive products or using contract labour or piece workers (where workers may live in the towns). For farmers, there is little incentive to promote ESTA principles. Farmers are facing heavy economic and financial pressures, as well as an uncertain political environment. There appear to be no international precedents for legislation like ESTA, so farmers experience this legislation as yet another burden in an already fraught business environment. It is unfortunate that the government never considered incentive-based measures. For example, the housing and tenure rights of the elderly may have been promoted much more effectively by introducing retirement schemes or savings plans to finance urban residential rights for retired farm workers (Free State Department of Agriculture 1996: 94). Those farmers who take the trouble to understand the specifics of ESTA will find that they can indeed evict farm workers as long as they abide by the procedural requirements of the law. As farmers’ legal counsel have become more accustomed to the requirements of the Act, it has become easier for farmers to follow correct procedure to secure evictions (Hall 2003: 7). In this regard, the Karoo Law Clinic in Colesberg was an interesting case. The Law Clinic helped farm workers who were evicted illegally or unfairly. It then conducted mediation processes to resolve such conflicts, or it took the matters to court. At first, the farmers were reluctant to co-operate with the Law Clinic, but increasingly, farmers realised that it might work to their advantage. Farmers began to make use of the Clinic whenever they wanted to terminate the services of a worker, because the Clinic would handle the whole process on their behalf by following the letter of the law. They also employed the lawyers from the Law Clinic as judges and mediators in disciplinary hearings when dealing with workers. Because of this, the workers came to distrust the Law Clinic. It subsequently closed its doors because its donor funding was discontinued. Several studies have shown that ESTA has been instrumental in the decline in agricultural employment (Du Toit & Ally 2004; Simbi & Aliber 2000).
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Some farmers choose not to replace workers who leave with new permanent workers; others choose not to provide housing; others rotate their workers around different properties to prevent them from qualifying for ESTA rights; and yet others have housed their workers in nearby towns. In addition to these material consequences, many farmers have indicated that ESTA had the psychological effect of damaging the otherwise good relationship between them and their workers, as well as of creating uncertainty. Even where farmers have expressed sympathy with the aims of ESTA, as indicated in a Limpopo survey, they have objected to the heavy-handed implementation of the law (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 26). ESTA serves as a disincentive to employment on several counts. It is timeconsuming and difficult to shed labour when necessary and it is difficult to remove an unproductive or obstreperous worker from the farm. ESTA has increased the transaction costs of hiring labour and has thereby affected farmer/farm worker power relations. Without thorough political consensusbuilding, ESTA is likely to undermine rural livelihoods faster than any economic policy can create alternatives. This is particularly dangerous in the light of the fact that farm workers already have incomes, housing, infrastructure (for which they usually do not pay), education and services. To reproduce this basket of benefits in the urban areas will require massive state resources. Furthermore, it is doubtful whether urban areas can, in the foreseeable future, provide livelihoods (whether subsistence agriculture, informal sector activities or formal jobs) to large numbers of unskilled or inappropriately skilled people. An additional problem is that the intended beneficiaries of the Act, farm workers, are unlikely to have the knowledge, information and resources to take matters to court. Furthermore, even if a farm worker wins an ESTA case, which is currently extremely rare, the relationship between that worker and the employer is likely to remain highly fraught – hardly a situation that the farmer, and certainly not the farm worker, can tolerate for long. There is a curiously anachronistic quality to ESTA. In an era of globalised economic competition, it is unusual to expect of farmers that they should recognise the right of workers or their families to live on their land. In effect, ESTA is attempting to re-create the feudal fiefdoms of 30 years ago, where farmers and farm workers shared social bonds and long-established ties to the land. Why would progressive legislators do this? It is interesting to reflect
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on this underlying normative rationale for the drafting of ESTA. It may well be the case that ESTA is normatively rooted in the fact that farm workers feel themselves to be a part of the farm (’n deel van die plaas) (Van Dongen 2003: 312) and that eviction will not only bring hardship, but will be a violation of farm workers’ emotional investment in the farm. The issue, then, is not merely the right to live on a farm, but the preservation and even encouragement of an organic and inclusive social system on the farm. If the government seriously attempts to re-create such social bonds, two consequences follow. Firstly, a rights-based approach is hardly conducive to creating positive, normative, co-operative relationships. The principle of individual rights tends to require litigation to enforce those rights, which implies conflict, not co-operation. Co-operative relationships could be encouraged much more effectively by means of incentives such as training grants or tax rebates, instead of legal constraints and fines. Secondly, countries participating in a demanding globalised economy cannot afford to be sentimental about the unproductive use of inputs, whether of land or labour. Again, if the government wants farmers to augment the social good by providing farm worker employment and accommodation, then it needs to create incentives and it needs to shield farmers from the more extreme ravages of international competition. ESTA attempts to promote farm workers’ interests counterproductively. What farm workers need are jobs, training and transport, which would enable them to find livelihoods. Economic effectiveness is much more important than de jure protection. Assisting farm workers to become economically effective and increasing the demand for labour would be much more beneficial than artificially forcing reluctant employers to provide workers with tenure rights and accommodation. Given economic globalisation, farmers should concentrate on farming, and government agencies should focus on housing and social services. ESTA epitomises law as magical thinking, where lawmakers believe that thinking makes it so, that the good intention behind the law is sufficient to ensure the desired outcome. In fact, where legislation flies in the face of economic imperatives, it soon makes a mockery of the law. The DLA’s feeble implementation of ESTA is more of an indictment of the practicality of the law than a reflection on the administrative competence of the DLA. Lawmakers need to think carefully about the nature and use of laws:
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Law cannot bring about development. History teaches that law loses its value and usefulness when applied as an instrument of social engineering. It is not the function of law to manipulate people and communities to develop according to a predetermined political or legal model. People do not tolerate such laws for long; sooner or later, such laws are ignored and discarded. (Scheepers 2000: 107) The real debate should not be about farm workers’ residential rights on farms. This is a mere distraction from the much more pressing issues of what kind of labour farmers need to be economically effective; of providing the training and support to ensure such a labour supply; and of providing housing and social services where most convenient for employers and employees alike. Insisting on artificial ESTA-type rights is counterproductive in that it foments resentment and law evasion amongst precisely that constituency that is most required to stimulate the rural economy – the commercial farmers. It causes unnecessary hardship for precisely the social group that most requires assistance – the farm workers.
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CHAPTER 5
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Life on the farm
This chapter examines the enormous development gap that farm workers experience – what the World Bank calls ‘deep deprivation and systemic exclusion’ (World Bank 2000: 13). Due to the historical process that created the farm-worker class, farm workers have become one of the most subjugated and marginalised sectors of South African society. In many cases, these problems have become socially ingrained, thereby creating a culture of poverty within farm worker households. It is important to understand the farming experience from the point of view of farmers and farm workers, because this determines their behaviour and decisions. This is what should be taken into account when designing government policies. Impressionistic evidence suggests that even benevolent and generous employers find it almost impossible to break the chains of disempowerment and disadvantage. Simply put, many farm workers have missed out on the acquisition of modern life skills and are increasingly falling behind their peers in the towns and cities. This creates enormous developmental challenges.
Paternalism as social capital In much of modern thinking, paternalism is often regarded as an offensive – even sinister – moral ethos. This is because it is based on an overt social inequality and because the junior partner in such unequal relationships voluntarily accepts and reinforces the paternalistic ethic. For observers steeped in notions of equal rights, such inequality, however benign, seems to strike at the heart of what it means to be fully human. The acceptance of paternalism seems to imply some kind of false consciousness and the denial of people’s intrinsic worth. In fact, paternalism on the farms was, and sometimes still is, part of a complex social construct, in which physical proximity coexists with social distance (Wilson & Thompson 1971: 154). This complexity played itself out in many ways. White children would grow up on the farms with African or
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coloured playmates, but after the white children were sent off to school, the social distance between these early peers was reinstituted. White farmers are often the only group of white South Africans who can speak an indigenous language, and interaction with workers is far deeper than in urban factories. Yet the social distance is carefully maintained. The paternalist ethos is also evident in the way that white farmers pay out some of their workers’ wages in cash and some as rations, at least partly on the grounds that workers are unable to spend their cash wisely (Antrobus 1984: 203). The benign aspects of paternalism still prevail on many farms. In a context of heartless global economic competition, one wonders whether paternalism is entirely negative. In 2003, the strength of the paternalistic ethos was tested in a survey of 64 farmers and 64 farm workers in nine localities in the Free State and Northern Cape (Atkinson 2003). The questions posed were openended and, therefore, gave some scope for the interviewees to offer their own interpretations of their experiences. In the survey, farmers were asked the question: ‘Is it realistic or feasible to regard the farmer and his workers as one community, or is it purely a labour relationship?’ Farm workers’ views on the social relations on the farm are reflected by proxy indicators (for example, to whom they would turn for assistance or training). The results were then divided into five categories, which were analytical constructs and were drawn up during the analysis of the findings. The majority of farmers in this survey (a total of 41 out of 64) experienced the relationship with their workers as one that transcended a purely labour relationship. These farmers clearly draw on the tradition of paternalism and close social bonds that characterised many of the farms in the past. The sense of community was expressed in this way by one farmer: ‘We are a community – when one of our workers died a few days ago, we all took time off and mourned; there is a lot of mutual trust; farm workers borrow money if needed.’ Another farmer said: ‘We have to become more of a community if we want to survive. We belong together; if I don’t have black residents on the farm, I will be very lonely.’ At least two farmers emphasised the fact that they form a community with their workers: ‘We are one community, like a family. They come to us with their social and medical problems and when I am ill they look after me. A guardianship relationship is no good for workers; they need/want to take more responsibility and initiatives.’ According to another farmer: ‘We have a good relationship, there is a loyalty, I am closer to them
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than my neighbours, we trust each other, I don’t even have to lock my house – that I would never be able to do with temporary workers or pieceworkers.’ The significance of this shared moral commitment to paternalism should not be underestimated. This is the normative bedrock on which many employers and workers have built their lives. In fact, as Du Toit (1993: 330) notes, it is such a powerful belief in an organic, holistic social bond that even workers who have joined trade unions have set the re-creation of an idealised social compact with their employers as their end goal. This implicitly begs the question of what the community relationship actually entails. In fact, it can vary subtly from farm to farm. One farmer commented that ‘we are not on the same level yet’, but thought the idea of a community was desirable. A community relationship may well include a high degree of social inequality, more along the lines of a patron-client relationship than a collegial one. Five farmers believed that they had a patron-client relationship with their workers. Workers were free to ask for help and the farmers were happy to provide assistance. Three farmers described their relationship with their workers as a quasi-family one, with a great deal of mutual dependency. This suggests that there is a reservoir of goodwill, reciprocity and noblesse oblige on the part of the farmers, which has survived the rigours of globalisation and free markets. Arguably, such sentiments provide a basis for future co-operation and mutual support in a more progressive land reform environment – possibly leading to support for farm workers who benefit from land redistribution initiatives. Let us sketch a picture of a farmer who embodies the paternalistic ethos. One farmer in Viljoenskroon has initiated several improvements for the workers on her farm.8 She registered the mothers with the Department of Social Development, so that they could access the child support grant. This, in turn, meant organising identity documents for the children. She also held an AIDS workshop in co-operation with the local hospice and a local cultural group. In addition, she planted a communal vegetable garden together with the farm workers and with the help of the Department of Agriculture. She taught farm workers how to pickle vegetables for use later in the year. She is actively involved in the farm school on their farm. She acquired books for the farm school library from READ, a literacy project. Furthermore, she has a school feeding scheme and has upgraded the school’s infrastructure by placing stoves as heaters in the school and installing new toilets. She also arranged for 11
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young people to be sent to an agricultural high school in the region. The farm has been chosen by Project Literacy and the University of South Africa as a pilot site to teach parents how to read to their younger children. She initiated a crèche on the farm, which opened in June 2002. Farmers like these give credence to the claim that a ‘micro-welfare system’ operates on many farms. The 2003 HSRC survey showed that the paternalistic ethos is shared by many farm workers in the southern Free State and Northern Cape. Proxy indicators were used to reflect farm workers’ views about the social relationships on the farms. They were asked who they would turn to if they needed help. Their unprompted answers are reflected in Table 5.1. Table 5.1 Farm workers’ views on helpful agencies
Totals
Government agencies
Farmer
Neighbours/ friends/family
Church
Farmer’s wife
Municipality
4
49
4
17
17
3
Source: Atkinson (2003)
Most farm workers prefer to turn to their employers for help. Typical types of assistance are transport, financial help such as small loans, medical assistance and use of the telephone. A few workers mentioned approaching the government, the church and the municipality for help, but it seems that it is difficult to access these agencies. The findings suggest that, for workers, the government is remote and inaccessible. Their relationship with their employers is paramount and is a relatively trusting one, despite severe social inequality. The reasons for this probably stem from the physical proximity of the employers, but it may also reflect a history of co-operative activities. The inherited system of paternalism has been described as a ‘micro-welfare system’ (Ashira 2004) in which the effect of relatively low wages is partially offset by private welfare contributions by farmers. Historically, commercial farmers have acted as paternalistic service intermediaries to farm workers, in the sense that certain basic services, including water and energy, have formed part of the total package of employment benefits. This micro-welfare system is often accompanied by various types of informal assistance to farm workers, such as medical assistance, transport, grazing rights, small loans, clothing and housing. The welfare package is an informally negotiated, frequently adjusted
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relationship, depending on face-to-face discussions as the need arises. It is also typically based on voluntary contributions of money and effort, due to the participants’ own normative understanding of the residents’ rights and entitlements. There is therefore a continuum between paternalism and social welfare, and the boundaries are not always clear. An interesting phenomenon is the large number of farm workers who would turn to farmers’ wives, particularly for assistance regarding transport and medication. Many farmers still believe that the farmer’s wife had a role to play in delivering services to workers in number of ways, ranging from literacy programmes to setting up and running crèches and farm schools. Farmers’ wives give medical aid, advice about family matters, organise telephone calls and buy items that the workers need (Atkinson 2003; HSRC 1989). Despite the process of modernisation of agriculture, the romantic ideal of the organic, paternalistic, caring community on the farms keeps emerging, sometimes in unexpected quarters. As Du Toit (1993) shows, even farm workers who participate in agricultural trade unions have not lost their paternalistically inculcated values, and still believe that worker and farmer should share a common commitment to the success of the farm as an enterprise. Another curious and unexplored aspect of this question is the degree to which the government drafters of tenure legislation were informed by implicit paternalistic thinking. It could be argued that land tenure legislation such as the Extension of Security of Tenure Act of 1997 (ESTA) is based on an underlying romanticism about the shared social universe that underpinned paternalism on the farms. Why else would a law be passed that attempted to entrench farm workers’ residence rights on the farms? If the real issue was simply a matter of ensuring housing and services to farm workers, it could have been done much more effectively by offering incentives to farmers to provide on-farm or off-farm housing or by prioritising farm workers for government housing subsidies. The drafters of ESTA assumed that farm workers have a right to remain part of a farm community. Paradoxically, the very attempt to legislate and enforce this right has caused many farmers to abandon the on-farm social compact and to reduce their permanent, on-farm staff. Essentially, the drafters of ESTA misread the voluntary and normative basis of the paternalistic order. Paternalistic rights cannot be reduced to legal rights. Despite high levels of inequality on the farms, both employers and employees had to buy into the ideology for it to succeed. The available evidence suggests that the ideology
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‘sold’ well. For the state to enforce on-farm rights was a categorial mistake. It equated paternalistic moral obligations with abstract individualistic legal rights. This has had widespread counterproductive outcomes. Together with globalisation, modernisation and mechanisation, ESTA appears to have contributed to the decline of paternalistic social bonds.
The decline of paternalism? Can paternalistic welfare survive modernity and globalisation? On some farms, the paternalistic ethos prevails, and is being ‘modernised’ without losing its normative strength. New commercial pressures are creating a type of neo-paternalism, in that new rights for farm workers, in both employment and housing, undermine racialised power relations but do not totally displace them (Orton et al. 2001: 469). New management techniques such as formal contracts and performance criteria exist alongside a high degree of social control and paternalistic concern over the lives of workers. In a study conducted on 24 farms in the Bloemfontein area in 1993, written contracts were found on only three of the farms. Curiously, 71 per cent of the farmers were in favour of written contracts, but had not implemented this in practice due to the high rate of illiteracy amongst the workers (Heunis & Pelser 1993) – a situation that neatly encapsulates the awkward accommodation of modernity and pre-modernity. The march of modernity and globalisation has profound consequences for future rural development. It has particularly profound consequences for farmers’ willingness to assist farm workers to improve their skills, to achieve career promotion, or to engage in land reform projects. On a small but significant minority of farms, a more liberal version of the paternalistic order is gradually being transformed into a kind of co-operative management relationship. It is too early to discern a definite trend, but localised research suggests that, with appropriate encouragement and incentives, farm workers’ prospects could be improved by building on paternalistic social relationships and by gradually moderating the social stratification on the farms. This offers fertile ground for new policy thinking. The status quo is an overlay of several
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life on the farm
normative systems: some degree of paternalism, some degree of coercion and subjugation, some awareness of new-found legal rights, some movement towards skills development and managerialism, a substantial degree of social inequality and probably still widespread psychological disabilities. It is a social situation in rapid flux. But some employers have lost interest in maintaining any normative compact with farm workers and are raising dissenting voices against the micro-welfare system. In the HSRC survey, these farmers stated that they did not hold out much hope for development work among farm workers. One farmer believed that development work would not help because the farm workers ‘will never change’. The paternalistic community bonds are also coming under strain due to other factors. Two farmers observed that labour laws have created a purely work relationship: ‘I am now less empathetic towards my workers’. Another farmer also said that the minimum wage laws have brought a ‘separation’ between the farmer and workers and induced tensions into the work relationship. One farmer now refuses to provide a monthly sheep for slaughter, due to minimum wage legislation. Since he has to pay a higher monetary wage, he does not feel morally obliged to provide additional food. Social relations are changing. Several farmers mentioned that farmers’ wives, who have full-time jobs, are finding it increasingly difficult to play a meaningful role. As one farmer put it, his wife is a professional person in her own right and it is not her responsibility to do development work on the farm with the workers and their families (Atkinson 2003). This attitude suggests a significant change in the normative social bonds on the farm. Increasingly, farmers view the farming relationship as one of pure labour exchange, with an emphasis on formal rights and a concomitant loss of social bonds. In some cases, this encroaching modernity means that farmerworker relationships are deteriorating. As workers become more aware of their rights, some farmers do not trust them any more. This is not an entirely new phenomenon: even in 1959, Margaret Roberts (1959: 77) found that progressive farmers who use modern methods to achieve greater efficiency on their farms tend to demand more of their workers. They are less paternalistic and tolerant, more impersonal and businesslike and make harder taskmasters. On such farms, labour relations are often strained, and turnover of labour tends to be high.
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In some cases, there are the glimmerings of a modern co-operative philosophy. This approach is reflected in organised agriculture’s attempts to encourage farmers to put their labour relations on a more professional footing (see, for example, Landbouweekblad, 12/6/1997; Farmer’s Weekly, 17/9/2004). The 2003 HSRC survey (Atkinson 2003) offers a few glimpses of this approach. Three farmers noted that they and their workers are ‘one team’ and that they plan activities together. In one case, the workers receive bonuses of up to 20 per cent of the farmer’s profit for looking after the livestock and taking care of it when it gets to the market. In both of these cases, the farmer’s perspective of the farm community has translated into some kind of profit-sharing. Some observers believe that this translates into a quasi-alliance between (some) workers and their employers as a new kind of ‘corporatist pact’, closing the cracks that had appeared in the paternalistic relationship (Ewert & Hamman 1999: 210). Some farmers envisage a much more modern and egalitarian relationship between themselves and their workers. In the 2003 HSRC survey, some farmers wanted to transcend the social distinction between themselves and their workers. One farmer had already formed a partnership with one of his workers and the farm was under joint ownership. The farmer was also assisting the worker to acquire a farm of his own nearby. Two farm owners in the Ladybrand district said that some of their farm workers attend farm watch meetings and that they work together with them to ensure safety on the farms. Some municipalities encouraged the creation of farm forums after 1995, and this also helped to equalise social relations on the farms (Atkinson 2003: 40). It is likely that workers respond to these overtures in various ways. It is not always clear whether paternalism is disintegrating and disappearing or simply changing its form. Many elements constitute social systems, and it is never readily apparent when one type of social relations shades into another. For some authors, such as Ewert and Hamman (1999), Orton et al. (2001) and Du Toit and Ally (2004), paternalism survives despite the challenges posed by economic modernisation, minimum wages, basic conditions of employment and tenure rights. They do observe, however, that some of the changes seem to have more fundamental impacts, such as the emerging ‘quasi-corporatist alliance’ between farmers and skilled coloured workers on the wine and fruit farms of the Western Cape and the growing trend towards the casualisation of farm labour (Du Toit & Ally 2004). Consequently, Ewert and Hamman (1999) refer to ‘neo-paternalism’. The more modern management approaches appear
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to have imbued at least some of the workers with a hitherto unexpressed confidence in making known their demands. But where does paternalism end and real modernity begin? Inevitably, the dividing lines will be unclear, both conceptually and historically, due to the differing circumstances in the different regions. Clearly, there are continuities and changes in the social system on the farms. Authors such as Du Toit and Ally point to the continued ‘culture of mastery’ that underpins the moral framework of both ‘progressive’ and ‘repressive’ farming (Du Toit & Ally 2004: 45). But, as these authors also observe, there is a sense in which the old rural order has started fading – with nothing coherent to take its place. In the light of new government legislation, ‘the old circuits of power and control were increasingly prone to challenge and interruption, but no authoritative and decisively imposed new institutions were ready to supersede them’ (Du Toit & Ally 2004: 45). Farmers, farm workers and the government play a complex strategic game in which first one set of rules and then another is invoked, as seems most convenient in different circumstances. In different contexts, different parties have different options and resources. Some farmers have shed labour, while others keep a solid core of permanent employees; some farmers use ESTA, while others evade it; some farm workers insist on their new legal rights, while others rely on old paternalistic obligations; some government departments co-operate with farmers, while others appear to vilify farmers. An urgent debate is needed to negotiate a new discourse of moral responsibility or social roles, based on current economic and demographic realities.
The right to a grave? According to Section 6(4) of ESTA, ‘Any person shall have the right to visit and maintain his or her family graves on land which belongs to another person, subject to any reasonable condition imposed by the owner or person in charge of such land in order to safeguard life or property or to prevent the undue disruption of work on the land’. This stipulation represents a profound normative shift. As part of the paternalistic order, farm workers have always enjoyed burial rights whereby deceased family members are entitled to be interred in on-farm cemeteries. ESTA attempts to create a rights-based, legally enforceable system. Farmers’ responses indicate that ESTA has created anxiety about allowing burial rights.
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In the 2003 HSRC survey, farmers were asked whether farm workers have burial rights on the farm. Out of 57 respondents, 36 farmers still allow burial, while 21 have abolished the system. Several farmers suggested that only workers with a long history of service are entitled to make use of the farm cemetery. But in recent years, there have been several publicised instances of farm workers wanting to bury family members on a farm or to visit family cemeteries, with employers denying them permission to do so. In terms of many black people’s value systems, a family burial ground confers some kind of moral and spiritual rights on the descendants. This has caused anxiety for some farmers, who believe that it may be the thin end of the wedge of ESTA-type land claims. News reports of conflicts about burials give substance to farmers’ anxieties. In Limpopo in 2004, police allegedly stood by while a nearby community launched a land invasion to access a burial site on a farm (IOL Online, 31/12/2004). Farmers who do not allow burial rights also fear that such rights would result in too many people having access to the farm, which would become a security risk. Farmers are now beginning to define their land ownership strictly in terms of private property, without sentimental or normative rights being accorded to farm workers. For such farmers, the burial of the dead has now become a purely secular, municipal service. They claim that farm workers should bury their deceased family members in urban cemeteries. This does not mean that farmers have washed their hands of the matter. Several farmers in the 2003 HSRC survey make cash contributions for burials in the nearby urban cemetery. Increasingly, some workers also prefer to use the urban cemeteries – even in cases where burial rights on the farm do exist – thus suggesting that they, too, are cutting their emotional ties with the farmer’s land.
The development gap Little in-depth knowledge is available about how farm workers experience farm life, or how they view themselves in relation to their employers and the rest of society. In this section, information is drawn from three sources: a farm worker participatory research project that was undertaken during 2002 (Atkinson 2003), and two published studies about farm workers in the Western Cape (Van Dongen 2003; Clarke et al. 2004). These studies had
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different rationales and emphases, but when studied in conjunction, several key themes emerge. A year of experimental participatory action research was implemented in 2003 on five farms near Philippolis in the southern Free State. This is an arid sheep-farming area, although several farmers are turning to game farming. The research work was undertaken by a team of social workers assisted by four final-year social work students. The ongoing involvement of a local cleric helped to secure the support of the farmers for the project.9 The project was a rare case of applying a thoroughly hermeneutic approach to the subject, and its most significant conclusion was that there is a vast development gap between farm workers and the rest of modern society. The research process was not only focused on extracting information. It was also aimed at enabling farm workers to understand and articulate their own needs, in the hope that this could lead to actions to improve their living conditions. All the typical facets of participatory action research were utilised: • Entering into the community; • Creating relationships with participants; • Undertaking various processes of social interaction with the farm workers; • Identifying interest groups; • Drafting and implementing action plans; • Evaluating these actions; • Identifying future activities. These phases often overlapped in practice, and it was sometimes necessary to repeat certain different phases. The project began with 124 people, made up of farm workers and their families who were based on 18 farms. The researchers created opportunities for debate and discussion by using PRA (participatory rural appraisal) techniques. During these discussions, the participants were given an opportunity to introduce themselves and to articulate their hopes and dreams for themselves and their families. They were then encouraged to think about the ways in which those dreams could be realised and what obstacles they would have to overcome in the process. The researchers also conducted regular discussions with the farmers about the issues arising from the farm workers’ sessions. As a
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result of these meetings, one of the farmers invited the researchers (who were qualified social workers) to offer a more sustained development programme on his farm for his employees. This was launched in April 2001, and two further farms joined the programme in February 2002. Other farmers in the district showed an interest in starting similar initiatives on their own farms. The researchers were struck by the fact that the farm workers exhibited a very poorly developed sense of personal identity. The participants often had great difficulty in introducing themselves. In particular, the women were very reluctant to participate in discussions. They seldom made eye contact with the researchers, and were initially reluctant to establish any relationship with them. Shy and diffident, they found it difficult to show any spontaneity or to give verbal expression to their thoughts and ideas. The participants were very submissive, and coaxing them into volunteering suggestions or proposals took a long time. During the first few sessions, only one or two members of a group tended to participate and they were primarily concerned with winning the approval of the researchers. They found it almost impossible to verbalise their needs. Other studies of farm workers have noted this lack of self-esteem. The phenomenon complicates research, because workers are reluctant to speak openly about their situation (Heunis 1993: 9). The subsequent experiences of these farm workers reflected a gradual process of empowerment. Separate sessions were held on the three farms. The gatherings took place on a weekly basis, except when work pressures on the farm dictated otherwise. The men, women and children were divided into separate groups and 18 group sessions were held with each of these groups. The sessions with the adult workers incorporated gestalt therapy and narrative techniques to enable the participants to experience an awareness of self and to encourage them to express themselves. The narrative method was introduced gradually to help participants to tell the stories of their problems and to begin to develop new life stories. One of the most significant achievements during this process was that farm workers built a relationship of trust with the researchers, as well as with each other, so that they could discuss personal topics more openly. The participants were encouraged to use finger paints and clay to build personal self-portraits. Over time, they were increasingly able to broach sensitive topics with a measure of assurance. The farm workers identified various needs. They were concerned about the problems of school attendance, because of the dwindling number of farm
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schools, the long distances to schools in the towns, and the difficulties of arranging safe transport for the children. A key concern was the women’s constant worry about those children who are at school in town, because the children sometimes board with people who do not look after them properly. It can be very difficult to find a suitable family with whom children can board, and this undermines the women’s attempts to keep their children at school. The paucity of transport for school children remains a perennial worry. Transport to urban facilities is a chronic problem. Farm workers depend on their employers to arrange transport to clinics, churches and schools. Although many farmers do try to assist, it is usually not possible for them to provide transport on demand. This is due to cost considerations, the unpredictable nature of farming activities and the fact that the farmers are sometimes away from their farms. Illiteracy is a common problem for adult farm workers on the Philippolis farms. Some of the younger residents can read and write, but many adults have never received any school education. The children have very few opportunities for creative or constructive activities on the farms, and the researchers also found numerous children who did not attend school at all. The men and women also discussed social tensions that lead to conflicts, arguments and assaults within their small communities. These tend to happen particularly on weekends and are often due to alcohol abuse. The phenomenon of violence against women was raised repeatedly. The pervasive phenomenon of alcohol and violence against women was also noted by Van Dongen with reference to Western Cape farms (2003: 308). A growing problem is the lax morals of young men, who visit urban taverns and cause quarrels, fights and assaults. ‘Younger people have no respect’ is a common refrain among the elderly. Some authors explain alcohol abuse and violence as an expression of frustrated masculinity and as a consequence of a repressive paternalist system (Du Toit: 1993). However, it is also due to the entrenched dop (alcohol) system, which was prevalent in the Western Cape until the end of the last century (London: 2000). Alcohol abuse frequently leads to conflict amongst farm workers, which sometimes escalates into physical assaults and domestic violence. To tell their story of their experiences with beer, the participants spent a weekend with the researchers while they brewed the beer. During this event, the workers spoke of the many impacts beer has on them: ‘Beer betrays us’; ‘Beer makes us go
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from farm to farm to look for more’; ‘Beer brings trouble’; ‘Beer is part of the devil – you cannot see it’; ‘Beer is our master’; ‘Beer makes us sick’; ‘Beer takes our money’; ‘Beer makes us fight’; ‘Beer hurts our children’; ‘Beer makes us mad’; ‘Beer causes trouble with the people at work’; ‘Beer is the enemy’. The participants decided that war should be declared on beer, and turned to a discussion of how to keep the beer pot off the farm. The adults in the group identified their primary need as the ability to live together as man and wife, in a family context. After several weekly discussions, they arrived at the insight that a person’s actions are determined by his or her emotions and thoughts. This meant for them that behaviour can be changed if people begin to think differently. For a start, they wanted to attend church services and church gatherings more regularly. Similarly, Van Dongen (2003: 314) found that this religious yearning is very strong amongst elderly farm workers in the Western Cape. On the first farm, the farm workers reached a stage where the men, women and children, who had been meeting in separate groups, could be brought together in a single discussion group. After some initial inputs about communication skills, the group spontaneously began to discuss their fears of HIV/AIDS. By means of the narrative method, an interaction process was facilitated to enable the workers to take this topic further. Because the majority of the workers were illiterate, it was inappropriate to use written materials to advance the dialogue. Consequently, an artist was involved in the discussions, and she began to assist the group participants to depict HIV/AIDS in a visual way. This enabled the participants to use their own imagination to ‘externalise’ their fears by means of drawings. At a later stage, nurses were invited to the weekly sessions to provide information to the group about the health aspects of HIV/AIDS. These talks focused primarily on the care of AIDS patients. Various themes were dealt with, such as unsafe sexual practices and methods of HIV prevention. The group learnt of the need to use plastic gloves when cleaning open wounds, the use of a single knife per person at initiation schools, and the advantages of monogamy. All of these themes were worked through with the aid of drawings and clay models. The group also discussed opportunistic illnesses, environmental health and healthy eating habits. They debated how they should react if they learn that someone on the farm is HIV-positive, how to overcome their fears and how to provide help. A field visit to a home was
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organised where a nurse gave practical guidance on the care of a terminally ill person. Finally, the group discussed the process of dying and how they might support each other in future when faced with the death of a loved one. The group eventually became so confident and articulate that they organised an HIV/AIDS day, to which they invited farm workers from nearby farms. The participants now had sufficient self-confidence to organise the programme, and they made arrangements with the farmer to use the shearing shed for the gathering. They were granted the day off work. During the HIV/AIDS day, the group informed their counterparts from other farms about the various aspects of HIV/AIDS. The event effectively served as an affirmation ceremony that the workers and their families were increasingly able to take control of their lives in managing the disease. The fact that the workers organised their AIDS day themselves indicates the degree of empowerment that had taken place. The relationships between the farmers and the farm workers (and their respective families) came to reflect increasing mutual understanding and support. On two selected farms, the researchers also assisted the farm workers in drafting a social development programme for themselves and their families. These programmes aimed at initiating a process of sustainable personal development, to enhance their life- and work-related skills. In time, the participants identified, planned and launched further development initiatives themselves. In essence, this process, which lasted more than a year, helped farm workers to develop the sense of their own identity and self-worth that was a prerequisite to their being able to envisage and articulate a selfdevelopment programme. While the meetings with farm workers were underway, the researchers conducted regular meetings in parallel with the farmers and their wives about the research and development programme. On the farm that had the longest exposure to the programme, there were clear indications that the farmer and his wife had come to develop a new understanding and interest in the lives of their workers. The farmer also noted a decline in alcohol abuse and social conflict within the farm worker community. Some of the workers developed sufficient confidence to approach their employers about ways in which they could help the children to attend school regularly. On one farm, the farmer took to transporting the children to town every day.
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In sum, the workers developed to a level where they could express themselves, describe their circumstances, and participate in perceptive and thorough discussions of issues. To get to this stage took about a year. Empowering farm workers is a lengthy process, requiring gradual socialisation into new roles. Similarly, Clarke et al. (2004: 476) observed that the introduction of a lay health worker system on Western Cape farms took at least six months as a first phase. It took several years of sustained support for the programme to reach its full potential. In some cases, it took 18 months before the farm workers wanted to participate in this programme. On the Philippolis farms, the PRA process was a valuable one with several important implications. Firstly, it revealed the enormous development deficit that typifies certain farm dwellers. Farm workers and their spouses have such a lack of confidence that they need regular support and encouragement, as the lay health worker programme found. Regular team-building sessions are necessary with inputs by facilitators from outside the farm (Clarke et al. 2004: 477). Secondly, it also suggests the inadequacy of the objective measurements of welfare such as wages and education levels. Clearly, there is a great deal of social disadvantage that cannot be readily quantified but which must be understood before appropriate policies are designed. As Clarke et al. (2004) showed, health problems such as TB were linked to problems of general household neglect, alcohol and drug abuse and poor hygiene. Correspondingly, once the lay health worker programme was initiated, all kinds of unexpected impacts were achieved, such as vegetable gardening and better household cleanliness (Clarke et al. 2004: 476). Thirdly, the PRA process indicated that at least some progress is possible in terms of people’s self-awareness, their understanding of their rights and their ability to take control of their situation. However, a significant degree of counselling and participatory work is needed to get to this point. Once again, the lay health worker programme corroborates this finding. Those women who became health workers experienced personal growth and increased self-confidence, self-esteem and responsibility. It also appears that disciplines such as social work should be involved before meaningful planning and development can take place. The involvement of social workers during the initial phase laid the groundwork for the discursive skills that were a prerequisite to development planning. It was only then that needs could be identified and articulated, and solutions identified. The conventional integrated development planning approach, which presumes
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that participants are able to understand and articulate their needs and goals, is simply too advanced for people who have never been asked what they think or feel. The experiment suggests that continued participatory action research should be undertaken, perhaps with greater participation on the part of the farmers and their families. This would enable more effective solutions to be provided to the workers’ problems and facilitate further in-depth research regarding effective social interventions. As far as service delivery is concerned, it is recommended that farmers, farm workers and their families should have greater opportunities for direct dialogue with government departments and municipalities. This would promote a greater degree of bottom-up decision-making and, consequently, greater ownership of services on the part of the farm communities (including farm workers and farmers). This may seem like an arduous process, but in the long term it should promote more appropriate, sustainable, rapid and costeffective service delivery and development. One inescapable conclusion is the need to involve farmers and farm workers directly in the process of determining their needs and in finding solutions that may be unique to their districts or municipalities. But there is also a great need to involve municipal councillors and the officials from local authorities and appropriate government departments in those workshops, to inform them about the needs of farm communities. During these workshops, they should consider alternative approaches for service delivery to farming communities. NGOs could play a valuable role in these discussions. Municipalities should consider appointing multidisciplinary teams to promote relationships between various interest groups, such as farmers and farm workers. Practical service delivery options for pressing issues should be considered. These issues might include the transport of farm workers and their families (to schools, clinics, shops and churches); the transport of pieceworkers from towns to farms; providing and maintaining proper housing and infrastructure for farm workers; the maintenance of roads; and making cemetery facilities available to farm workers. NGOs and other service delivery institutions should be funded more adequately by the state, to function as partners alongside municipalities and government departments. This would make a greater number of skilled people available to undertake PRA-type interventions. Institutions such
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as schools, churches and NGOs often have the necessary infrastructure, knowledge, skills and experience for rural service delivery programmes. Welfare organisations that are currently involved in rural service delivery tend to employ experienced social workers who can function in a multicultural context, to facilitate community development processes and to provide basic therapeutic and preventative services.
The vexed question of access to farms Many government officials and NGO staffers have complained that their visits to farms are unwelcome and may even be downright dangerous. Understandably, this creates a major disincentive for officials to extend services to farm workers. The issue is of some significance, as it directly affects the reach of the state. Since one definition of the modern state is its ability to provide universal services, it reflects poorly on a government that it should be unable to access certain privately owned land. According to conventional government practice – as well as to provincial ordinances – the provision of government services may require servitudes to be registered against property. The municipality may enter and inspect any premises for any purpose connected with the implementation or enforcement of municipal by-laws (see DWAF 2000: 22). However, any entry and inspection must be conducted in conformity with the requirements of the Constitution and any other law. It should also be conducted with strict regard to decency and order, respect for a person’s dignity, freedom and security, and personal privacy. This is especially important. During the 2003 survey, farmers expressed diverse opinions on the question of official visits to their farms. The majority of farmers were quite content that such visits take place. Several farmers mentioned that such officials were ‘welcome’ but that an appointment should be made, particularly because farmers are anxious about farm security. Some farmers cautioned that officials should not incite the workers, that they should not come for political reasons and that their intentions should be transparent. There were, however, some farmers who were suspicious and anxious about official visits. It was specifically mentioned that trade union representatives were not welcome on the farm. Some farmers have mixed feelings about government services. Concerns were
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expressed that the government should not become too involved in service delivery, because government officials would make demands on the farmers and sour relations between farmers and the government: ‘They must not come onto my land; I will provide services myself.’ Of course, some farmers strongly supported the provision of government services, particularly in view of the fact that farmers pay tax. The impending extension of municipal rates is likely to add significance to this question, as Chapter 8 suggests. There are obviously conflicting views about the proper reach of the state onto private property. Some farmers prefer to see their farms as outside the reach of the state, whereas others have a more modern view of the state as having a legitimate need for farm access.
Conclusion As we saw in the previous chapters, South African farms developed over more than a century as an unfree labour system with some quasi-feudal and some capitalist characteristics. For many decades, the agricultural labour system retained its pre-modern characteristics in the sense that it was propped up by legal restrictions on the movement of workers, their choice of jobs and their housing conditions. Simultaneously, it was capitalist in that agricultural workers lost their independent foothold in agricultural production steadily, including their land, livestock and implements, and became paid workers, vulnerable to losing not only their jobs but also their accommodation. After 1994, new labour legislation was introduced that ostensibly reduced the vulnerability of farm workers in the work situation, but there remains concern that this legislation is often counterproductive. There are indications that some employers are willing to promote farm workers into some kind of managerial role. It appears, then, that farm workers fall in the interstices between several modes of production, to use Marxist terminology, and are likely to experience the social and cultural dimensions of several types of economic system simultaneously. This chapter showed the depth of the paternalist ethos, as well as the signs of its decline. In its wake, the paternalistic labour system has left a disempowered, dependent labour force, poorly equipped even to articulate its developmental
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needs. This state of affairs needs to be kept in mind by municipalities that plan to roll out services to farm workers.
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Currently, the commercial farming sector is a complex interweaving of several normative trends and trajectories. In some cases, the pre-modern social bonds are disintegrating; in others, they are changing their form and becoming modernised. For some farmers, the farms are still largely self-sufficient organic social units, and those farmers tend to resist intervention by outsiders. For others, the farm has simply become a workplace – a rural factory – and the government is expected to provide services to farm dwellers. There are many cases where the pre-modern micro-welfare economy is breaking down completely, to be replaced by a wage labour relationship with few moral obligations on either party. For their part, farm workers are also experiencing the rural social order in very diverse ways. Many of them have developed their own coping strategies, which are unique to their situation. In the next chapter, we turn to farm workers’ choices to remain on the farm, or to seek better prospects elsewhere. These are the farm workers who are able and willing to leap across the development gap into a more modern urban world.
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CHAPTER 6
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Leaving the farm
We have already described general urbanisation and migration trends at a macro-social level. But the actual decision-making unit remains the individual or the household. At this level, the decision to move can be a highly significant one, often fraught with anxieties, stresses and expectations. The employer may also influence the decision, sometimes coercively, by evicting unwanted farm workers or by deciding to provide urban accommodation for employees to encourage them to reside in the town. In this chapter, we consider the choices of farm workers and their families to stay on or to leave the farm. This requires an examination of pull factors, or the attraction of the towns compared to life on the farm, as well as push factors, which are the forceful eviction or retrenchment of farm workers.
To move or not to move Despite the strong urbanisation trend, many farm workers seem to prefer to stay on a farm. This does not necessarily mean that they want to continue living on a specific farm. If working conditions are poor on one farm, then many farm workers attempt to get a job on a nearby farm. There is often fairly high turnover on a farm basis, but workers seem to circulate between farms within the same district. The phenomenon of rapid turnover was identified by Margaret Roberts 40 years ago (Roberts 1959: 84). It was confirmed by the 2003 HSRC survey, which found that 37 per cent of farm workers had spent only one to five years at their current place of employment (see Table 6.1). Of course, there are cases where workers have spent a very long time, more than 16 years, for example, on the farms. In some cases, workers have even lived on the farm for longer than the owners. But in most cases, there seems to be a tendency for workers to change their places of employment fairly frequently. Despite a relatively short period of residence on a particular farm, farm workers may have worked for long periods within a specific district. This suggests that workers have extensive agricultural experience. The largest
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number of farm workers (45 per cent) had more than 20 years’ experience of farm work in the district.
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Table 6.1 Length of residence on farms and in the district, Free State and Northern Cape, 2003 Less than 1 year
1–5 years
6–10 years
11–15 years
16–20 years
More than 20 years
Residence on current farm
7
23
13
6
5
7
Farm work in the district
2
8
6
10
7
27
Source: Atkinson (2003)
These findings show that many farm workers have long experience in their occupation, and if they leave one farm, they will usually try to find work on another. Clearly, not all farm workers want to move to the towns. A key factor in encouraging people to stay on the farms is the social networks they build up with their co-workers on the same farm or on neighbouring farms. In fact, Roberts (1959: 72) found in her Eastern Cape survey that the social life of farm workers is so important that farmers who pay relatively low wages, both in cash and in kind, are sometimes able to attract and keep good workers because of their more flexible attitudes towards social events and mutual visiting. ‘On most farms there is a core of workers who, by reason of kinship or long residence there, have developed a stake in the farm on which they are employed’ (Roberts 1959: 90). Robertson’s 1987 study in Natal and the Eastern Cape identified positive and negative reasons for workers preferring to remain on farms. These are shown in Table 6.2. There are several factors that lead workers to stay on the farms, such as physical security on the farms, the possibilities for family life and the fact that workers can keep livestock (Robertson 1988: 46). In a number of cases, employment is available for family members, which is an added incentive to stay.
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Table 6.2 Reasons for choosing farm work, Natal and Eastern Cape, 1987 Lions River (Natal Midlands)
Lower Tugela (Northern Natal)
Elliot (Eastern Cape)
Lack of education
26%
44%
2%
No jobs elsewhere
34%
25%
21%
6%
9%
4%
18%
10%
44%
Don’t like towns
8%
8%
2%
Enjoy family life
4%
2%
6%
–
2%
10%
4%
–
10%
Negative reasons (would prefer to leave, but have no choice)
No accommodation in towns Positive reasons (prefer to stay on the farm) Security
Pleasant environment Can keep livestock Source: Robertson (1988: 46)
Given this bias towards staying put, the drift of farm workers to the towns and cities raises far-reaching questions regarding the causal factors or triggers that result in a drastic decision such as migration. Typically, people’s decision to move takes into account many factors: Satisfactions with the life in the community of residence are weighed against the social costs of moving to another area. This evaluation process takes place in relation to the level of aspirations derived from the value orientation, range of knowledge, and experience of groups and individuals. (Beegle 1961: 75) This is not always easy to investigate. A persistent gap in theories purporting to explain migration is ‘the relative lack of behavioural studies which provide a dynamic vs. a static comparison of migration move-stay decision alternatives’ (Kok et al. 2003: 19). It is important that the full range of push and pull factors be appreciated. Numerous theoretical approaches attempt to explain the decision to migrate. The new economics of migration approach refers to household decision-
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making to minimise and diversify livelihood risks. This goes beyond absolute levels of income, to improving households’ standing in relation to other households in the community, and a consequent desire to ameliorate a sense of relative deprivation.
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Economic motives may not be the sole rationale to move, or even the predominant one. People may place great store by non-pecuniary benefits, as the proponents of various theoretical approaches have pointed out. Consequently, the value-expectancy model of migration refers to individuals’ and households’ goals, values and views on their likelihood of achieving their goals (Kok et al. 2003: 21). Analysis of people’s values and motivation must take into account environmental and cultural factors, which operate at a meso level of societal analysis (between the micro level of household factors and the macro level of the whole economy or society). These, in turn, may be affected by societal and cultural norms such as gender role and youth expectations. Young people may, for example, need to migrate in pursuit of an education, or men may be expected to migrate to earn money for remittances. Push factors in the rural areas tend to be related to low incomes and poor lifestyle options. Social mobility aspirations influence families wishing to achieve a new social status. The towns and cities have always held a fascination for farm workers, particularly those living in fairly close proximity to the towns, or those who have marketable skills (Roberts 1959: 89). In a 1993 study of exfarm workers in the Bloemfontein area, 38 per cent of respondents had left the farms because the town offered better opportunities (Heunis 1993: 27). Certain types of social network may also perpetuate patterns of migration. Community bonds are often established by means of migrant labour of a first family member who hazarded a move to the towns, and whose kin may follow. In addition, a number of psycho-social factors may come into play. People’s personal traits, such as tolerance for risk-taking and their adaptability may impact on decision-making. Information or mental maps about other geographical areas may affect people’s motivation to move. Such information may not actually be factually correct, but still exerts a powerful motivating force. Social networks play crucial roles in shaping who migrates and how. Migration into certain localities is often attributable to particular migration streams that are linked to particular networks (Todes 1999: 10).
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People are also more likely to migrate at certain stages in their lives. Young people have always shown a higher propensity to migrate. Even before the Second World War, wage opportunities enabled young black farm residents to escape the parental authority of homestead heads. The industrial expansion after the war added to this momentum. Sometimes young people returned to the farm and shared their urban wages with their families; in other cases, they were lost to the agricultural production system. The movement of single women into towns – often to escape the labour demands made upon them – was a matter of concern to household heads in tenant families as well as to white landlords. Young men, who needed to accumulate cash savings, generally left the farms, although some attempted to return after a while (Roberts 1959: 82). Today, unmarried women are more likely to move than women with small children; but women with school-going children are likely to consider migration for the sake of securing access to urban schools. Finally, unanticipated triggers may affect a household’s decision to move. These include marriage, divorce, death of a spouse, change in family size, changes in health, or hoped-for support from relatives and friends. Conversely, on-farm adjustments (changing jobs, or improving the farm dwelling) may cause a family not to move. The focus on non-pecuniary reasons for migration has significant methodological implications. To understand the actual triggers for migration: Local, area-specific survey research is needed to complement the broader spatial orientation of the census or national household surveys. Such local surveys can have relatively small sample sizes … The best approach may be to start off from a microlevel perspective and work one’s way up the higher levels of data aggregation. (Kok et al. 2003: 32) Given these contending forces, what other indicators would lead us to expect that a person or a family is likely to migrate? Factors such as life-cycle variables, socio-economic status, education, home-ownership, employment, the extent of household crowding, ethnic differences, years in the community and past migration history must be taken into consideration. For each individual or household, a myriad of factors may come into play. Not only are there specific individual characteristics involved, such as people’s relationships with their family members, but there are combinations of factors that may tip the
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balance. Even where workers would like to move, they have different reasons for this preference (Robertson 1988: 52).
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Table 6.3 Potential reasons for leaving farm employment, Natal and Eastern Cape, 1987
Better prospects in cities Don’t like farms
Lions River (Natal Midlands)
Lower Tugela (Northern Natal)
Elliot (Eastern Cape)
35%
27%
28%
4%
2%
1%
To join family elsewhere
20%
9%
2%
Only if retrenched
31%
39%
6%
Higher wages elsewhere
4%
24%
12%
Fall out with employer
5%
–
30%
A significant number (almost a third in Lions River) maintained that they would leave only if they were retrenched, perhaps indicating a positive preference for remaining on the farm. In these localities, this percentage almost equalled the number of people who are attracted by the cities. There may be other reasons for deciding to stay on the farms (Bishop 1961: 38): capital is not available to finance the cost of migration, people are unaware of opportunities for higher-wage employment elsewhere (this information disability is reduced when family members already live in towns), urban jobs may require skills that farm workers do not have, or alternative jobs are simply not available. Even where farm workers decide to stay, they may encourage their children to leave. It is a well-known fact that the category of people who are more likely to migrate are young people (Sjaastad 1961: 19). In 1997, 31.5 per cent of the agricultural labour force was between the ages of 20 and 34 (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 24) and these workers may be more likely to leave the farms. In the same vein, a survey by Robertson (1988: 49) showed that 82 per cent of the 220 farm worker respondents believed that their children would leave the farms rather than seek on-farm employment. The most significant reasons for this were the poor educational facilities on the farms, better prospects in the cities, the fact that there was no work available on the farms and young people’s dislike for farm work (Robertson 1988: 49).
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Agricultural work has a relatively poor image, especially amongst young men who often prefer to look for urban opportunities. This issue urgently needs to be researched, because impressionistic evidence sometimes counters the received view. Some studies have reported no overt prejudice of school-leavers against agricultural work, provided that sufficient economic incentives exist (Gordon 1991). The real problem is perhaps that such incentives are absent almost everywhere (Fenyes 1982: 116). In South Africa today, an empirical assessment needs to be done regarding the preferences of young people, in order to construct realistic forecasts and appropriate policies. The choice between staying or leaving is therefore a very complex one. In the 2003 HSRC survey, the reasons for farm workers preferring to live on the farm were (Atkinson 2003: 43): • ‘The owner is good to me’; • Free food, water, electricity and housing; • Agreeable working hours; • Farm workers are used to staying on the farms, and do not feel at home in town; • There is less overcrowding than in town; • Towns are too frenetic and oppressive, and it is more peaceful on the farm; • Living costs are lower than in town; • Farm workers can keep livestock; • Workers are close to work and avoid long commuting trips; • Workers’ families can live with them; • The children are safe when their parents are at work; • There are farm schools for the children; • It is the only way to get work, because there is no work in the towns. In contrast, farm workers mentioned several reasons for living in town: • Farms are too far from town, and it is difficult to access services such as clinics; • On a farm, one does not own one’s house; • Workers have no security when they get old and have to retire – they have no house in town or place to go to; • There is inadequate housing on the farm; • On some farms, workers have to pay for water, housing and/or electricity; • Access to transport to get to town is difficult and expensive; • The roads are bad and getting to town is difficult;
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• It is difficult to get accommodation for schoolchildren in town; • On the farm one is separated from one’s family who live in town, and it is lonely; • The family is divided during term-time; • When members of a worker’s family want to visit the worker, they first have to ask the farmer for permission, and then the farmer makes it very unpleasant for them to visit; • There is a ‘better atmosphere’ in town – on the farm, one has to be ‘too careful’; • There are better services such as housing, education, social services and sanitation in town. Some of these reasons are clearly influenced by farmers’ decisions and attitudes, such as the recent trend of charging farm workers for housing, water and electricity. The relocation of farm workers to an off-farm property means that they gain some autonomy from their employers. The worker is no longer totally subject to the farmer (the total institution concept). Farm workers can then become fully functional members of civil and political society, with many more potential opportunities for development. These reasons also suggest that new government programmes such as the subsidisation of farm worker housing or rural transport may have a significant impact on people’s preferences for on-farm or off-farm residence.
Wage levels and the propensity to migrate Ceteris paribus, the wage levels in agriculture are an important determinant of people’s propensity to migrate. This section considers the wage structure in South African agriculture as well as the likely impact that it has had on rural-urban migration. One of the most important foundation-stones of the repressive-cumpaternalistic farm labour system was that cash wages were low, which enabled commercial farmers to build up their enterprises, but that low cash wages were compensated for by payments in kind. While the absolute monetary wage levels are no doubt important determinants of farm workers’ quality of life, non-wage issues always played a key role in farm workers’ assessment of their situation on the farms. The question of farm wage levels has been one
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of the most contested issues in the agricultural sector, particularly since the introduction of minimum wages in 2001. Historically, a wide range of factors determined agricultural wages. In South Africa, different farmers’ idiosyncratic and subjective preferences have always determined wages. Wages varied greatly between areas and even between farms. Robertson (1988) found that wages for labourers performing the same tasks and working the same hours varied by a factor of three, from R80 per month to R240 per month. Typical considerations included workers’ productivity levels, which in turn are influenced by skills, reliability, type of work, the number of dependents, effective competition with nearby non-agricultural sectors and the number of years for which a worker has lived on the farm (Kooy 1997: 114; Heunis 1993: 33). The type of commodities produced also affect the wage package – in particular, stock farms can typically offer more benefits in kind (such as grazing rights) than monoculture crop farming (Roberts 1959: 20). With the introduction of minimum wages, wage differentials are likely to decrease. There are already ample signs that farmers are reducing payments in kind because they are compelled to increase cash wages. Agricultural wages have their own particular characteristics. South Africa is not unique in that agricultural wages are low in relation to the rest of the economy. Low wages in agriculture are also a global phenomenon, with workers typically receiving few benefits, working long hours in jobs that are often unsafe (Findeis et al. 2002: 1). These poor conditions of employment are often due to cultural and ethnic social stratification, poor access to education, illegal immigration and other social barriers. Farm workers are indeed the most poorly paid labour category in South Africa. In 1996, 65 per cent of men fell in the R0–500 per month category (StatsSA/ NDA 2000: 51). The wage levels of casual workers also tend to lag behind the wage levels of regular workers. However, the picture of farm worker poverty is slightly more complex than the StatsSA/NDA figures suggest. Haroon Bhorat (2000: 158) has distinguished between individual and household-level poverty. The category of farm workers is not the one most characterised by poverty. In fact, domestic workers are more likely to be under the poverty line (calculated as R293 per person per month) than farm workers. Simply put, domestic workers, as individuals, tend to earn lower salaries than farm
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workers. Bhorat calculates that 38 per cent of domestics earn below R293 per month, whereas only 26 per cent of farm workers earn below this level (based on 1995 data). However, as households, farm worker families are more likely to be below the poverty line than are domestic workers. This is because domestic workers’ salaries are often a second salary in the home, whereas farm workers’ spouses are unlikely to have well-paid jobs or any jobs at all. At the household level, 45 per cent of households containing domestic workers were likely to be below a household poverty line of R903 per month, compared to 63 per cent of farm worker households. The impact of gender on wage levels must also be taken into account. Discrimination against women farm workers is almost universal (see, for example, Gordon 1991: 119). The low level of women’s wages is illustrated by a study conducted in a peri-urban farming area in Johannesburg in 1990 (Gordon 1991: 119). Table 6.4 shows the results of this study. Table 6.4 Farm workers’ income levels, Johannesburg sample, 1990 Mean monthly income
Salary range
Women
R81.84
R19–R180
Men
R157.85
R50–R480
There are various aspects of low wages that are relevant to farm workers’ quality of life. Studies have shown – unsurprisingly – that many labourers regard the low wages on farms as a major source of dissatisfaction. In Robertson’s 1987 study of Natal and the Eastern Cape, the number of dissatisfied workers ranged from 48 per cent in Lower Tugela (where wages are relatively high) to 72 per cent in Elliot (where wages are extremely low) (Robertson 1988: 51). Similarly, a survey in Limpopo conducted in 2000 revealed widespread dissatisfaction with wages. It appears that some workers had not had any wage increases for several years, thus indicating that their real wage had been in long decline (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 19). Why have agricultural wages historically been so low? Many factors affected farmers’ decisions. Low wages are, at least partly, due to the difficulties facing agriculture in South Africa. The low wages paid on the farms cannot be attributed solely to exploitation and worker powerlessness; many farmers have
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been hard-pressed to survive financially. Droughts, debts, overcapitalisation, labour shortages, crop pests, livestock diseases and international competition have made agriculture a constant financial battle. One study found that farmers are reluctant to raise wage rates to compete with industrial or commercial wage levels, because agriculture periodically faces a very bad production year due to factors such as droughts and price fluctuations. Farmers typically dare not pay wages higher than what they can afford to pay in a bad year (Wilson 1977: 196). Part of the reason for historically low wages may well be that farmers face financial constraints. But one can still ask whether some farmers could not have managed to pay more. It seems that wages may also be determined by cultural factors, inherited practices and sheer racial prejudice. Wages may be influenced by informal local collusion between employers, particularly in remote rural areas (Robertson 1988: 82). This means that money wages may have been kept artificially low – even lower than the marginal productivity of farm labour may suggest. There are also the difficulties of unionisation, although there is some disagreement about the level of farm worker unionisation. In general, trade unions are poorly represented among agricultural workers, with the possible exception of the intensive irrigation cropping areas. According to one ministerial source, between 12.5 per cent and 14 per cent of farm workers were unionised (Hansard, National Assembly, 5/8/1998). In the following year, the Minister of Labour claimed that only 4 per cent of farm workers were unionised (Hansard, National Assembly, 20/10/1999). However, in the last decade, there has been a rapid improvement in wage levels, admittedly from a very low base. This rapid improvement can be traced, at least partially, to the fact that farm workers are now fully covered by the provisions of new labour legislation. Farm workers were brought under the scope of the Unemployment Insurance Act of 2001. In addition, they were included in the purview of the Labour Relations Act of 1995, which conferred the right to join trade unions, to secure access to the employer’s premises, and to hold strike ballots on the premises. It also created the right to workplace forums on farms with more than a thousand employees. The Basic Conditions of Employment Act of 1997 included farm workers in regulations related to work hours, overtime, overtime pay, sick leave, maternity leave, leave, occupational accidents, severance pay and notice of termination
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of employment. The Act also prohibited child labour. In terms of the Act, ‘sectoral determinations’ for each type of industry were laid down by the Department of Labour (DoL). The sectoral determination for the agricultural sector was first promulgated with effect from 1 March 2003, and it specified minimum hourly rates for different agricultural areas. Minimum wages were introduced in 2001. Farming areas were divided into different categories of districts, according to their profitability. The minimum wage varied from R400 per month to R750 per month. These levels were increased in 2002, to R650 per month in low-income areas and R800 per month in higherincome areas. The average monthly remuneration of workers in the commercial farming sector more than tripled from 1988 to 1996, from R142 per month in 1988 to R524 in 1996 (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 54). A survey of 24 farms, conducted in 1992 in the Bloemfontein area, showed that the average increase in wage levels in a mere two-year period was a staggering 56 per cent (Heunis 1993: 31). Furthermore, wages are almost invariably supplemented by cash bonuses, and many farmers have designed their own incentive schemes in terms of which they pay out additional productivity-related bonuses (Roberts 1959: 14; Heunis 1993: 33; Atkinson 2003: 53). The stipulation that an employer may not make any deduction from a farm worker’s salary, except for a maximum of 10 per cent of the wage for housing and 10 per cent for food, created widespread dissatisfaction among employers. Furthermore, no additional deduction may be made for the provision of electricity, water or any other services. The determination also prescribed the quality of housing that qualifies for a legitimate deduction from wages.10 This meant that cash wages had to increase, in some cases dramatically. This is particularly unfortunate for farmers. The cash value of payments in kind is often low, even though the value for farm workers is great. The imposition of minimum cash wages now makes the cost of labour much greater than before. The introduction of minimum wage legislation may therefore not have brought about the improvement in people’s quality of life that it was meant to. In some cases, the reduction in payments in kind, as well as retrenchments, may be attributable to minimum wage laws. The fact that farmers now operate in very competitive markets will mean that there are definite ceilings to possible wage increases (Hamman 1998: 240). Many farmers have responded by reducing employment or casualising labour.
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Many farmers find themselves in an invidious position, particularly since the introduction of minimum wages. For most farmers, labour costs are a major expense. In an AgriSA survey of 288 farmers conducted in 2003 amongst 24 commodity sectors, 49 per cent of farmers stated that labour was their single greatest expense. Forty per cent of farmers in the survey paid an average wage of less than R650 per month, but substantial amounts of goods in kind were provided to farm workers. The cash amount of R306 million, paid per annum by these 288 farmers was matched by an estimated R38. 7 million provided as goods in kind (Agri, May 2003). Implementing the legislation concerning conditions of employment has been difficult. Doubt has been expressed about the effective enforcement of the Act on farms, since labour inspectors have difficulty in accessing farms (Hansard, 20/10/1999). Nevertheless, many farmers have adopted the minimum wage levels – although many have also correspondingly reduced bonuses and payments in kind. In the 2003 HSRC survey, one of the employers said that the workers on his farm used to have a share of the crops, but because of the new laws on wages, it has become so complicated that he ended this privilege. Many farmers are now deducting house rentals from their workers’ cash wages. It is therefore likely that the introduction of minimum wages increased cash wages but decreased payments in kind. This may have reduced farm employment. Most economists agree that a minimum wage set above the market-clearing equilibrium will cause unemployment, but it depends on the degree to which it is set above the equilibrium wage rate (Vink & Tregurtha 2003). A survey of farmers in the Eastern Free State in the mid-1990s found that farmers were increasingly concerned about possible legislation on minimum wages, basic conditions of employment and unionisation. In anticipation of such government measures, they wanted to be sure that they had as few as possible black families on the farm (Beinart & Murray 1996: 28). If this is indeed the case, it is surely a sad case of unintended consequences of a well-meant policy. The likely negative consequences were indeed anticipated by the government’s official inquiry into agricultural employment conditions: These include job losses, especially among more vulnerable groups such as women; a more marked shift to the use of seasonal workers, workers who live off-farm, and to contract
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workers; and the greater use of (illegal) foreign workers. (DoL 2001: 167)
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How, then, could this report also argue that a minimum wage would be successful? The report based its optimism on the fact that the agricultural sector looked healthy in the long run: ‘The long run prognosis for the sector is positive’ (DoL 2001: 167). The inescapable impression is created, in the report, of authors skirting around the central issues to conceal the fact that there, most probably, would be severe job losses due to the minimum wage. Remarkably, the report claims that ‘it would be incorrect to measure the impact of a minimum wage against specific poverty levels, whether they are some absolute measure of poverty or a relative measure’ (DoL 2001: 7). But if minimum wages are not introduced to decrease poverty, what could be the point of this painful exercise? The ambiguity around the actual effects of a minimum wage was noted by the compilers of the report. It admitted that a minimum wage was consonant with a variety of (potentially conflicting) intentions, such as improving farm employment conditions, reducing rural-urban differentials, reducing differentials between different farms (such as livestock and horticultural farms), or as part of a rural development strategy. The report concluded that reducing inequalities was the primary goal of the minimum wage – but it failed to stipulate exactly which type of inequality it was primarily concerned about. This leaves the reader still confused about the actual purpose of the measure. Would reducing rural-urban differentials be more important than improving rural wages? But what if improving rural wages meant increased unemployment and therefore greater destitution elsewhere? Remarkably, the report admitted that a ‘minimum wage that sets out to lift all of them out of poverty will in all likelihood increase the disparities among farm workers, and between farm workers and other rural people’ (DoL: 2000: 166). But then surely the reduction of inequality cannot be the rationale for a minimum wage! An even more worrisome aspect of the report was its claim that minimum wages could contribute significantly to a rural development strategy, ‘to the extent that other programmes aimed at rural upliftment accompany their introduction’ (DoL 2001: 164). Such programmes, it argued, should include land reform, local economic development (LED) promotion, small business support programmes, small-scale finance for entrepreneurs, and health and
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social programmes. The report also argued for ‘special measures’ to assist new farmers, the youth and seasonal workers. It is therefore alarming that virtually none of these programmes ever reached farm workers, as later chapters in this book show. This means that minimum wages were, in effect, introduced in a policy vacuum. The positive impacts of minimum wages were not harnessed for any other livelihoods options and the negative impacts were not mitigated. The deleterious effects of the minimum wage on employment, particularly in a context where employers have numerous other reasons such as market competition and land tenure rights to shed labour, cannot be doubted. The only mitigating argument for minimum wages is that they may be associated with the up-skilling and professionalisation of farm work, so that higher wages are matched by higher productivity. But as a later chapter in this book will show, the farm worker training system has virtually collapsed in the last ten years. The minimum wage issue not only remains shrouded in cloudy thinking,11 but it was introduced without all the corresponding bolstering measures that the DoL report suggested. Paradoxically, it may not be improved cash wages but non-cash benefits of living on farms that keep farm life attractive to many farm workers. Such benefits are a product of old-style farm paternalism and not of modern government interventions. An important factor that still affects farm workers’ quality of life is that items such as firewood, transport, grazing land and building materials are freely available on the farm. If this package of goods was replicated in an urban context, its cash value would be significant. Furthermore, these benefits shield farm workers from the effects of inflation in the monetary economy. Such payments in kind are likely to deter farm workers from moving to the towns. Farm worker households also benefit by the fact that casual or seasonal work is often available for family members, which increases the overall level of household income. Traditionally, farms offered a degree of protection from the rigours of the open labour market because family members could find part-time jobs or piece-jobs on the farm if they lost their urban employment. Family members could use the farm as a home base and return there from time to time between jobs, and even keep livestock (Beinart & Murray 1996: 28). Despite the pressures of modernisation and downscaling of farm employment, this phenomenon still exists, particularly on extensive livestock
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farms. These factors suggest that farm life has its own pull factors, which may militate against voluntary migration. And once again, they have little to do with cash wages.
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The important role of payments in kind should not be overlooked. Non-wage factors such as work environment, family life and grazing rights for livestock feature as important compensatory factors. Numerous studies have tried to cost these payments. For example, a study of farm wage levels in 1993 found that the monetary value of non-cash payments amounted to a significant percentage of the cash wage (Heunis 1993: 51, 34). Payments in kind can include medical care, recreation facilities, interest-free loans, food, school fees, transport, firewood, clothes, thatching materials, water, costs related to farm workers’ livestock and food gardens, and periodic non-cash bonuses such as slaughter animals. Despite the importance of wages in people’s lives, the low level of cash wages may be a poor indicator of the actual benefits enjoyed by workers, particularly in comparison with the standard of living of the urban poor. Consequently, for a significant proportion of farm workers, living on the farm has distinct advantages over living in town – despite fairly low cash wages.
Employment, retrenchments and migration The migration of farm workers away from the farming sector is fundamentally influenced by wage levels. This happens in three possible ways. Firstly, as argued earlier, farm workers may choose to migrate to towns to get better jobs with more remuneration. Secondly, an increase in cash wages may be more than outweighed by a decrease in payments in kind. Thirdly, the higher price of labour caused by minimum wage legislation has increased retrenchments in agriculture. There is a great need to analyse and debate the impact of increased wages on agricultural employment, especially in a context of widespread job losses. Increased wages may contribute to the loss of jobs in agriculture. While increased cash wages may reduce workers’ desire to migrate, they may increase employers’ desire to scale back their workforce. Evidence from Zimbabwe and Chile shows the direct correlation between minimum wages and the loss of jobs (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 10). In principle, it can be argued, if wages
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are lower than the marginal product, then higher wages should not increase unemployment. There is the positive argument that a rise in wages leads to improved labour productivity and reduced labour turnover, which helps to offset increased costs (Robertson 1988: 85). This probably holds true up to a point, but several authors have pointed to the direct correlation between minimum wages and a reduction in employment. The 1987 survey in Natal and the Eastern Cape, referred to earlier, revealed that 35 per cent of 52 farmers in Lower Tugela would retrench labour if a minimum wage of R150 per month was introduced (Robertson 1988: 87). In Elliot in the Eastern Cape, this figure rose to 71 per cent of interviewed farmers. Given these findings, Robertson concluded that ‘it appears that a strategy to implement a minimum wage in agriculture is unlikely to increase welfare’, since the improved wages of some workers would be offset by an decrease in in-kind benefits, as well as a loss of employment for some of the workers (Robertson 1988: 89). These findings were supported by a study of farmers conducted in 2000 (Simbi & Aliber 2000:10, 26). Similarly, a Bloemfontein district survey of farmers in 1993 found that 38 per cent of farmers would reduce their workforce drastically (by more than half) if a minimum wage of R700 per month was introduced (Heunis 1993: 52). A further 29 per cent of farmers would accept a minimum wage of R700, but only on condition that payment in kind was included in the calculation of the wage. And 19 per cent said that they would keep the best workers and retrench the rest. Some farmers said that they would cease farming altogether. All in all, the survey found that minimum wages would cause a serious decline in employment. Subsequent studies have found that the predictions about retrenchments were indeed prophetic. The 2003 HSRC survey found that the dramatic fall in employment between 2001 and 2003 from 953 to 607 workers was at least partially due to the new minimum wage and tenure legislation, according to information provided by employers. Other causal factors were the drought, as well as changes in types of products and new methods of production. Significantly, the new labour legislation may also have contributed to a higher wage bill in agriculture. This is not necessarily because wages were increased: in fact, in many cases they were not. Rather, it is because of new regulations concerning on overtime work. Labour costs are increased by the need to pay overtime rates, as well as by the transaction costs incurred to maintain
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labour records and arbitrate wage disputes (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 10). Of course, it is possible that, as the agricultural sector becomes used to minimum wages, farmers will turn to higher-value crops and more efficient production methods so that they can afford higher wages.
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Increased wages may not constitute a sufficient cause for workforce reduction. But together with other disincentives, they can function as the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Much also depends on the size of the wage increase. In this context, the administrative difficulties of firing an unproductive worker must loom large and serve as a major disincentive to hiring additional workers. The changing composition of the labour force towards casual workers means that farm work can be managed more flexibly. Evidence from Limpopo Province suggests that many farm workers have not experienced an improvement in their conditions of service, despite minimum wage legislation. This is because their workload increases as employment numbers fall (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 16). Once again, it appears that the minimum wage may have unintentionally disadvantaged the very people it was designed to benefit. The relationship between wages, employment and migration can take many different forms. In the United States, migration rates have been strongly linked to expected incomes and livelihoods in the towns, and out-migration is highest from low-income areas (Bishop 1961: 42; Fuller 1961: 31). This is influenced by the current level of on-farm incomes, as well as the ease or difficulty of obtaining a non-farm job after migration. This, in turn, is linked directly to the level of unemployment in the destination area (Sjaastad 1961: 12; Bishop 1961: 41). Workers are generally apprehensive about exposing themselves to unemployment. The rate of off-farm migration is therefore strongly linked to the business cycle (that is periodic booms and recessions) as well as to different types of agricultural products with different income profiles. South African patterns of urbanisation are somewhat different, for two reasons. The first is the scale of retrenchments since the 1970s due to mechanisation and land tenure legislation. The second is that, although many migrants have few job prospects in the formal economy, there are other attractions in the towns that encourage them to migrate. South African ‘indigents’ (most farm workers fall into this category) are entitled to a range of government grants such as housing, electricity and water, as well as pensions and child grants. These grants are much more readily accessible in the towns than on the farms. This may outweigh the importance of urban
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levels of unemployment. The presence of family and friends who can ease the transition and help the migrant to find at least an informal sector livelihood is also a major consideration (Cox et al. 2004: 12). The migration destination may be chosen not because of its employment prospects, but because of its proximity to family members. A related factor affecting the propensity to migrate is the status of the job held at the place of origin. This encompasses the issues of full-time or part-time work, and permanent or casual employment. ‘Casual work’ refers to fulltime or part-time employment for a limited period, which may be linked to seasonal labour requirements. Significant changes are taking place in South African agriculture regarding the different gradations of labour. There is a general trend towards the increased use of casual or contract workers so that farmers do not have to provide housing or payments in kind and to reduce the danger of land tenure claims (Du Toit & Ally 2003). By 1996, two-thirds of the agricultural workforce consisted of permanent workers, with one-third consisting of casual workers. Curiously, the number of people in regular employment in agriculture increased as a proportion of the agricultural labour force, that is, relative to the number of casual workers, because of the massive decrease in the size of the overall agricultural labour force (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 32). This means that the outflow of agricultural workers included a large number of regular employees, who were in many cases not replaced at all. These trends are significant. Part-time labour implies a degree of underemployment, and therefore lower incomes. Casual labour implies a seasonal and insecure livelihood. Both of these factors make migration more likely. There are also marked changes of social class occurring within the stratum of farm workers. Evidence from the Western Cape suggests that a smaller core of better-paid, highly skilled workers is enjoying improved benefits and tenure security on the farms, and that they are supplemented by casual labour from the townships. Contract, temporary and part-time workers now form a new rural underclass, cobbling together a livelihood from irregular employment (Du Toit 1993: 336; Ewert & Hamman 1999: 212). This is not unique to South Africa. Insecure piecework arrangements are a hallmark of agriculture throughout the world (Findeis et al. 2002: 1).
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Education and the propensity to migrate
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It is a well-known fact in migration studies that higher levels of education lead to a greater propensity to migrate. Conversely, poverty and illiteracy reduce people’s ability to migrate. Better-educated people are more likely to move because they have better information, more financial means, can take more risks, and have a better chance of obtaining a livelihood at their destination (Kok et al. 2003: 55–60). Ironically, therefore, increasing the level of schooling in farming areas is likely to induce out-migration. In a 1990 survey of periurban farms in the Johannesburg area, pupils wanted to complete primary school precisely to escape the unskilled jobs on the farms. They were very negative about available work opportunities and community life in the rural area (Gordon 1991: 132). Of course, education level is a relative concept. International trends show that migrants are often relatively well educated and well off in relation to their peers in the rural areas, but not necessarily in relation to people in the towns and cities. In fact, in comparison with urban residents, even the relatively financially better-off rural migrants often have a major social and economic disadvantage. In many countries, the education level of off-farm migrants is inferior to that of the population as a whole, and this restricts occupational choice (Sjaastad 1961: 24). Gordon’s 1990 study in peri-urban Johannesburg showed how difficult it was for farm workers’ children to get a job elsewhere, even when their education was significantly higher than that of their parents (Gordon 1991: 122). There were even cases – 22 per cent of a sample of 28 – where children had a higher educational level than their parents, but achieved a lower occupational level. Few children were able to move from the unskilled jobs done by their parents to more skilled work. Impressionistic evidence suggested that the high levels of unemployment forced matriculants to take any jobs they could find. Many surveys have shown that the level of education of farm workers is distressingly low, an issue more fully examined in Chapter 11. In the commercial farming areas in 1997, 27 per cent of workers had no education at all (StatsSA/NDA 2000: 29). Similarly, the 2003 HSRC survey of 64 farm workers in the Free State and Northern Cape found that the level of illiteracy is still high (Atkinson 2003). The majority of workers (52 per cent) had some primary school experience, but only 16 per cent had been to high school.
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Thirty-one per cent had had no schooling at all. These figures are in line with the 1996 Census, which listed 33 per cent of farm workers as having no formal education (CRLS 2001: 35). This state of affairs surely inhibits migration, because people are trapped in the rural areas by their lack of skills. This may also have the effect of keeping wages down – not only because of workers’ lack of choice, but also because of their low productivity.
Unresolved policy questions We simply do not understand enough about farm workers’ experience of rural– urban linkages. Many rural households, however ‘rural’ is defined, have strong links with urban family members. These links include multiple homesteads, commuting, circular migrancy, remittances, shared family responsibilities for rearing children in both rural and urban contexts, the sale of agricultural products in towns and the purchase of urban commodities for consumption in the rural areas. The issue of urbanisation translates into a series of broad questions, which must be addressed at least partly through research but significantly also as part of policy debates. Firstly, how many of what types of people are migrating to which destinations, and what form is this movement taking? We need to understand the types of migration that are prevalent. Migrants include commuters, seasonal migrants, sporadic short-term migrants, target migrants who aim to achieve a specific goal before returning to their place of origin, cyclic migrants, working-life migrants and permanent migrants (Nelson 1980: 296). Different types of migration have very different impacts on people’s commitment to rural or urban areas, on their pattern of asset accumulation and livelihoods, and on their social networks. Short-term migrants are not concerned with the long-term opportunities that large centres offer. They tend to be concerned with getting a job quickly, they have less concern with urban amenities and they tend to be more concerned about travel costs. Secondly, where would current patterns and types of movement lead if they were to continue? Are they likely to continue, intensify, or change in the future? Thirdly, are the effects of these patterns beneficial or adverse, and for whom? Finally, should the observed patterns of urbanisation be encouraged, discouraged, or simply allowed to run their course, and to what ends?
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The urbanisation trend is a very complex one, because it depends on push and pull factors. Each of these has numerous determinants. The propensity to migrate is determined by a wide range of often conflicting factors, which are weighted differently by different households. To secure a class of permanent, skilled farm workers actually living on the farms, several interventions will have to be made to improve the attractiveness of farm work (Robertson 1988: 119). Wages will need to be increased to attract more productive personnel, and this must be linked to measures to increase productivity. Fringe benefits will have to be upgraded, including security of incomes, unemployment insurance, sick leave, retirement provisions and severance pay. Likewise, working conditions must be enhanced. This includes the physical environment as well as the psychological relationship between employer and employee. An all-encompassing strategy is called for to improve and professionalise the farm labour class. Farmers will need to initiate this, acting in co-operation with a range of government departments. Such a strategy may well be more successful in securing farm workers’ prospects on the farms than contentious land tenure legislation. An important set of questions relates to the level of service delivery on the farms. As will be shown later, government funding for farm worker infrastructure delivery such as housing, water and sanitation has declined dramatically in recent years. If farm workers have a better prospect of getting a house and modern infrastructure in the towns, is this not a more attractive bet for them than living on the farm? If so, how would these pull factors weigh up against the slim likelihood of getting an urban job? Frankly, if a farm worker family contains one or two elderly people who will qualify for a government pension, then unemployment in the towns may be a tolerable prospect, especially if it is accompanied by a housing grant, an infrastructure grant or a social grant. Conversely, if farm workers believe that their chances of getting a house are slim, then their willingness to risk leaving the farm will reduce. For policy-makers and development planners, these factors need to be unpacked so that their applicability and impact can be assessed in each location. It is futile and even dangerous to generalise about farm workers’ and farmers’ needs and wishes. Very often, people have to make difficult trade-offs. The better our understanding of these options, the more closely we can tailor development programmes and spatial policies to maximise people’s strengths and to minimise their distress.
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CHAPTER 7
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Civil society and farm life
Historically, the decline of feudal orders was associated with the growth of a modern civil society, characterised by individual rights and an autonomous sphere of organisations and associations. Since 1980, a rural civil society has tentatively emerged to serve farm workers in the commercial farming sector in South Africa. It was spearheaded by the Rural Foundation, a government-supported NGO that made significant progress in providing services to farm workers. The Rural Foundation was the first civil society organisation to set about reversing the miserable, low-status condition of farm workers. This chapter examines the work of the Foundation and compares it to the activities of more recent civil society organisations. A general finding is that the sheer scale and impact of the Rural Foundation has not been matched since its closure in 1998. Numerous small organisations involved in different aspects of service delivery, as well as a few notable human rights organisations that focus primarily on implementing the Extension of Security of Tenure Act, have taken its place. The overriding impression of the agricultural sector is that civil society is inadequately involved in it, due to a combination of factors. These range from the remote and marginalised location of farm workers to the weakness of farm workers’ own organisations and trade unions. It is also, significantly, due to the fact that the pre- and post-1994 governments have systematically neglected service delivery to farm workers, and have not made adequate funding streams available to non-profit organisations in this sector.
The golden age of service delivery: the Rural Foundation, 1982–1998 The Rural Foundation was established in 1982 to promote the development of farm workers’ skills and quality of life.12 It was the most significant philanthropic and development organisation ever created in South Africa to promote service delivery to farm workers, at least in terms of scale and impact.
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Commentators have had mixed feelings about the Rural Foundation. On one hand, it promoted community development and worked to popularise more modern management concepts such as training, productivity enhancement and employee motivation (Mayson 1990). But some social historians suspect that the Foundation’s philosophy was an elaborate form of co-optation of workers to extend the influence of the National Party government in the agricultural sector and to further the interests of farm management in new ways (Du Toit 1993: 325–6). In some ways, these historians argue, the Foundation reinforced and re-articulated the system of paternalism. For Ewert and Hamman (1999: 209), the Rural Foundation had the effect of ‘shifting relations on the farm from a despotic to a consultative version of paternalism’. Similarly, Du Toit (1993: 327) claims that the Rural Foundation did not bring about the dissolution of paternalism: On even the most modernised farms the dominant discourse is at most a liberalised paternalism. There is no inherent contradiction between the two practices. There seems to be space for an almost seamless blend between ‘Japanese’ styles of management and paternalist practice … But at the same time, there is a vastly increased scope for crises and dislocations. Where do ‘reform’ and ‘co-optation’ end, and where does ‘fundamental restructuring’ begin? To unpack the relationship between the Rural Foundation and paternalistic practices, much more conceptual analysis will be required than this book can attempt. This chapter argues that the significance of the Rural Foundation lies elsewhere – in its redefinition of social services to a new clientele, hitherto unnoticed and unserved by the government or civil society. As Beinart and Murray (1996: 7) note, ‘While the Foundation was initiated by farmers and had a paternalist ethos, it nevertheless confront[ed] the question of social reform directly’. By working with established farming interests, the Foundation managed to cast its net extraordinarily widely. It created the space for farm workers to learn new organisational skills and to enjoy new kinds of services, without threatening employers’ authority. It also implicitly showed that the on-farm social universe could be made more porous and open to influences from modern, urban society. The Foundation was established to improve the working and social conditions of farm workers by consulting them directly and by launching projects according to the needs that farm workers articulated. It also managed to
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unite farmers and the government in cost-sharing relationships to fund rural projects. The Foundation emphasised that development should include all aspects of community life. It was generally successful in initiating programmes that became self-sustaining as farm workers assumed ownership of such activities. The Rural Foundation had close links with organised agriculture, and the chairperson, Frans Malan, was the vice-president of the Western Cape Agricultural Union. The South African Agricultural Union was represented on the board, which had close links with the NP government. The Department of Health was also represented on the board. Until 1994, the Foundation organised its activities according to districts that the Department of Welfare and Population Development identified. The establishment of the Foundation could be regarded as the NP government’s attempt to improve the skills and sophistication of the workforce in commercial agriculture, as part of the modernisation of the sector. The Foundation was not a pure NGO because it received significant funding from the government (the Department of Welfare carried about 75 per cent of project costs). But it was managed with significant autonomy and it developed its own style of operation. The Foundation initially aimed to improve the quality of farm workers’ lives by organising projects on farms that would have an impact on the prevailing economic, social and physical circumstances of farm workers. It also intended to improve the relationship between members of different race groups in the farming community The Foundation’s aims gradually changed during its 16 years of existence. Initially, between 1982 and 1990, its projects aimed at advancing different forms of social and economic development. By the mid-1990s, the Foundation began to encourage farm workers to play a bigger role in initiating and managing such projects. This coincided with the body’s attempts to increase the representation of farm workers on its national and regional structures. In 1996, the Foundation described its aims in the following terms: • The promotion of a balanced community life in the rural areas, with extensive community participation and with due consideration given to the environment; • Sustainable service delivery regarding social, economic, physical and management initiatives;
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• The promotion of peace, justice and reconciliation between all stakeholders; • The involvement of the largest number of rural communities possible in the process of community development; • The promotion of a just and fair relationship between employers and employees; • The involvement of organised agriculture as well as the private and public sectors in the process of rural community development. The Foundation’s organisational structure was very compact, extremely flexible and highly decentralised. By relying on rural communities to identify their needs and then acting on them, the Foundation was able to adapt its activities to the diverse needs of various communities. This kept its bureaucracy to a minimum. On a local level, the Foundation functioned on the following lines. Membership of the Foundation was strictly voluntary. A group of farmers, or a farmers’ association, would approach the Foundation to become members. The farmers would be required to form a Community Development Association (CDA) and to elect an executive council. Membership of the various CDAs throughout the country varied between 10 and 100 farmers. The CDAs were autonomous structures that were required to have their own constitutions and bank accounts. Individual farmers were required to set up farm committees on their farms where the farm workers could elect a spokesperson. The Foundation would then appoint a full-time community development officer. The role of this officer was to assess the needs of the various farms in the CDA, in conjunction with the farm workers and the farmer. This would involve intensive work with farm workers to establish their most pressing concerns. These could vary from improved housing, literacy and day-care programmes to recreational facilities. The appointment and salary of the community development officer was the only cost incurred by the Foundation. During the 1990s, the Foundation started to appoint junior community development officers, usually with different skills, to serve various adjacent districts. These would then report to the senior community development officer. The executive councils of the various CDAs within a particular region would elect a provincial executive council. The provincial executives had
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complete operational independence from the Foundation’s headquarters in Stellenbosch. The Chief Director: Research and Development was in charge of departments (headed by national co-ordinators) that managed training programmes covering the various projects initiated by the Foundation on a local level. These departments were Health, Literacy, Training, Marketing, Childcare, Sports, Special Projects (mainly those financed by international concerns) and Research. These officers, although assigned to particular CDAs, would lend their expertise to neighbouring CDAs when their particular skills were in demand. This system prevented unnecessary duplication and allowed a small number of individuals to serve vast areas. Farm workers and junior officials were sent on training courses that the national directorate offered. The programmes that these individuals then implemented at farm level were managed autonomously and were not subject to control by the national directorate. In this fashion, the head office succeeded in empowering its officers and certain farm workers to manage their respective programmes independently. On the national level, the Foundation had three sources of funding. Sixtyfive per cent of the budget was provided in the form of a subsidy from the Department of Welfare and Population Development (now the Department of Social Development), 25 per cent came from the CDAs themselves and a further 10 per cent from international donor organisations. By 1991, its subsidy amounted to R11 million (Rapport, 31/05/1996). By 1996, the Rural Foundation had about 240 full-time employees. Almost 70 per cent of the Foundation’s employees in 1997 were African, Asian or coloured staff members. The Rural Foundation launched a wide array of development programmes. The first were life insurance and funeral schemes for farm workers, introduced after the Foundation’s surveys had indicated that farm workers found it difficult to cope with burial costs and that they, consequently, relied on their employers in this regard. In 1995, the Foundation launched a provident fund, which provided retirement, disability, death and funeral benefits. Workers who joined the fund were able to transfer their benefits if they chose to leave their employers. They could also use the fund as security for a home loan, if they had contributed to it for two years or longer.
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A second major initiative that the Foundation undertook was farm worker housing. In 1989, farmers affiliated to the Foundation spent some R23 million on housing projects for their workers as part of projects that the Foundation initiated. In 1990, the Foundation established the Agriviva Trust, with a view to enabling farm workers to buy their own homes. Five or six farmers would try jointly to improve the social conditions of their workers by establishing ‘agricultural villages’. The villages were established on land ceded from farms and were registered in the name of the Trust. The farm worker would then receive a loan from the Trust, which would be repaid in monthly instalments. Should the worker leave the employ of a farmer, he or she would still retain ownership of the house. And should the worker choose to sell the house, the instalments would be repaid along with any increase in value on the property. A third priority for the Foundation was the elimination of the ‘dop system’, the practice of farmers providing alcohol as a method of partial payment to workers. The Rural Foundation conducted extensive campaigns to eliminate this practice among the farmers who belonged to its various CDAs. In 1987, 55.5 per cent of the farms associated with the Foundation used this system. By 1989, this proportion had dropped to 13.9 per cent. A fourth arena of activities was the promotion of sport and recreation among farm workers. Various sports were organised, which provided farm workers with the opportunity to be trained in meeting procedures and organisational skills. Sports days were organised where farm workers chose teams to compete against those of neighbouring farms. Sports that proved to be particularly popular were rugby, cricket, netball, tug of war and long-distance running. In the Western Cape region, farm workers organised a rugby club that was affiliated with the South African Rugby Union. The Western Cape had enough participating cricket players to organise a regional tournament. Another initiative was the creation of childcare centres. By 1988, the Foundation had initiated about 388 crèche centres for young children on farms around the country. These centres included some 654 caregivers that cared for an estimated 6 900 children. The caregivers were trained by participating in programmes that the Foundation managed. The organisation’s surveys subsequently indicated that the pass rate for Grade One children enrolled in these centres rose from 53 per cent to 83 per cent after the day-care centres were introduced. The work attendance by women whose children were enrolled in
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such centres rose from 70 per cent to 90 per cent. By 1992, the figure had risen to 681 care centres countrywide, involving 883 caregivers and 9 685 children. Typically, the Foundation’s childcare and educational programme proceeded in the following way. After a farmer approached the Foundation, the community development officer would request the farmer to allow his workers to nominate women to be trained in day-care activities. Afterwards, both the newly chosen caregiver and the farmer’s wife would attend workshops on the farm, organised by the community development officer, about the daily operations of the centre. Thereafter, teacher training was provided. The construction of educational facilities was the farmer’s responsibility, either individually or as part of the district CDA. The teachers were regularly sent on training courses, or were awarded grants by the Foundation to continue their training at tertiary institutions. The Foundation also ran a number of projects specifically aimed at empowering rural women. These projects included literacy programmes, day-care centres and women’s clubs. These clubs attended programmes on cooking, needlework, financial planning and home management. Women were also trained in primary healthcare as part of the Foundation’s ‘natural helper’ project. This entailed that a member of the community would undergo a course in primary healthcare to assist communities that were situated in areas where health facilities were not readily accessible. Throughout its existence, the Foundation promoted co-operation with local authorities and agricultural unions. For example, the district councils in the Free State collectively donated R1 million to the Foundation. From 1988 to 1989, the Highveld Regional Services Council donated R80 000 to the Foundation to improve healthcare facilities for farm workers. In some cases, the Councils also helped to contribute towards the 25 per cent of a CDA’s budget that its members had to raise. Where a CDA needed to make use of a municipality’s resources, in health services, for example, a request would be issued and usually was approved by the municipality in question. The Foundation and the various agricultural unions would co-operate cordially and continuously at the same time. Table 7.1 shows the number of farms affiliated with the Foundation and the number of people reached by its projects in the years 1984, 1988 and 1992. The figures include farm workers and their families.
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Table 7.1 Farms affiliated with the Rural Foundation and the number of people reached, 1984, 1988 and 1992
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Year
Number of affiliated farms
Number of people reached
1984
550
42 000
1988
2 790
230 000
1992
4 000
313 000
Source: Landbouweekblad (8/06/1984 5/08/1988 01/09/1992)
Some 500 000 people were reached by the Foundation’s projects in 1997, the year before the body was liquidated. In the Free State, between 450 and 500 farms were affiliated to the Foundation and, consequently, about 40 000 people were reached by its projects. On a national level, the ratio of people that the body employed to that of people whom its projects reached was about 1: 2 083. The Foundation harnessed widespread donor resources. In 1987, Case International, a tractor manufacturer, donated R950 000 to the Foundation for the construction of 14 community centres for farm workers in the Free State. Between 1986 and 1990, Friends of Fruit, an organisation consisting of 12 South African fruit exporters, donated a total of R130 000 to the Foundation for the upgrading of schools in rural areas. Between 1991 and 1993, the British government donated R7.2 million to the Foundation for the expansion of primary healthcare facilities and training in Mpumalanga, Natal, the Eastern Cape and the Western Cape. Other donors were Sanlam, Old Mutual and the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung. Between 1989 and 1991, the South African Citrus Exchange donated about R800 000 to the Foundation for training programmes. In 1992, the Ford motor company donated R350 000 to the Foundation for training tractor drivers. In sum, the Foundation’s unique organisational structure enabled it to respond to the varying needs of particular communities of farm workers throughout the country simultaneously. By relying on spokespeople chosen by the farm workers themselves, the organisation’s community development officers gained a unique insight into the particular needs of the workers. In turn, the workers embraced the projects that the Foundation initiated to such an extent that these projects became self-sustaining. By means of its CDA
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system, the Foundation managed to unite like-minded farmers in their efforts to improve the working and social conditions of their workers in partnership with the Foundation and the state. It is remarkable that the Foundation never employed more than 240 people, yet its projects reached about 500 000 people in its last year of existence. Some of its programmes became self-sustaining because farm workers developed a sense of ownership of them. By consulting farm workers directly and designing their projects for those farms accordingly, community development officers were able to address the specific needs of particular communities in a relatively short period. Moreover, community development was approached as a holistic process that needed to encompass all facets of community existence such as healthcare, technical training and family planning. Taken as a whole, the body’s projects managed to involve the entire community of farm workers in a continuing process of development. Participants in the Foundation’s activities felt that the most important achievement of the Foundation was the restoring of farm workers’ dignity. Farm workers could begin to address their needs in earnest without viewing themselves as wholly dependent on the farmer. Improved communication between farmers and farm workers meant that each was practically educated concerning the needs, capabilities and limitations of the other. It gave progressive farmers an opportunity to implement their paternalistic interventions more effectively. At a deeper level, it legitimised service delivery to farm workers and reassured conservative commercial farmers that this endeavour had the blessing of the state. There were also some weak points in the Foundation’s modus operandi. It only started to create farm worker representation on its CDAs and provincial executive councils in the middle of the 1990s. Perhaps this was too little done too late. Some of the Foundation’s staffers felt that the organisation’s membership was too voluntary and that more assertive attempts should have been made to approach farmers who were not members. Perhaps the Foundation only reached farmers who were more prosperous, or who were more politically liberal and who were bound to attempt to improve the working conditions on their farms in any case. The Rural Foundation was liquidated in May 1998 because of repeated cuts in its annual subsidy from the Department of Social Development. The subsidy declined from a high point of R11 million in 1995 to only R4 million two years
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later. The demise of the Rural Foundation was, in some way, symptomatic of a sceptical ethos that swept the country in the years after 1994, when several programmes that originated under the National Party government were terminated.
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The closure of the Foundation meant the end of co-ordinated service delivery to farm workers. In the government sphere, there was a growing vacuum in this regard, particularly after 2000, as the next chapter will demonstrate. Some farmers have continued on their own with philanthropic activities. But as the next section shows, these activities have not had remotely the same kind of service delivery impacts as those of the Rural Foundation.
Filling the gap: civil society organisations and service delivery A diffuse scattering of NGOs and NPOs (non-profit organisations) has taken the Rural Foundation’s place. As the next chapter will show, government services to farm workers have dwindled and the service delivery gap has been filled increasingly by civil society organisations on their own initiative. There has not yet been a proper nationwide survey of civil society organisations. However, a study was conducted in the Free State in 2002 to assess the current level of civil society involvement with farm workers.13 The survey found that very few human rights organisations operated in the Free State, in contrast to provinces such as the Western Cape that were relatively well endowed with such organisations. In general, NGOs are few and far between. Government funding is nowhere near the scale enjoyed by the erstwhile Rural Foundation. Although there are several initiatives providing services to farm workers, these do not take place on the same scale as the Rural Foundation. Before 1995, the Rural Foundation formed part of a nationwide programme that was well funded, had adequately remunerated staff and well-developed links to municipal and provincial government. The current picture, however, is one of numerous small, under-resourced and isolated organisations, often drawing on little more than the financial contributions and physical energies of farmers and their wives.
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Several types of intervention are taking place. Some organisations tend to focus on basic life skills, such as marriage counselling and domestic violence. Several organisations also address the prevalent problem of substance abuse, especially alcohol, amongst farm workers and the accompanying domestic violence and child abuse. Most NGOs appear to reach farm workers as part of their broader service delivery activities. In most cases, they are based in urban townships and serve farm workers when they come to town, or when the organisation has sufficient resources to undertake visits to the farms. For example, the People Against Child Abuse organisation based in Odendaalsrus focuses on child abuse and labour rights. Although the organisation concentrates on the community at large, many farm workers approach it for assistance. A further example is the Bambanane Trust, which provides training and education on HIV/AIDS at farm schools and in townships. They access the farms via the farm-school teachers. A few organisations provide training for small-scale income-generating activities such as food gardening and waste recycling. Another focus area is farm workers’ agricultural skills development, such as sheep shearing, tractor driving, weaving and baking. Several organisations offer entrepreneurial and empowerment programmes. These organisations also offer training in managerial and financial skills, business plan and constitution drafting and even project development, implementation and after-care. An example is the Mediation and Reconstructive Recruitment Agency in Kroonstad. Although it operates on a shoestring budget and has to raise its own funds, the organisation offers workshops in which skills such as sheep shearing are taught. Most of the NGOs have very modest origins. The Thusanang Development and Training project began as a small knitting group in the 1980s on a farm outside Bothaville. It grew to become an NGO that focuses on skills training and job creation for rural women. There are now 70 groups in the Free State and the North West Province. Skills such as hand knitting, crochet work, hand embroidery, catering, flower arranging, brick making, building, welding and paper making are taught. All programmes include a business skills component to educate rural women on how to run their micro-enterprises. The biggest problem that Thusanang experiences is finding a viable market for the products that the women make. Thusanang helps its members to market their products at local and international shows, and even on the Internet, by working with export companies.
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Some organisations are offshoots of the Rural Foundation, and still utilise the skills and experience garnered during that era. The Lesedi Educare Association in Westminster focuses on early childhood development needs of farm, rural village and town communities. It initiated pre-schools in April 1993 to address the dire need for trained pre-school teachers. The project has expanded throughout the Free State and has extended to the Eastern Cape. There is a growing emphasis on the empowerment of farm workers’ wives. This includes the training of these women as pre-school teachers or childcare givers. The Lesedi Trust and Ntataise Trust are examples of this trend. In the Free State, most of the civil society organisations lack the financial means to operate effectively. The average number of staff in an organisation is 10 to 15. They operate on a voluntary basis and get little or no remuneration for their efforts. Some of the organisations have offices, while others require their members to work from their homes. In most cases, they operate on the proverbial shoestring. Most of the organisations generate their own funds through minimal payments for their services, or by donations received from the community, the municipality or private companies. Many organisations lack basic infrastructure such as telephones and fax machines. For example, People Against Child Abuse has neither an office nor a vehicle. The organisation consists of 44 members, none of whom receives a salary. They raise their own funds and attract farm workers and township residents to their workshops by means of radio broadcasts. Additionally, many of the organisations lack the knowledge of how to write a basic business plan for their organisation. They do not know how to approach government departments and funding organisations for financial support. Some organisations in the Free State cannot even afford transport to outlying areas. Government departments support or finance few organisations and those that have applied for funding complain of the paltry assistance they have received from the government. There does not appear to be a coherent strategy for funding service delivery to farm workers. The only possible source of funding appears to be small grants made available by the the Department of Social Development’s Life Skills programme. However, funding requires the submission of a business plan, and many NGOs lack the skills to prepare such plans. There is very little interaction between service delivery organisations and municipalities. Several organisations mentioned that they had tried to esta-
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blish ties with municipalities so that they could get help with transport and with facilities such as faxes and photocopiers, but these requests are seldom honoured. Many organisations simply act as referral agencies between farm workers and government departments. The Free State Rural Development Association in Kroonstad, for example, investigates cases of unlawful evictions and labour practices and then refers the cases to the Departments of Labour and Land Affairs. The Thabong Community Advice Centre liaises between the Department of Social Development and other NGOs for social queries. These facilitating roles are, however, undermined by the poor interaction with municipalities. In the Free State, the organisations tend to act as isolated pockets of initiative. Most are unaware of other organisations that provide similar services in their region and there is very little, if any, co-operation amongst them. Facilitating co-ordination and interaction between organisations would enhance efficiency and avoid duplication of efforts. Co-ordination could enable organisations to pool their resources to reach farm workers more easily and to provide a broader spectrum of services. However, there is no agreement whatsoever on what government department or non-state agency would be the appropriate co-ordinator of service delivery to farm workers. From what could be ascertained, such a matter has not even been discussed. There are many practical difficulties with providing services to farm workers. It is a constant problem getting access to farm workers, partly due to distances and remote settlements and partly due to mistrust on the part of some farmers. Another problem is that farm workers are generally not available during weekdays. For organisations to gain access to the farms, farmers need to facilitate communication and interaction. In this regard, the Lesedi Educare Association stated that the support of the farmers was indispensable for their preschool programme to succeed. Similarly, Mvula Trust’s sanitation programmes in the Northern Cape showed clearly that the enthusiastic co-operation of the farmer was essential to the success of their projects (Mvula Trust 2002). Once a formal relationship has been established, farmers tend to develop sufficient trust to contact the organisations themselves for help for their farm workers. For example, some Free State farmers have approached the Benesa Training and Enterprise Development Services to provide training to their workers.
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A further problem is that many of the organisations have been working through the farm schools, which provide access to farm workers and their children. For example, the Partuma Aids Awareness Group in Parys offers workshops on HIV/AIDS and other diseases at farm schools. This also creates the opportunity for farm workers themselves to attend the sessions. However, in the light of the new policy of the Free State Department of Education to transfer farm workers’ children to hostels in the towns, this system of service delivery may be lost. Although the hostel system may be beneficial for the children and may provide a better alternative in terms of education than the farm schools, access to farm workers will be made more difficult. This could entail the further marginalisation of the farm workers who remain on the farms. One solution to this problem was found in Kroonstad. The organisation, RT Distributors has converted a farm school into a multi-purpose Community Service Advice Centre. The centre will function as a pension pay-out point, as a centre for ABET (adult basic education and training), as an emergency reporting centre, and as a health centre. This will enable the school to continue as a community facility for farm workers. But this kind of initiative appears to be rare, and not officially encouraged by the government. Civil society interventions are currently fragmented, underfunded, poorly co-ordinated and badly integrated with government institutions. This is a totally inadequate response to the magnitude of the development gap that characterises farm workers as a group. In the 2003 HSRC survey of farmers in the Northern Cape and Free State, farmers were asked about the non-state organisations active in their area. The overriding impression is that very few NGOs are active in the rural areas of the Free State and Northern Cape. In many cases, farmers could not recall any NGO activity in the previous ten years in their areas. There has been no effective substitute for the Rural Foundation in terms of stature, skills, funding, reach and credibility. Several farmers expressed their appreciation for the work that the Rural Foundation had done, and expressed their regret that this body has ceased to function. Although some of the farmers remain suspicious of NGOs, several farmers in the survey supported potential NGO involvement, especially in the instances where they felt that the government has failed such as HIV/AIDS awareness training and care, the upliftment of women and basic skills training. To get some perspective on this issue, the weakness of South African civil society in the farm worker sector can be compared with the robust non-
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profit sector in the United States. Significantly, the US government makes large amounts of funding available for NGOs to provide services to farm workers. For example, numerous health-oriented NPOs have created special programmes for farm workers. Outreach officers are frequently employed to visit farm workers, provide basic health training, and perform health needs assessments. Some valuable examples of teaching aids have been developed. There is a much stronger tradition of government support for NGOs than is the case in post-1994 South Africa. This, in turn, leads to the creation of ‘meta-organisations’ that promote the effective functioning of grass-roots NPOs. Examples of such collective NPOs are the Farm Worker Justice Fund, the Rural Community Assistance Corporation and the Rural Coalition. The latter is an alliance of more than 90 culturally diverse community-based groups in the US and Mexico, which collaborate to advance social justice and sustainable development in rural areas. Large nationally based NPOs also concentrate on lobbying the US Congress and departments to promote programmes and funding streams for farm workers.
Possible new alternatives in the NGO sector Churches are a very powerful potential service delivery agency in the countryside. Religious organisations such as the NGK’s (Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk) Project Amos initiative already offer spiritual guidance as well as life skills. Project Amos has proven to be one of the most durable and extensive programmes for farm workers. It focuses on basic life skills such as household finance and domestic relationships. In a path-breaking venture in Somerset East in the Eastern Cape, Project Amos has developed into a fullyfledged development agency, the Blue Crane, which teaches farm workers about technical and basic management skills (Landbouweekblad, 14/5/2004). Another example is the Oranje Vrouevereniging (OVV), which has offices throughout the Free State and concentrates on social problems such as child and alcohol abuse, marriage counselling and counselling on social issues. Many farmers and farm workers have ongoing experience of church activities on the farm, and this provides a trusted institutional base on which to build development programmes. In the 2003 HSRC survey, some farmers envisaged a more developmental role for churches, and expressed the opinion that churches are not doing enough for farm workers. Churches are well placed
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to intervene in various ways such as reducing alcohol abuse and domestic violence on the farms, undertaking home visits, performing church services, providing death and bereavement counselling and assisting AIDS orphans. Such suggestions are not without merit, and the precedent of the highly active churches during the Depression years of the 1930s may well set an example for churches today. Another possible institutional locus for providing assistance to farm workers may be the farmers’ unions. In the vacuum that the Rural Foundation left, some farmers’ unions have become more directly involved in farm worker development. In partnership with the official Norwegian development agency (NORAD) and the Department of Labour, the farmers’ representative organisation AgriSA carried out a countrywide training programme for farmers and farm workers that focused on child labour, AIDS and occupational health and safety. The programme eventually reached almost 25 000 farmers and farm workers throughout the country, who were trained in dealing with these social issues (Farmer’s Weekly, 28/5/2004). However, few local farmers’ associations have become involved in farm worker development. The 2003 HSRC survey indicated that there may be scope in this regard. Certain farmers thought that farmers’ organisations could play a constructive role in service delivery to farm workers. Various suggestions were offered regarding the potential role of farmers’ unions in farm worker training and mentoring. Examples of these suggestions are that farmers’ associations could check that their members comply with the minimum wage and a minimum standard of housing and sanitation for farm workers, they could establish a labour pool of workers so that farm workers can secure employment or piecework, they could provide skills training, and they could play an arbitration role between farmers and workers. The developmental significance of farmers’ associations should not be overstated. In the HSRC survey, some farmers saw no role for farmers’ associations in service delivery to farm workers. Others felt that the associations should work for the employers, and not for the employees, particularly in the application of the new labour legislation. There were inklings that farmers’ associations are not functioning as well as could be hoped, expressed in such sentiments as: ‘The farmers association currently does not do a thing for the farmers, so how can it help the workers?’
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It appears that there is a much larger potential role for farmers’ unions to play, although their internal issues, which are sometimes ideological, would have to be addressed. A third type of institution that may play a role is human rights organisations. In certain parts of the country, where there is a greater level of professional skills, such organisations have built up a significant presence, particularly in the Western Cape and Limpopo.
Conclusion The role of civil society in the provision of farm worker services is still very underdeveloped. There are currently only a few highly fragmented and scattered organisations providing services. The most significant organisations appear to be human rights organisations (in certain parts of the country) or churches. There are no adequate funding flows from the government to any of these institutions. The overall impression is that nobody really knows what to do with the agricultural sector. Are farm workers’ problems primarily rights problems, welfare problems or a lack of skills? Not only is there no coherent vision of development for the farming sector, but there has been virtually no opportunity for existing organisations to join forces with one another. Despite some of its weaknesses, and its close relationship with the apartheid government, the Rural Foundation has remained a hard act to follow.
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CHAPTER 8
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Municipal political representation of farm dwellers
Despite some provincial variations, the story of post-1994 government service delivery to farm workers is one of an initial flurry of activity and then a steady decline and deterioration. There was a brief honeymoon period from 1995 to 1999 when rural representative councils were created in all rural areas and significant subsidy streams were made available to commercial farming areas. Thereafter, two trends emerged. At municipal level, rural and urban areas were amalgamated into combined municipalities in 2000 and a period of urban dominance ensued. At the same time, at provincial level, several rural services were curtailed in the interests of administrative streamlining and financial cost-cutting. These trends were particularly evident in provinces such as the Free State and Northern Cape. The Western Cape, in contrast, retained an opposition government from 1994 to 2004. Here, the farmers’ lobby remained more powerful and this kept farming issues on the public agenda. This chapter provides an overview of the political representation of farmers and farm workers on Transitional Representative Councils (TRCs), and municipalities after 2000. Much of it is based on interviews with rural councillors in the Free State and Northern Cape. The experience of these provinces appears to be fairly typical of the whole country during the period in question, although there would, of course, have been local variations.
The honeymoon period: 1995–2000 A two-tier system administered rural areas during this period. This system consisted of district councils (DCs) and TRCs. The TRCs were also called Rural Councils or Transitional Rural Councils in certain provinces. The TRCs’ rationale was to serve as a communication channel between the DCs and the rural populations, and to make decisions on fiscal allocations. The TRCs were established in a variety of spatial locations, including extensive agricultural
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areas, intensive (irrigated) agricultural areas, small rural housing settlements and rural mining communities. The powers and functions of TRCs varied between the provinces. In most provinces such as the Northern Cape, the TRCs had purely advisory powers and the DCs took final decisions. In many cases, the TRCs’ advice was taken, with the result that they appeared to have more power than was formally the case. The Free State was significantly different. Its Rural Councils exercised actual decision-making powers, although the implementation of those decisions rested with DCs. During this five-year period, the TRCs grew in confidence and innovativeness. They secured significant amounts of expenditure and services for their areas. As such, they represented the golden age of rural local government in post-apartheid South Africa. The DCs succeeded the Regional Services Councils (RSCs), introduced by the National Party in 1984. Most of the DCs continued to enjoy the same strengths as the RSCs – they tended to be small and streamlined organisations that raised levies from the commercial sector to spend on capital infrastructure in under-serviced and poverty-stricken areas. The RSCs were one of the most successful developmental institutions initiated under the apartheid system. This is because they were one of the first institutions explicitly aimed at fiscal redistribution from wealthier white areas to deprived black areas. The fiscal effectiveness of the DCs depended on their location. Those DCs that included large commercial areas in their jurisdiction naturally raised more revenue from business levies than those in economically backward areas. In the Northern Cape, for example, Diamantveld DC (in the Kimberley area) raised around R17 million per annum, while the Bo-Karoo DC (in the De Aar area) raised a mere R3 million. The levy funding made an enormous difference to under-serviced areas because the vast bulk of the funding was used to finance water, sanitation, electricity and road infrastructure. Rural areas benefited handsomely from this revenue. Some DCs also used their funding for more innovative and economically oriented purposes such as tourism promotion, fire-fighting and taxi ranks. DCs also participated in land reform projects and made administrative assistance available to local municipalities in the urban areas.
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This assistance typically took the form of electricity maintenance, information technology and treasury services.
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The TRCs were subsidiary to DCs. They were established in 1995, in terms of the Local Government Transition Act (LGTA) 209 of 1993. At the provincial level, a Member of the Executive Council (MEC) could issue a proclamation to provide for the constitution, election, functioning, powers, duties, assets, rights, employees and financing of TRCs. Electoral wards and voters rolls were created by MECs. All TRCs were to be elected according to a system of proportional representation (PR), although MECs could also allow a certain number of TRC councillors to be elected by interest groups. Examples of interest groups are landowners, farm labourers, women and traditional leaders. This led to some provincial variations. In the Northern Cape, for example, the PR electoral system led to almost exclusively white TRCs, since very few farm workers were registered as voters. The Northern Cape TRCs were small, often consisting of three or four councillors. Almost all TRC members were farmers, and most TRCs were dominated by the National Party. In contrast, the Free State created ten-member Rural Councils, of which only four members on each council were elected by PR. The other six members were allocated to the two main interest groups. This meant that three members on each council would be elected by farmers, and three would be elected by farm workers. This protected vote for farm workers meant that the Free State councils became much more innovative in addressing issues of relevance to farm workers, such as sanitation, water supply and housing. The main functions of TRCs were to secure the best services possible for the inhabitants of the rural areas. In 1996, the LGTA was amended again through the LGTA Second Amendment Act 97 of 1996. The amendment stipulated that no power or duty could be delegated to a TRC without providing sufficient resources for the exercise of such power. Increasingly, TRCs enjoyed their own revenue flows, which they drew from DCs, but also from the national fiscus, via the unconditional equitable share subsidy. Because of their institutional variations, the TRCs functioned in different ways in the various provinces. In the Northern Cape, TRCs were not much more than advisory institutions representing rural interests in the DCs’ debates. Their relationships with their parent DCs were of paramount importance. In most areas, the relationship was very constructive. In other areas, however, there were indications that the DCs starved the TRCs of funds through
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believing mistakenly that it was illegal or inappropriate to spend money on privately owned commercial farmland. In the Free State, more innovative measures were taken. Rural Councils were given real, binding decision-making powers, and were regarded as fullyfledged rural municipalities that were equal to their urban counterparts. Meetings were held monthly, in contrast to the Northern Cape TRCs, where the two-monthly meetings were less effective in transacting business. The TRCs never developed their own administrative systems, but remained dependent on DCs to carry out their decisions. Some DCs created effective support systems for TRCs. In the Free State, each DC appointed dedicated staff members to assist TRCs to organise meetings, draft budgets, liaise with other stakeholders and ensure that decisions were implemented. Given their lack of administrative staff, the members of the TRCs tended to rely on the organisational infrastructure of the institutions that they knew well. In particular, the farmers’ associations became a useful conduit for councillors to reach their constituencies. Farmers’ associations tended to receive regular reports from their TRC councillors. These dynamics had advantages and disadvantages. The dominance of the farmers’ unions was a useful old-boy network, but it was often politically conservative. There were some notable exceptions, however.14 The farmers’ unions understood the practicalities of agriculture and of life on the platteland.15 These unions were the social lifeblood of very dispersed families often living in harsh and remote conditions. The close association with farmers’ interests meant that contentious issues were seldom tackled. In particular, the TRCs studiously avoided the looming and much-dreaded question of a possible land tax. In the Northern Cape, many farmer councillors expressed their fears of farm workers dominating TRCs. They feared the emergence of some kind of farm worker trade unionism and militancy. What, then, of farm workers’ interests? In the main, the farmer councillors represented these paternalistically. Some councillors took pains to hold meetings with farm workers in their areas, but given the logistical difficulties of organising meetings, this was probably rare. In fact, it is unlikely that many farm workers ever really knew that the TRCs existed. It is also doubtful that their employers would have given them time off work, provided transport to public meetings, or condoned their becoming involved in political discussions
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or activities. Typically, farm workers’ interests were represented according to farmers’ views concerning the real interests of farm workers. The highly unequal and quasi-feudal social system in much of the platteland militated against farm workers becoming full participants in the TRC system. Clearly, effective democracy could not be introduced overnight. Nevertheless, incremental political changes were taking place. In the Free State, special innovative measures were taken to empower the farm worker representatives. In terms of the Free State Rural Council electoral system, which guaranteed at least three farm worker seats per council, there were many more farm workers who had the opportunity to serve on the councils than in the Northern Cape. Many of these farm workers were severely handicapped in council meetings because they were illiterate or had only the barest grasp of council discussions and formalities. In the Free State, there were also cases of farmers and their own employees serving as councillors; in such a context, it is unlikely that farm workers would have been able to exercise their own judgement, at least in public. The DCs in the Free State took special measures, however, to enable farm workers to participate on some kind of equal footing with their farmer colleagues. In the Northern Free State DC, for example, special pre-council meetings were held between DC officials and farm worker representatives to workshop the council agendas so that farm worker representatives understood the issues. Farm worker councillors’ experiences offer a valuable example of a social system in flux. Some black councillors reported that white farmers viewed them with suspicion when they wanted to report back to their farm worker constituency. Farmers appeared to think that councillors would work ‘undercover’ for trade unions. In other areas, however, the response was more constructive. One black councillor in the northern Free State reported that he had had no opposition from the farmers and could hold meetings on farms without any problems. This may well have been because the farmer councillors opened communication channels by using the farmers’ unions, which legitimised the activities of their black councillor colleagues. One innovation, started by farmers’ associations in the Bethulie district, was to ask farmers to bring their farm workers to the meetings of the associations. Facilitators and audio-visual equipment were then used to explain to the workers which projects were being undertaken. This gave the TRC the opportunity to introduce the farm worker representatives to the farm workers.
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DCs generally encouraged this kind of professional co-operation between TRCs and farmers’ unions. For example, in several Northern Cape areas farm forums were created. In the Colesberg and Kimberley districts, the DCs employed experienced development facilitators to initiate farm-based discussion forums. This proved to be a dramatic form of social innovation, even though these forums were never formalised in law. The facilitators conducted separate workshops for farmers and farm workers and would then bring them together to establish a forum. Such a forum typically consisted of several farms, which enabled workers to meet their peers from neighbouring farms. Participation by farmers and farm workers was voluntary. The forums were autonomous, with no political party or farmers’ association connections, and all interested groups could be involved, including women, small farmers and land reform beneficiaries. The facilitators conducted needs assessments and, in many cases, the results were striking. Where decisions were reached collectively, the forums approached the TRCs for funding for projects and services. With the abolition of rural local government in 2000, most of these forums disintegrated, although their legacy lingers in some areas. The normative significance of these forums could hardly be overstated. For the first time, farmers and farm workers could share a platform on which they were not only formal equals, but where outside facilitators could unpack and resolve their issues and problems. But these tentative innovations took place in a context of underlying and unresolved social tensions. In some TRCs, there were increasing demands on the councillors to intercede in the relationships between farmers and their workers, for example in farmers’ handling of the issue of burial rights or in cases of farm worker evictions. Such cases placed the relationship between farmer and farm worker councillors under strain. In many cases, the TRCs provided excellent services to their constituencies. The TRCs drew on the administrative staff of the DCs, which typically employed experienced engineers, financial staff, environmental health officers and roads engineers. DCs tended to function like well-oiled machines. In fact, the TRCs often had access to much higher calibre staff than did the urban municipalities or the Transitional Local Councils (TLCs). Remarkably, the NP-oriented politics of the TRCs did not seem to impair good relations with the ANCcontrolled DCs. Because the DCs were generally large and well-established organisations, a great deal of their business was transacted in committee, such as health or transport committees, where party politics did not matter much.
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These institutional systems enabled the TRCs to undertake significant capital spending. In the Northern Cape, the TRCs typically shared the DCs’ levy revenue,16 which they spent on projects such as road maintenance, water and heating for farm schools, rural fire-fighting and upgrading rural public facilities such as agricultural show-grounds. Some TRCs purchased graders to repair gravel roads and others spent a large proportion of their budget on farm worker training. TRCs also undertook expenditure on infrastructure for farm workers. Typically, TRCs were prepared to make subsidies available for farm worker housing, water provision or electricity, usually on the pre-condition that the farmers concerned also made a financial contribution. While this approach had the benefit of securing employer contributions, it unfortunately discriminated against those workers whose employers were unable or unwilling to pay their share for infrastructure. Some TRCs and DCs drew up holistic rural development plans. In the Karoo District, for example, the DC highlighted the need for farm worker literacy programmes, teenage pregnancy campaigns, agro-processing, development of tourist routes, irrigation infrastructure, schools, crèches and clinics. The TRCs sometimes channelled significant amounts of funding to commercial farming areas. This was drawn not only from DCs’ levy revenue, but also from the national fiscus. TRCs, like urban municipalities, were entitled to receive an equitable share grant – the proportion of the national tax revenue which was divided amongst national, provincial and local governments. Table 8.1 shows the level of grants that one DC in the Northern Cape made available to TRCs. In the southern Free State, the Transgariep TRC spent a total of R500 000 during 1997/8 on functions ranging from farm workers’ sanitation, electricity and water to vermin control, or exterminating jackals and other predators. In the same year, Sandrivier TRC in the central Free State spent a total of R1.3 million on electricity, sanitation, water, farm security, fire-fighting, passenger transport and the maintenance of roads. Koepel TRC in the northern Free State spent R2.9 million, which included purchasing erven for evicted farm workers.
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Table 8.1 Equitable share received by TRCs in the Bo-Karoo District Council, 1999–2000
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TRC
Equitable share
Amount allocated for farm worker water, sanitation and electricity
Doringberg
R668 856
R264 827
Oranje-Karoo
R679 550
R167 455
E’boya
R642 526
R198 061
Rhenosterberg
R667 230
R179 517
Central Karoo
R677 126
R210 000
Source: Setplan/MXA (2002: 16)
The DCs in the Northern Cape were particularly dynamic. The Northern Cape Department of Water Affairs and Forestry (DWAF) assisted DCs to raise funding for an extensive farm worker sanitation programme, as shown in Table 8.2. Within this larger sanitation programme, each TRC adopted its own strategic goals concerning farm worker sanitation. Doringberg TRC in the Prieska area, for example, had the following goals: • To develop an awareness among landowners of the requirements and the implications of the Water Services Act; Table 8.2 Funders involved in rural sanitation programmes, Northern Cape, 2000/01 Funder
Rands in 2000/01
DWAF
4 066 000
Department of Housing & local government
9 240 000
Consolidated Municipal Infrastructure Programme
2 147 500
Diamantveld DC
4 590 000
Benede Oranje DC
1 000 000
Bo-Karoo DC
500 000
Namaqualand
500 000
Hantam
30 000
Kalahari
490 000
Source: Setplan/MXA (2002: 4)
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• To promote strategic plans for water and waste management on farms; • To provide sanitation facilities to approximately 55 per cent of, or about 1 000, households; • To develop a strategy to train consumers in maintaining and operating water and sanitation systems; • To establish forums where farm workers and landowners could meet to discuss needs and solutions to problems. However, some TRCs found that the emerging political climate diluted some of the farmers’ enthusiasm. The possibility of sanitation subsidies being linked to land tenure issues created anxiety and reluctance on the part of some farmers to apply for them. Some farmers were increasingly annoyed by the decline in services that the provincial departments provided, in particular the deteriorating state of rural roads and mobile clinics. This soured relations between farmers and government institutions. The TRC system led to significant investments in farm worker infrastructure until 1999. In 2000, municipalities were dramatically restructured. Urban and rural municipalities were amalgamated, thereby completing the phased introduction of post-apartheid local government. This heralded a decided bias against spending in commercial farming areas.
Amalgamated municipalities and urban bias In terms of section 152 of the Constitution, every municipality ‘must strive within its financial and administrative capacities’ to provide services to the communities within its area in a sustainable manner and to ensure the social and economic development of those areas. Two key sets of legislation form the basis of post-2000 municipal government. The Local Government: Municipal Systems Act 32 of 2000 stipulates the types of functions and the style of functioning of municipalities. Significantly, municipalities are to become the main developmental arm of the state, operating in a participatory and integrated manner. This suggests the devolution of a wide range of developmental functions from national and provincial level to municipalities. Given the amalgamation of rural and urban municipalities after 2000, this injunction has obvious relevance for service delivery to the farming community.
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The Local Government: Municipal Structures Act 117 of 1998 prescribes the ways in which municipalities are to be established, as well as the different types of municipalities, namely metropolitan, district and local municipalities. The nub of the new system is that metropolitan areas have single-tier municipalities, the ‘Metros’, while most rural and smaller towns have two-tier municipalities, the local and district municipalities. Farming areas generally fall under the jurisdiction of local municipalities.17 Despite several legal attempts to define the powers and functions of local and district municipalities, the situation remains unclear in key respects. For example, there are two distinct philosophies concerning the locus of real developmental decision-making and initiative. Some government departments promote district municipalities as the main developmental tier, while others insist that district-level government organisations are mainly support organisations for local municipalities. The existence of some rural areas, namely the so-called district management areas (DMAs) created in 2000, which do not have local municipalities at all, complicates the situation. In these areas, all services are performed directly by district municipalities and district municipalities govern farming communities directly. The Constitution and the Local Government: Municipal Systems Act visualise a highly participatory, community-oriented, bottom-up style of municipal government, which would contribute directly to empowering citizens to promote their own welfare. Chapter 4 of the Municipal Systems Act calls for mechanisms, processes and procedures for community participation. Section 17 spells out that the municipality must take into account the special needs of people who cannot read or write, people with disabilities, women and other disadvantaged groups. In addition to the participatory qualities of local government, the concept of integration is central to the ways in which municipalities are meant to operate. This concept includes racial, spatial and functional integration. One significant underpinning is the notion of integrated planning, which leads to the drafting of integrated development plans (IDPs). All municipalities are required to compile IDPs. In terms of the Municipal Systems Act, IDPs are meant to be highly participatory, involving all sectors of the community in giving inputs and designing development strategies. IDPs are also meant to integrate different departments’ sectoral plans into one coherent whole. In terms of other government legislation, water services planning (water,
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sanitation and waste removal) and transport planning are already required to be part of IDPs. Other sectors are sure to follow this route.
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Curiously, then, amid this ideological focus on integration and proactive participatory mechanisms, the fate of farm workers has largely fallen off the agenda. The reason is not hard to find. The rural constituency is dramatically outvoted by urban majorities almost everywhere. The new élite of councillors is almost invariably drawn from urban areas, so it has little knowledge of, or understanding or even interest in, rural areas. In particular, the urban class basis of the ANC is becoming evident (Du Toit 2004: 991; Natrass & Seekings 2001). Other factors lead to this urban bias. Many black councillors are self-made urban men and women who have been successful in government service, urban trade and commerce, and trade unions in the towns. Their social relationship with white commercial farmers – many of whom remain untransformed in their thinking and social behaviour – remains an acutely uncomfortable one. A further factor is the sheer force of urbanisation and demographic shift, due to the steady stream of farm workers migrating to the towns. This places enormous pressure on urban infrastructure and resources. The new urban élite may be forgiven for giving priority to the pressing issues on their doorstep, rather than tackling the complex social relations – inherited from the previous political order – in the countryside. A further reason for the urban bias of the new municipalities is the way that wards were demarcated. Almost invariably, the Demarcation Board has deliberately joined town and farming areas into the same ward, ostensibly leading to rural-urban integration but more often leading to total domination of the rural area by the urban leadership. It is possible that the Demarcation Board performed such gerrymandering deliberately, to undermine conservative rural constituencies. The intense level of political competition for councillor positions – largely due to local unemployment and the paucity of other forms of social and economic advancement in the smaller towns – means that farmers or farm workers stand virtually no chance of being nominated for a seat, let alone of being elected. Some exceptions do occur, particularly in opposition circles such as the Democratic Alliance (DA). In these circles, farmers make up a pool of local political talent. But many such DA candidates are outvoted by black township electorates. With rare exceptions, the political party structures have been appropriated by urban
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representatives. In many municipalities, there are currently no farmers or farm workers on the council. The links between the farming community and local government have effectively been broken. Farmers and farm workers have largely been disenfranchised at local level. Most agricultural unions do not have the same contact with municipalities in their areas that they had eight or nine years before the time of writing. For example, the farmers’ union at Zastron in the eastern Free State had a subcommittee consisting of five farm owners and five farm workers. After several months, it was still trying unsuccessfully to get the municipality involved. There are rare exceptions to this trend of rural neglect. In Somerset East in the Eastern Cape, the municipality created an NGO in partnership with Project Amos to promote farm workers’ involvement in income-generating projects (Landbouweekblad, 14/05/2004). Such innovations appear to be few and far between. The Local Municipal Structures Act also stipulates that municipalities must establish Ward Committees, consisting of about ten individuals in each ward, to enable community-level interests to be articulated to the ward councillors. The object of a Ward Committee is ‘to enhance participatory democracy in the Local Government’. Where Ward Committees have been active and inclusive, they have made a great difference to the quality of local democracy and representation. But in many municipalities, Ward Committees have not functioned well, or have not even been established. There is no special representation for the farming community. Ward Committees have, in many cases, not been effective in representing rural interests within municipalities.18 Their members are usually chosen at a community gathering, chaired by the ward councillor. These selection processes are often dominated by urban residents, at least partly because meetings are more accessible to them. Farmers or farm workers are seldom elected to Ward Committees. As shown earlier, the social and political context gives rise to difficulties. In the northern Free State, a member of the agricultural union stressed that the lack of municipal services to the rural areas discourages farmers from cooperating with Ward Committees. Furthermore, the way that legislation such as ESTA is implemented deepens conservatism among white farmers. Because farmers feel intimidated by the municipal system, some farmers neglect
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service provision to farm workers, especially when they believe that it is no longer the farmers’ obligation but the municipality’s duty to provide services. In this way, the bonds of paternalism are weakened without the secular state being strong or determined enough to make good the extension of service provision to a marginalised class. In effect, farm workers’ interests are falling between the cracks. A further sentiment, raised by farmers during research interviews, is that the deteriorating agricultural sector in South Africa makes it very difficult for farmers to take part in the new municipal system. Municipalities’ lack of business sense, combined with their lack of understanding of the difficulties of farming, create apathy, negativity and resistance on the part of the farmers. Municipalities’ poor grasp of local economic development and of the significance of agriculture for the local economy alienates farmers. The spate of municipalities levying excessive rural rates on farmers – which the farmers later challenged successfully in court – did not help matters. In this context of mutual suspicion, social tensions have come to the surface. There is not much visible government service delivery in rural areas, and Ward Committees do not monitor municipal activities in the wards. Councillors claim that they are unwelcome on the farms and that farmers do not want to give them access to the farm workers. In instances where councillors do reach farm workers, they sometimes encounter disinterest on the part of farm workers who claim that they fear losing their jobs if they co-operate with the councillors. In some cases, municipalities have attempted to intervene in farm labour or land tenure issues and this has set them at loggerheads with farmers. Because labour issues strike at the heart of the employment relationship, it is not surprising that employers react vehemently to such apparent interference. Nevertheless, there have been some promising innovations. In Setsoto Municipality in the Free State, a black councillor encouraged farmers to organise themselves into a group specifically to deal with their grievances. In Metsimaholo Municipality, the council created a rural committee with a mandate to approach farmers and to identify service delivery needs on farms. These workers became strongly united in the face of the municipality’s urban bias. In Tswelopele Municipality, one of the Ward Committees included four farmers and six farm workers. The councillor for the ward commented that the solidarity between the farmers and farm workers on the committee
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eclipsed their racial differences, ‘because both farmers and farm workers are perceived in a derogatory way. As such, they club together and see each other not only as attacked, but their fate as the same. This in turn promotes a sense of equality and a need to work together’ (Motheke 2003: 10). These innovations are potentially significant, because they indicate new ways of transcending racial and spatial divisions. But they remain the exception, not the rule. At present, the system of municipal representation lends itself only too easily to urban domination and rural marginalisation. The future of rural political representation will depend on several factors: the willingness of political parties to court rural constituencies, the willingness of farmers to become involved in urban-based municipal issues and the ability of farmers and farm workers to create common ground against urban constituencies. There is enormous scope for leadership here. As farmers’ unions become reconciled to the new municipal order – including the new municipal rates system – and become accustomed to interacting with the new urban black élites, some interesting new types of political accommodation may become possible.
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Service delivery and the micro-welfare system
Service delivery on the farms has always been an ad hoc affair. On most farms in South Africa, the farmers have supplied the bulk of services to farm workers themselves. Although the TRC period from 1995 to 2000 began to provide alternative delivery channels, government services such as housing, water, sanitation, electricity, farm worker transport and schooling of farm workers’ children remained, by and large, the responsibility of employers. The provinces’ differing institutional histories complicates the situation further. In the erstwhile Cape Province (now the Western Cape, Eastern Cape and Northern Cape provinces), strong rural institutions were created to provide rural roads, healthcare and disaster management. In 1917, Divisional Councils were created in the Cape Province. These institutions were recast as the Regional Services Councils in 1984. Divisional Councils were unique to the Cape, with the other provincial governments tending to provide rural health services and roads themselves. In the Cape Province, therefore, farmers were accustomed to a greater degree of municipal representation and involvement. They were also accustomed to some degree of municipal taxation. In the remaining three provinces, farmers were more of a law unto themselves as far as service delivery to farm workers was concerned. There has never been a uniform South African policy regarding government rural service delivery. The Rural Foundation, which flourished during the 1980s, was successful because it accommodated itself to an existing social order. It encouraged farmers’ sense of paternalistic responsibility towards their employees, albeit in new, more egalitarian and participatory ways. In effect, the social order was a micro-welfare system, in which the farmer played the role of a mini-state vis-à-vis his employees and their families. This chapter describes and analyses the decline of the micro-welfare system.19 It also deals with the service delivery vacuum that is increasingly evident on the farms. The nub of the problem is that the current South African government is deeply ambivalent about the micro-welfare system on the farms. Some
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policies appear to encourage it, while others have the intended or unintended effect of undermining it. Invariably, the losers are the farm workers.
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Farming communities as micro-welfare systems A fairly typical phenomenon in underdeveloped countries is that certain constituencies or geographical areas are ‘uncaptured’ by the state (Hyden 1980: 2). Uncaptured in this sense implies the existence of power-holders or gatekeepers whose support for the democratic government and its policies has not been effectively secured. Such communities have few bonds of loyalty to, or little pragmatic interest in, the prevailing political order. Uncaptured communities display little interest in the official policy demands placed on them, because the proposed measures make no sense in their own local context or because they have found other ways of dealing with their needs and problems. In South Africa, the problem of uncaptured marginal communities surfaces in three types of context: extensive commercial farming areas, periurban shack areas and tribal rural areas. In commercial farming areas, the extension of government services to farm workers is an implicit challenge to the prevailing farmer-worker relationship. The inherited relationship between many farmers and their workers is a micro-welfare one, a system in which the effect of relatively low wages is partially offset by private welfare contributions and infrastructure services on the part of farmers. After 1994, the democratic government tried to strengthen the social safety net in South Africa by means of a formal social assistance system. This includes child grants, pensions, disability grants and the Free Basic Water and Free Basic Electricity policies. At the same time, the government tried to improve the legal status of farm workers by means of tenure protection laws, the Labour Relations Act, the Basic Conditions of Employment Act and the introduction of a minimum wage for agricultural workers. This has led to increasing tensions between the universalistic system of government services and the micro-welfare system operating on the farms. Before 1995, the informal micro-welfare system and the government service delivery system were fairly well attuned to one another. The government provided a few bulk services such as road maintenance, disaster management
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and rural clinics. The main agent for service delivery to the actual individual farm workers was, however, the employer. After 1995, this system began to fall apart. In the mid-nineties, the government made a tragic error of judgement, a mistake caused by poor interdepartmental co-ordination as well as a lack of a coherent philosophy on rural social development. The land tenure legislation and labour legislation – introduced to secure the tenure of farm workers on the farms and to improve farm workers’ wages – was introduced before any effective system of government service delivery to farm workers was introduced. The brief flowering of rural funding, channelled through the TRCs, had dried up by 2000. As the implementation of these rights-based government policies proceeded, the writing was on the wall for rural local government. Farmers felt doubly threatened: by the decline of rural services and by the new land tenure and labour legislation. The root cause of this poor timing was the government’s lack of a coherent rural policy. The Rural Development Framework remained largely unimplemented, so there was no coherent paradigm in terms of which land reform, local government and labour policies could be synchronised. By 2004, government services to the farming community had deteriorated, due to restructured government budgets that directed funding away from the commercial farming areas in favour of under serviced urban, peri-urban and tribal areas. After 2000, the new municipalities showed a decided lack of interest in the commercial farming areas, and this, together with the land and labour legislation, impressed upon farmers how marginalised the farming sector had become. Deteriorating rural services, tough global economic conditions and the vague looming threat of municipal land taxes created a climate in which farmers and farm workers perceived their interests to be the major casualty. Farmers experienced the government as a threat, instead of a partner in a joint developmental cause. Many indications are that employers have responded by reducing on-farm employment or by reducing the services they provide to farm workers. In the minds of many farmers, providing employment or on-farm housing and services has become a risky and unprofitable endeavour. With the benefit of hindsight, the situation could have been handled differently with very different consequences for the rural social order in the commercial farming areas. If there had been a phased approach, the entire rural social order would have looked very different. A more logical approach
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would have started with the extension of government services to farm workers (as TRCs and district councils were beginning to do), preferably accompanied by economically productive services such as farm worker skills training. After this, rural rates to fund these services could have been introduced. Only then should the land tenure and minimum wage legislation have been introduced. A class of secure, upwardly mobile farm workers would have been created, the incentives for farmers to employ workers would have been strengthened by the government’s attention to service delivery to farm workers and a great deal of the political heat surrounding land tenure and labour legislation would have been avoided. The order of events was fundamentally dictated by the government’s lack of interest in the commercial farming sector, patterns of government spending and the rights-based approach towards farm worker land tenure. In attending to the fate of farm workers, the Department of Land Affairs (DLA) was almost a decade ahead of other departments such as Housing, Labour and Health. This meant that rights-based land tenure issues overshadowed service delivery issues by many years. To add fuel to the fire, the government removed trade protection barriers from the agricultural sector, forcing farmers to take their chances in the harsh new globalised economy. An additional factor was farmers’ perception that the government was unconcerned about the growing problem of rural crime and farm attacks. This combination of factors undermined the fragile bonds of social reciprocity that were the basis of the micro-welfare system on the farms. In this atmosphere, farmers became defensive. Many farmers are no longer adherents of the micro-welfare philosophy. They have reduced their workforces and scaled back their on-farm housing. This means that farm workers’ problems have now largely become the government’s problems – for jobs, housing, medical care, transport and household infrastructure. As Du Toit and Ally (2004: 48) observe: ‘Many of the core issues affecting workers’ welfare – services, housing, education, transport and health services – are no longer conveniently the responsibility of a single, relatively well-resourced and easily available paternalist employer. Instead they are now the responsibility of much more distant and often overstretched rural local governments.’ This state of affairs requires the state to have significant capacity to reach its citizens directly. Given the current condition of local government in South
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Africa, this is simply not the case. Growing shack communities on the fringes of the towns attest to widespread rural unemployment, which not only drains the social grants system but is attended by a whole host of social problems.
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This raises important policy questions, which the ANC government has never faced up to properly. Should the government support the microwelfare system, based on farmers’ role as service intermediaries? Or should the government attempt to reach farm workers directly? The former option is, by far, the most realistic. In this scenario, the government will have to work with farmers co-operatively and win them over to extend its reach to farm workers. It is almost impossible for the South African state to generate sufficient resources to manage a formal delivery system, which would bypass farmers, in remote agricultural areas. In more densely populated rural areas, particularly in the eastern part of the country, the chances of success may be somewhat greater. Can the micro-welfare system be revived to provide modern services? There are indications that it would be much more realistic to work within the microwelfare approach, and to build on the inherent social capital it represents, preferably by using incentives such as capital subsidies. There is a great danger of fatally undermining effective service delivery by expecting under-resourced government agencies to take the place of the farmer.
Farm workers on provincial government agendas Undertaking a proper comparison of different provinces’ current spending on agricultural and farm worker services would be a major task – albeit a very informative one. In the absence of this information, it is useful to consider how the current round of Provincial Growth and Development Strategies (PGDS) deals with the issue of farm workers. Table 9.1 lists the number of times that farm worker issues were included in the PGDS of eight of the provinces.20 The overview shows that, with the exception of the Western Cape, farm worker issues received scant attention in the PGDS.
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Table 9.1 Farm worker issues in Provincial Growth and Development Strategies
Service delivery to farm workers (number of mentions) Training for farm workers
L
M
EC
NW
G
NC
WC
FS
–
–
1
2
–
1
Numerous
4
x
x
x
x
x
Diversification of farm worker skills Low wages in agriculture
x
Job losses in agriculture
x
Overcoming seasonality
x
Education/farm schools
x
Transport for learners
x
Improving standard of living of farm workers Urbanisation
x
x x
x
Credit facilities
x
Profit-sharing
x
Housing
x
Note: Provinces have been abbreviated as follows: Limpopo (L), Mpumalanga (M), Eastern Cape (EC), North West (NW), Gauteng (G), Northern Cape (NC), Western Cape (WC), Free State (FS).
The Western Cape’s PGDS included several innovative observations and suggestions. It proposes various options for farm workers to improve the standard of living of their households and for enabling them to increase their stake in, and degree of control over, the rural economy (Western Cape 2003: 32). This will require: • Renewed efforts towards sharecropping and subleases for farm workers; • The creation and/or expansion of non-agricultural activities on farms or in nearby villages; • The development of smallholdings and garden-farming facilities on the urban fringe;
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• Increasing pressure on farm owners to institute profit-sharing and other types of worker participation; • Greater emphasis on the training and further education of farm workers and new farmers.
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The Western Cape strategy made several specific proposals to improve farm workers’ quality of life (Western Cape 2003: 75). These include: • Counselling on labour efficiency and relations; • Multi-skilling of labourers; • Training of labourers; • A levy on the use of seasonal/casual labour; • Complementary economic activities for the families of labourers; • Finding off-season productive activities by means of agri- and ecotourism development, and the establishment of home industries; • Broadening access to agricultural opportunities by involving an increasing number of historically excluded/marginalised and disadvantaged groups as owners and entrepreneurs (gender equality should be strived towards in this regard); • Promoting access of small-scale farmers to commercial agriculture; • Facilitating secure tenure through land redistribution and farmer settlement; • Promoting sharecropping and equity participation; • Facilitating access to independent small-scale farming and market gardening (urban agriculture and home gardens); • Empowering communities for a career in agriculture through skills training programmes; • Facilitating access to credit and agricultural infrastructure; • Providing, maintaining and upgrading transport routes by which produce is delivered. Furthermore, among the most significant changes that the Western Cape expects to take place in the agricultural sector is the gradual urbanisation of farm workers. Accompanying this will be an increase in the number of workers who own houses that they occupy, equity participation for workers on the farms on which they are employed and a steady increase in the demand for secondary and tertiary education for farm workers’ children. This will generate medium- to long-term borrowing needs for farm worker households, which will therefore need appropriately structured lending packages (Western Cape 2003: 33).
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These interventions need to be situated in a broader planning context. For the Western Cape, it is important to minimise the rural-urban divide by: • Exploiting the competitive and comparative advantages of sub-regions; • Developing a functional hierarchy of urban centres (central places); • Providing and maintaining adequate road infrastructure to facilitate access to urban and rural amenities; • Providing and maintaining other physical infrastructure for rural areas, thus improving their attractiveness as areas in which to settle and work; • Providing and maintaining education, health, conservation and recreation in rural areas to support a balanced, safe, clean and healthy environment; • Ensuring an effective development planning process with development frameworks at the outset (Western Cape 2003: 23). Furthermore, the Western Cape strategy asserted that the provincial government needs to promote development through providing guidance to local authorities to design and implement urban and rural development support programmes. This will facilitate holistic development with all supportive facilities (Western Cape 2003: 84). As far as sectoral policies are concerned, the Western Cape strategy noted the importance of transport and housing for farm workers’ families. Improvements to land-use management and the transportation system will aim to facilitate more efficient movement between places where activities such as work, education and recreation occur. This will not only lead to a reduction in travel time, creating opportunities to spend more time on the activity pursued. More importantly, this will lead to a reduction in travel costs, which will have a significant impact on living standards by increasing levels of disposable family income (Western Cape 2003a: 27). A housing policy for farm workers within nearby towns is in the process of being submitted to the board. Once submitted, it will become part of a Provincial Housing Programme (Western Cape 2003a: 29). The Western Cape’s strong focus on the problems of farm workers can be explained at least partially by the fact that it does not have an ex-homeland area to contend with. In the other provincial strategies, there is often no distinction drawn between commercial farming areas and ex-homeland areas. The general impression is that the focus is primarily on the latter.
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Although the coverage of agricultural and rural development issues in the provincial strategies is very varied, and notably sparse in places, Table 9.2 makes some noteworthy points.
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Table 9.2 Agricultural and rural development issues in Provincial Growth and Development Strategies L
M
EC
NW
x
x
x
x
G
NC
WC
FS
x
x
x
General agricultural support Support emergent black farmers; farmer settlement Agricultural extension services
x
Promote commercial farming in traditional areas
x x
Agricultural marketing
x
Partnerships: commercial and emergent farmers
x
Job creation/labour absorption
x
x
Human resource development in agriculture
x
x
x
Restructure state-owned assets (farms)
x
Alleviate poverty in agriculture
x
Land reform
x
x
x
Animal health
x
Rural SMMEs*
x
x
x x
x
x
Household food production
x x
x
x
x
x
x
x
Support for co-operatives/ farmers’ associations
x
x
Agricultural research
x
x
x
x
LED and agriculture
x x
x
Agricultural exports Farm machinery
x
x
Agricultural environmental management
Agricultural infrastructure
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x
x
x x
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L
M
EC
NW
G
NC
WC
FS x
Agricultural diversification
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Rural services Rural transport*
x
Rural housing*
x
x
x
Rural infrastructure* Rural health*
x
Rural recreation*
x
Rural education*
x
Farm policing
x
Agri-processing
x
x
x
Agricultural tourism
x
x
x
x
x
x
x x
x
Spatial development x
Development corridors Urbanisation
x
Development of rural settlements
x
x
Note: Provinces have been abbreviated as follows: Limpopo (L), Mpumalanga (M), Eastern Cape (EC), North West (NW), Gauteng (G), Northern Cape (NC), Western Cape (WC), Free State (FS). Services indicated with * are not specifically for commercial farming areas. These could include traditional rural areas.
Firstly, both Limpopo (2004: 18) and the Eastern Cape (2003: 10) noted the low budget allocation to government agricultural services. The Eastern Cape argued that budget allocations to the provincial Department of Agriculture will need to be: • Sufficient to support a large-scale programme of smallholder agricultural development and the targeted development of cash crop and livestock production; • Structured to enable district-based implementation (2003: 38). Secondly, the Eastern Cape referred to the need to reform its agricultural extension services: The Provincial Department of Agriculture will need restructuring to support the new concentration on food security. This will include a refocused and decentralised extension service, a re-organised organisational structure, investment in training, and
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sufficient funding for core food security programmes. Effective delegation will be crucial to support successful programme implementation at a district level. (Eastern Cape Province 2003: 38)
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As a consequence of the normative policy void described earlier, government departments have adopted very different approaches to service provision to farm workers. Some departments have scaled down their services. Some work closely with farmers, and others – deliberately or unintentionally – have marginalised farmers. The following section provides a brief overview of these approaches.
The contradictory approaches of government departments After 1995, the TRCs, assisted by district councils, steadily increased their level of service delivery to farm workers. In contrast, provincial departments’ level of service delivery declined. In some cases, it virtually disappeared. By 1996, farm worker housing subsidies had almost been eliminated. Practically no housing subsidies had been provided to farm workers since 1994, due to the Department of Housing’s insistence that recipients of subsidies must have full land-ownership rights. In 2004, government departments’ track record of declining service delivery to farming communities included the closure of farm schools, which caused school children to have to walk long distances to school. It also included poor access to medical services, unresponsive police services, poor communication about social services and a shortage of recreation facilities (Landbouweekblad, 27/08/2004). Health systems in the commercial farming areas have been reduced in several provinces, despite the provision in section 27 of the Constitution that everyone has the right of access to healthcare services. In the case of the Northern Cape, mobile clinics have been almost completely phased out. This is mainly due to cost factors and the consolidation of clinics and hospitals in the towns and cities. Farmers constantly mentioned this problem in interviews conducted during 2003. Ambulance services in many rural areas have largely fallen away. Similarly, in the Boland district of the Western Cape, mobile clinic visits fell from 11 000 at 552 points in 1997 to
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4 000 visits at 173 visiting points in 2000. This is a decrease of 64 per cent (Clarke et al. 2004: 467). In the education sector, government support of farm schools has declined or been phased out entirely. Access to schools poses an increasing problem for farm workers. There are very few farm schools left. In the Free State, the Department of Education (DoE) is now seeking to reduce the number of farm schools. The department may be aiming to end the farm school system. Hostels in the towns will increasingly need to accommodate farm children. Using section 14 of the South African Schools Act 84 of 1996, the DoE has moved to take over the responsibility of rural education from commercial farmers. It is doing this by entering into lease agreements to secure access to farm schools. However, this has not been consistently implemented. By September 2002, agreements covered less than 30 per cent of farm schools in five provinces. The Free State had the highest percentage (33 per cent, or 1 519) of farm schools in South Africa in 2001 (Free State 2005: 101). At the beginning of 2005, the province had 21 ‘platooning’ schools. Platooning schools are two schools that use one building for two different sessions during a day. The province had unsafe structures at 27 farm schools. There were 441 schools without water, of which 204 were non-viable farm schools and 104 were farm schools without signed agreements. There were 117 schools without sanitation and 544 schools without electricity (Free State 2005: 91). Many farm schools face closure or are chronically underfunded. Where there are no farm schools, farm children are forced to live with relatives, with strangers, or in hostels in the towns. In the 2003 HSRC survey in the Free State and Northern Cape, several farmers and workers mentioned that the accommodation provided for the children in the towns was a major source of concern. Respondents, both farmers and farm workers, suggested that accommodation facilities be established in town for the children as an urgent necessity. Adult basic education and training (ABET) facilities for farm workers seem to be few and far between. In the 2003 HSRC survey, 42 out of 56 workers had no idea where to access ABET services. Social services are not readily available. Social workers in small towns are rare. They have enormous difficulties in meeting the vast demands placed on them. Not only are social
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workers understaffed, but they have practical difficulties in reaching the farms at a suitable time. Some of the social workers do not feel safe travelling long distances to remote farms. Consequently, they only respond to serious problems like child abuse. This is usually only when people present themselves to the social workers’ offices in town (Schenk 2003: 38). It is not surprising, therefore, that the HSRC survey showed that farm workers have very little access to social workers. Some farm workers claimed that they had never even heard of social grants (Atkinson 2003: 26). A further grievance, particularly on the part of farmers, is the decline in road maintenance – secondary and tertiary roads in particular. In 2002, the Northern Cape government estimated that it would require R487 million over five years to prevent the disintegration of gravel roads in the province (Landbouweekblad, 30/8/2002). Whereas TRCs were innovative in promoting road maintenance, even to the extent of providing graders for local farmers to use, the new municipalities have allocated virtually no funding for road maintenance. In some parts of the country, untarred roads are maintained only because farmers do so at their own expense. The 2003 HSRC survey showed that farmers generally knew about the services that the Department of Labour (DoL) provided. Labour officials inspected farms periodically to verify that farmers had signed proper labour contracts. However, most farm workers had no idea of the services that the DoL offers. The DoL is the custodian of the massive Skills Development Levy fund, so this is a cause for concern. Significantly, in the 2003 HSRC survey of 64 workers, not one worker had accessed a DoL training grant. No respondents even knew that such grants existed, let alone where they could be accessed. Workers can access grants via Labour Centres, but these are located only in the main cities. Regarding telecommunications, Telkom’s failure to extend automatic telephone services to farms increasingly aggrieves farmers in more remote areas. The lack of telecommunications has intractable consequences for farmers attempting to compete in the globalised economy or who need to ensure their own physical safety. A 1996 report in the Free State (Free State Department of Agriculture 1996: 90–2) contained a concise list of farmers’ concerns about the parlous state of service delivery to farm workers:
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• Housing subsidies are available in municipal areas, but not on farms, which contributes greatly to the desperate housing shortage on farms; • There is a shortage of teachers’ houses on farms; • Most farm schools do not have recreation facilities; • Transport systems for farm workers and their families are lacking, and, in particular, there is a great shortage of transport for schoolchildren; • Health services on the farms are insufficient, because town-based clinics are too far away and mobile clinics are too few in number; • Insufficient skills training is provided for farm workers. There are institutions, however, that have consistently promoted service provision to farm workers. A rare case of policy innovation was that of the Land Bank, which introduced a social discount programme to encourage farmers to provide services to farm workers. Such services included training, mentoring, housing, infrastructure, adult and child education and land ownership. All retail clients of the Land Bank were eligible to apply for interest rate discounts, on condition that they improved services to farm workers. However, the Land Bank is now abandoning this innovative programme to focus primarily on mentoring and training instead of on farm worker infrastructure. The two most successful service providers to farm workers have been Eskom, the parastatal electricity provider, and the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry (DWAF). A policy framework on the electrification of farm worker houses has been drafted by the National Electricity Regulator (NER). It states that the NER will provide free basic electricity (FBE) to all poor households, including those of farm workers. FBE entails the government making a contribution towards the cost of connection, as well as to an operating subsidy. Eskom has continued to extend electricity reticulation to farm worker homes, from both grid and nongrid sources, such as solar power. Central government subsidises the capital costs associated with grid and off-grid electrification through the National Electrification Fund. The subsidy is based on the average capital cost per non-grid connection. Non-grid electricity connections are provided in poorer rural communities where grid supply will not be a viable option for some time. Households are required to pay a monthly service fee, which was about R58 per month at the time of writing. To this end, the recommended level of FBE subsidy is R48 per month, per Solar Home System (SHS) connection.
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Eskom’s steady performance can be attributed to the fact that it is working to achieve stringent output targets. It has not been inhibited by farm workers’ lack of house ownership or land tenure or by local government’s withdrawal of capital grants. During 2002, the Northern Cape had the largest number of connections to farm workers’ houses (a total of 764 connections), followed by the Free State (570 connections) and the North West province (424 connections). The connections in the other provinces range between 72 and 334 (NER 2002). Both DWAF and Eskom favour an indirect supply approach. They work closely with the farmer as a service intermediary. In Eskom’s case, residents on private land may receive electricity subsidies but the residents are not direct customers of the supplier. They are supplied by the customer, who is the landowner. The landowner must carry a portion of the capital cost of the connection and take responsibility for any work beyond the owner’s own point of supply, as well as for all operating costs. This means that the landowner now becomes a reseller of electricity, and is therefore subject to requirements in respect of standards. Of all the government departments, DWAF has developed the clearest institutional understanding of the role of the landowner. In the Water Services Act 108 of 1997, the term ‘water services intermediaries’ is used to describe a situation in which a water services authority’s relationship to a particular water consumer is mediated through a landowner. This landowner could be a farmer, a mine, a church, or any other landowning institution. According to the Act, an intermediary is ‘any person who is obliged to provide water services to another in terms of a contract where the obligation to provide water services is incidental to the main object of that contract’. The obligation may be implied or explicitly provided for in the verbal or written contract between the parties. One can interpret this to mean that where an employment contract provides for residency, the obligation to provide water services will be implied as the residents would not reasonably be able to access water services from any place other than the farm. In other words, the provision can be interpreted to mean that any person who obtains permission to reside in a locality, therefore, has a prima facie claim on the owner of the land (who may be an employer) to ensure that water services are provided. It is possible that other departments will follow the same approach as DWAF.
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In effect, DWAF is trying to formalise the micro-welfare system. Many farmers are willing to continue providing services to their on-farm workers, but there is an increasingly common expectation that their workers should pay rent for their housing. This trend is being hastened by minimum wage legislation, which allows farmers to deduct up to 20 per cent from a worker’s salary for goods in kind. A survey conducted in 2001 found that 21 per cent of on-farm residents reported that they pay rent (CRLS 2001). Of these workers, about half pay more than R90 per month. Patron-client relationships are becoming formal, monetary relationships. The challenge now is to encourage other sectors to promote service delivery to farming areas and to integrate all sectors’ approaches to service delivery.
The triangular service delivery relationship There is an ambiguity at the heart of any policy regarding service delivery to residents on private land and to farm workers in particular. On farms, the rental relationship between farmer and farm worker is usually incidental to the main purpose of the relationship, which is an employment relationship. This means that farm owners are unlikely to make any profitable returns on accommodating their workers, unlike, for example, owners of urban apartments. This, in turn, means that landowners will not garner sufficient income from the residents to plough back into improving their facilities (once again, unlike the situation in urban apartments). Pressure or compulsion from the government to improve facilities will have the same perverse consequences that the application of minimum wages and land tenure has had. The more the government makes demands on the landowners to ‘enforce’ service provision, the greater is landowners’ incentive to scale accommodation down by evicting farm workers, for example. This places a greater burden on the state to provide housing and services to the homeless. Consequently, it is in the interests of the state for landowners to continue providing housing. The policy goals of the state and the interests of the landowners and farm residents need to be balanced. In the triangular relationship between the government, farm owners and farm workers, farm workers assume three roles. Firstly, they are clients of the government, in which case the relationship between the resident and the civic institutions (municipalities, for example) is the primary dimension.
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Secondly, they are employees, in which case the relationship between the resident and the employer is the primary dimension. Thirdly, they are tenants, in which case the relationship between the resident and the landlord is the primary dimension.
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In the towns and cities, municipal service delivery to tenants on privately owned land is a normal phenomenon. Many houses are rented by their occupiers, but this does not pose difficulties for municipalities. The occupier or the owner is responsible for service payments, depending on the nature of the rental contract between the owner and occupier and depending on which party registered with the municipality as being responsible for the services account. In urban areas, some occupiers have their own relationship with the municipality (the occupier as client), while in other situations, the landowner mediates the relationship (the resident as tenant is paramount). Because workplaces tend to be removed from residential areas, it is rare, in urban areas, that the resident as employee relationship is paramount. The exception to this is the live-in domestic worker. In the case of commercial farms, contracts between landowners and municipalities, or between occupiers and municipalities, have typically not been concluded. Many landowners provide services themselves (water from boreholes, for example), or residents have made their own provision for services. Typically, residents on farm land do not establish a direct relationship with the municipality. The main relationships that prevail are those of farm workers as employees and tenants. Whereas landowners and land occupiers in urban areas have clear relationships with municipalities and other organs of state, rural areas are often characterised by social élites who are important potential developmental agents, but whose relationships with government agencies are still poorly established. These élites – notably, farm owners – can play a constructive or a destructive role.21 The gatekeeping role of landowners may create difficulties for government officials who wish to visit residents. Many landowners are reluctant to allow strangers onto their land. This is particularly prevalent in areas where there has been widespread criminality and violence such as farm murders. The appropriate protocol is for government officials to arrange visits beforehand with landowners, but this is not always feasible. So some farm dwellers hardly ever get to see government officials, as Chapter 4 of this book noted. The result is that some farm workers fall out of the service delivery loop altogether.
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In this context, government departments can take one of three approaches. Firstly, they may opt for a supply-driven approach. With this approach, the municipality sets out to determine the needs of residents and to provide those services directly. It may engage directly with farm workers to provide services or funding. The municipality is the key development agent. This approach has the advantage of being a universal roll-out of uniform services, but the disadvantage is that it requires a great deal of state resources such as staff, travel and equipment to ensure that services or funding are actually provided or disbursed. Where the state encounters opposition from landowners, it will have to resort to compulsion (see the third approach below). The supplydriven approach assumes that the municipality has the resources to provide a universal service – an assumption that is often far from accurate. A second approach is a demand-driven one. With this approach, the state plays an enabling role and farmers have to take the initiative to access services. The municipality advertises services or funding opportunities and invites or encourages farm workers (or farm owners) to apply for them. The advantage is that residents or intermediaries such as farmers assume the responsibility for seeing that services are installed or provided, albeit with government assistance. The disadvantage is that not all residents or intermediaries will take the trouble to apply. So motivation or awareness activities, as well as incentives, will have to accompany the approach to enhance the penetration of the programme. This approach has a second advantage, however: it can be extended incrementally, with the most receptive farm owners first in line, so that the maximum impact is achieved within the shortest possible time – as the Rural Foundation so successfully showed. This is the ‘80–20 principle’ of securing the easiest 80 per cent first, then addressing the difficult 20 per cent. But some residents may never get services at all, because their employers are unwilling to acquire them for a variety of reasons. In such cases, the only option left for residents is to vote with their feet – to seek alternative residence or alternative employment altogether. This latter situation resembles that of tenants in city apartments. If landlords do not maintain the facilities properly, residents leave to find better accommodation. The third possible mode of service delivery is compulsion. In this case, the government compels intermediaries (farmers) to provide services, or at least to make a financial contribution to providing them. This is difficult because it requires a great deal of political will and organisational resources to monitor
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and enforce compliance. The biggest drawback, though, is that it may have the perverse consequence of farmers shedding labour rather than being dragooned into a service delivery relationship.
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A limited degree of compulsion could be combined with either the demanddriven or the supply-driven approaches. In the case of a supply-led approach, compulsion could be exerted to get farmers to participate in needs assessments or to register their residents. Sanctions would then be applied if landowners do not co-operate. In the case of a demand-led approach, compulsion could be used against the small minority of recalcitrants after all other incentives have been attempted. Generally, compulsion should be a very last resort. Compulsion tends to provoke resistance, which is expensive and time-consuming to deal with.
Municipal service delivery after 2000: a patchwork of district and local functions Municipalities will increasingly need to decide on the appropriate approach to service delivery. The municipal IDPs remain very important and strategic documents for setting out a municipality’s philosophy on rural service delivery. Even powerful provincial departments have to recognise the legal supremacy of municipal IDPs. The crucial question will be how municipal decisionmaking intersects with national and provincial departmental policies. Until now, municipal service delivery in rural areas has been conducted in a policy vacuum, with the result that sectoral departments’ different agendas have held sway. It is not clear whether this will continue in future. The question of intergovernmental relations is addressed in more detail below. Related to this is the issue of allocating powers and functions between district and local municipalities. South Africa has a two-tier local government system. Each district municipality (DM) has several component local municipalities (LMs). But the powers and functions of each tier of municipal government remain vague. Ostensibly, the allocation of powers and functions between district and local municipalities has been officially defined. LMs are responsible and accountable for the following across their municipal areas: potable water supply systems, electricity reticulation insofar as the preceding transitional local councils performed that function, domestic waste-water and sewage disposal systems, local cemeteries and local streets. Significantly, curative
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health (clinics) is no longer a municipal function, although municipalities can perform this function on an agency basis for provincial governments. DMs are responsible and accountable for the following: environmental health services, municipal roads that form an integral part of a road transport system for the area of the district municipality as a whole, and the establishment, conduct and control of cemeteries and crematoria serving the area of a major proportion of municipalities in the district. In some provinces, DMs are also responsible for water and sanitation services. In practice, things are not so clear. There are various inconsistencies be-tween the official definition of powers and functions and what happens in practice. These inconsistencies arise from three factors. The first factor is the decision-making fiat of the national-level Department of Provincial and Local Government (DPLG). DPLG decisions dictated that some DMs are responsible for rural services, whereas other DMs are not. This creates a lack of uniformity. The general principle is that, in those DM jurisdictions where LMs are well developed, the LMs will provide services to rural areas. But in those DM jurisdictions with weak LMs, which are usually the deep rural or tribal areas, the DMs will provide rural services themselves. This distinction is particularly well developed in the water and sanitation sector. Where LMs have significant capacity, they are designated as Water Services Authorities (WSAs). Conversely, where LMs are weak, the DMs are designated as WSAs. Incidentally, the difficulty with the capacity principle as the basis for allocating powers and functions is that capacity can change over time as municipalities either improve or lose their competence in a certain field. The second factor is that rural service delivery has hitherto been a function of DMs. LMs have traditionally been urban institutions with little experience of providing services to far-flung farming areas. Even those LMs that have significant capacity to manage their own affairs and are designated to be WSAs tend to be at a loss when having to contemplate rural service provision. This has created an uncomfortable mismatch between the legal mandate for service delivery, generally located at LM level, and the institutional capacity to deliver those services, still located at DM level. The third factor is that some DMs have special arrangements for remote rural areas. These areas are called district management areas (DMAs). DMAs are
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unusual because they fall under no LM jurisdiction. In the DMAs, a one-tier local government system prevails, in contrast to the normal two-tier system in the rest of the country.22 The DMAs are, therefore, spatial units that fall directly under DMs. This means that DMs responsible for DMAs have to be able to extend their services to rural areas directly. In many cases, this duplicates the rural service delivery capacity that LMs are also expected to build up to provide rural services in their jurisdictions. The only difference is that for most DMs, this has been a much easier exercise than for the LMs, because the DMs inherited a great deal of rural development capacity from their precursors, the Regional Services Councils. Most LMs have had to build up their rural capacity from the beginning. This confusion regarding powers and functions is apparent in many municipalities. It is a product of the complex patchwork of systems and practices inherited over the last few decades. Tables 9.3 and 9.4 indicate some of the variable elements making up this patchwork of powers and functions. They consider a sample of six DMs in four provinces. Table 9.3 considers DMs’ role as water and sanitation providers. The information is based on the valuable Demarcation Board assessments conducted in 2002, although it is amplified by interviews with municipal officials. Table 9.3 shows how few DMs are designated as WSAs in rural areas – and yet they continue to provide rural water services, presumably because the LMs have not been able to perform these functions. Five of the DMs in this small sample are not officially declared WSAs, yet three of them are still involved in providing water and sanitation to rural areas. These are the Boland, Frances Baard and Eden DMs. This is not at all surprising, given that their organisational capacity to reach farming areas is probably much greater than that of the LMs in their areas.
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Table 9.3 District municipalities as Water Services Authorities in rural areas Province
DM
Is the DM a WSA in rural areas?
Comments
Western Cape
Boland (Stellenbosch area)
No
The DM provides water and sanitation in rural areas in one local municipal area (Drakenstein).
Eden (George area)
No
The DM provides rural water and sanitation in the DMA. It provides rural water where no system is in place (Mossel Bay LM), and oversees the Klein Karoo Rural Water Scheme (Oudtshoorn Municipality).
Free State
Xhariep (southern Free State)
No
The DM provides no rural water services.
Northern Cape
Frances Baard (Kimberley area)
No
The DM performs water and sanitation functions in the DMA. It also provides sanitation to farming areas.
Eastern Cape
Amathole (East London area)
Yes
The DM provides rural water and sanitation to 74% of residents in the rural areas of five LMs. In other rural areas, water is provided by DWAF or Amatole Water Board or farmers.
Cacadu (Port Elizabeth area)
No
The DM’s engineers participate in bulk water supply planning. Water services are provided in the DMA.
Some interesting issues are reflected in Table 9.4. A curious feature is that environmental health, which has recently (2003) been declared to be a DM function throughout the country, is performed by only one DM in this survey (Amathole DM). This is because environmental health has traditionally been a local municipal function, primarily oriented to urban areas. Many DMs are not particularly geared up to perform the function.
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Table 9.4 Rural service delivery
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DM
Roads
Fire-fighting/ disaster management
Rural curative health (clinics)
Boland
DM function. Service agreement with province. LM responsible for farm roads.
–
DM functions on behalf of provincial government to rural areas in all LMs. The agency agreement between the provincial government and the DM expired on 30 June 2004. Provincial government is considering taking back the health function.
Eden
DM function. Service agreement with provincial government. Eden provides funding to LMs for maintenance of minor roads.
–
DM still provides a partial rural service in three LMs (Mossel Bay, George, Knysna). Eden DM’s expenditure on health is much higher than expenditure by LMs.
Xhariep
Not a DM function. LMs and provincial Department of Public Works responsible for roads.
–
Not a DM function. Responsibility of the province. Category Bs (LMs) have health inspectors.
Frances Baard
Agent of province for maintenance of provincial roads.
Veld firefighting units for farmers.
Some provision of clinics in Sol Plaatje and Dikgatlong LMs. Clinics provided on behalf of the province.
Amathole
–
–
Helps weak LMs with primary health care in rural and urban areas.
Cacadu
The DM function on behalf of the province to rural areas was terminated at the end of 2000. DM participates in transport planning, but has no other roads function.
Regional office DM functions on behalf of province in rural areas. Health is for disaster management. operated on an agency basis. DM provides healthcare in the rural areas of four LMs.
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Another key feature of Table 9.4 is that the locus of decision-making may well be different from the locus of operational activities. This is particularly the case with ‘agency relationships’, where decision-making is located at one level of government, but another level of government functions as implementing agent. Three DMs (Boland, Frances Baard and Eden) function as agents for provincial governments in the maintenance of roads. In the health sector, all provinces are steadily taking back the health function, but many municipalities still function as agents of the province. Table 9.4 shows that such agency relationships are found in almost all the DMs in the survey (with the exception of Xhariep DM, which is a new and under-resourced municipality). It may also be possible, in future, that LMs act as agents for DMs, and vice versa. This suggests that a complex web of intergovernmental relations may develop. Rural areas, which are notoriously difficult to service from a logistical point of view, may experience their own web of agency relationships. In some cases, DMs have begun to act as agents for LMs – particularly in cases where DMs have to have rural delivery capacities anyway, due to the existence of DMAs in their jurisdiction. For example, a collaborative effort between the Northern Free State DM and Mafube LM has evolved to provide sanitation to rural areas within the Mafube farming area. In the erstwhile Cape Province, as previously mentioned, the tradition of district-level service delivery in rural areas is particularly strong. This legacy is carried through into the Eastern Cape, Western Cape and Northern Cape provinces. DMs still play a role in these rural areas, for three possible reasons: firstly, due to the residual inheritance from TRCs (and presumably local municipalities will take over these functions in future); secondly, due to the existence of DMAs, which means that DMs have to build rural service delivery capacity anyway; and thirdly, due to the fact that some DMs have been declared as WSAs. For some years after the municipal amalgamation in 2000, DMs continued servicing farm workers even though rural service delivery had officially become the function of LMs. For example, the Northern Free State DM continued to build toilets on farms and to provide water pipes and house taps to farm workers’ houses. It also assisted in disaster management by providing radios to farmers to communicate in cases of emergencies such as veld fires. The DM financed the installation of solar panels in rural settlements, and
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DM councillors were involved in needs assessments. The Northern Free State DM experienced good relations with the farmers’ unions, based on years of co-operative work.
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However, there is ample evidence that, after 2000, the allocation of municipal powers and functions in rural areas became very confusing. Because DMs were no longer responsible for service delivery in rural areas, they began to withdraw from these areas on the grounds that they had become the task of the LMs. The Northern Free State DM, for example, ceased its expenditure on rural roads after 2000. Similarly, by 2002, the Thabo Mafutsanyane DM in the eastern Free State had pulled out of the commercial farming areas completely. Many DM officials are concerned that LMs lack appropriate experience in rural service delivery. LMs often have no database of farmers, property sizes or property values. They do not have the staff or organisational structures to undertake rural work. Significantly, LMs lack the valuable levy revenue that DMs still collect. This in itself is a source of exasperation to farmers, who are still required to pay DM levies . In Motheo DM in the Bloemfontein area, for example, the farming community contributes about R1.5 million per annum in levies. Farmers need to pay these levies in the face of ever-dwindling services from the DMs, and no services whatsoever from the LMs. Some DMs do still have farmers as representatives on their councils, in contrast to LMs, where farmer representation is virtually non-existent. This only adds to the farmers’ frustration. There is a complete mismatch between powers and functions on the one hand and representation and finance on the other. Based on evidence from the Free State and Northern Cape, the first round of municipal IDPs made little mention of service delivery to farm workers.23 This is not surprising, because very few farmers or farm workers were actively involved in the IDP drafting process. Even where rural issues were included in IDPs, very little was actually implemented (there were some notable exceptions, however).24 And even when rural functions were budgeted for, the chronic financial crises that LMs faced (which, in turn, were caused by low payment rates and very limited urban rates bases) often meant that budgeted items were not actually implemented. Masilonyana Municipality in the Winburg area in the Free State budgeted R800 000 for rural sanitation for 2002/3, but the municipality never actually allocated the capital funding to implement this due to cash-flow problems. In Mangaung Municipality in
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the Bloemfontein area during 2002/3, only R25 000 was spent in rural areas, in comparison with a total of R3.4 million budgeted for these areas. The Metsimaholo Municipality had budgeted a sum of R1 million annually for rural communities, but the money has not yet been used. In practice, the proper roles of DMs and LMs in rural areas remain unclear. It is not even resolved which tier of municipal government, district or local, should be the primary developmental tier, and where the important policy decisions should be made. This ambiguity was already evident in the Local Government White Paper of 1998 (Fast 1998: 308). There are political champions for the primacy of DMs, just as there are political champions for LMs. This has severely hampered capacity-building at both levels because municipalities do not know what the functions are for which they should build capacity. It is consequently often not clear which staff members should be located at which level. Many DMs and LMs are currently muddling through their relationships. This depends primarily on personal factors and the ability of district and local politicians to work together (Atkinson, Van der Watt & Fourie 2003: 16). To make matters worse, the upheaval occasioned by such dramatic institutional restructuring has resulted in a loss of staff, and therefore in a loss of institutional memory. Some important new functions have not been explicitly allocated to any tier of government, notably local economic development and land reform. It is not clear which levels of planning should have paramount importance. Should municipal IDPs override provincial plans? Should local IDPs override districtlevel IDPs?
The role of municipalities in the rural areas This lack of clarity goes beyond the relationship between DMs and LMs. At a more profound level, provincial departments (and, in some cases, provincial offices of national departments) have to make a fundamental decision about whether they want to provide certain services directly to rural communities, or whether they want municipalities to do so. If municipalities (whether district or local) become the main development agents in the rural areas, then provincial departments would primarily retain a funding, support and monitoring role. The confusion stems from the fact that different departments
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are currently going in their own directions, giving rise to a patchwork system of intergovernmental relations. In the meantime, service delivery to farm workers has faltered.
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The current allocation of powers and functions between provincial, district and local government is also confusing. At present, the powers and functions of the various ‘spheres of government’ resemble a ‘marble cake’ system of intergovernmental relations.25 Unlike the ‘layer cake’ notion of intergovernmental relations, where each level of government has clearly defined powers and functions, the current system confers different levels of authority to different sectors. Like a marble cake, with its different colours swirling between the top and the bottom of the structure, this style of intergovernmental relations is fluid and varied among functions and jurisdictions. For example, a greater level of devolution may characterise water and transport than is the case with health and housing. The ‘marble cake’ allocation of powers creates dysfunctions when it tries to integrate different sectoral activities. For example, curative health is a provincial function, while environmental health is a district function and sanitation, which is one of the most important factors affecting health, is a local function. Similarly, housing is a provincial function, while household infrastructure is a local or district function. How, then, can these functions be co-ordinated and integrated? Rural services are expensive and logistically difficult. It does not make sense for provincial departments to provide a range of sectoral services in a fragmented way. It makes sense, logistically, for a single visit to a farm to deal with a wide range of services and issues. As discussed earlier in this book, one of the major ideological underpinnings of the new local government system is integration, including sectoral integration. Municipal officials are seeing more clearly that functions such as health, sanitation, water, roads, electricity and housing need to be co-ordinated – particularly in remote rural areas. To provide sanitation requires health awareness training; to run an electric water pump requires electricity provision; to enable officials to visit rural communities requires passable roads. It is critically important, therefore, to synchronise the functions of LMs, DMs and provincial government departments – a process that will still take many years to resolve, as it will challenge key institutional philosophies, rivalries and bureaucratic empires.
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At the time of writing, the most devolutionist government department was DWAF. But this passion for the devolution of functions is by no means universal. Eskom, for example, has retained a great deal of autonomy, preferring to roll out electricity services itself. The NER retains important decision-making powers, including the setting of electricity tariffs (Whelan 2004: 28). Non-grid providers (concessionaires) answer to the NER rather than to municipalities. This has reduced municipal involvement in electrifying farm workers’ homes, although it has tended to work to the farm workers’ advantage. Eskom has internal incentives in the need to meet targets and the delivery capacity to achieve successful results. Ironically, the success of rural electrification may have been precisely the result of Eskom’s centralist approach and its disregard for municipalities as electricity providers. Some departments have not yet achieved clarity on their relationship with municipal government. In the health sector, for example, the province (in the Free State) or DMs (in the Western, Eastern and Northern Cape) used to provide rural services, while local municipalities took care of the urban areas with subsidies from the province. The Department of Health is now restructuring its service to create a District Health System (DHS), but there is still a lack of clarity as to the level of autonomy or discretion the health districts will enjoy. It is still not clear whether the DHS offices will be primarily responsible to DMs or to the provincial health departments (Van Rensburg & Pelser 2004: 154). Provincial health officials are not keen to devolve health services to municipalities because they are aware of the massive capacity constraints in some municipalities. By default, then, health services will probably remain with provincial governments, but be administered from a district level on a de-concentrated basis without any devolution of power to municipalities. The marble cake syndrome is likely to continue.
The beginnings of a municipal response LMs and DMs increasingly find themselves at the cutting edge of service delivery. Local synergies among the different levels of government can be promoted by devolving as many developmental functions as possible to municipal level. This would have the advantage that LM and DM decisionmakers would be responsible for integrating different functions within their
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operations. There is an a priori argument for municipalities to take the lead in rural service delivery.
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This devolutionist sentiment currently prevails in the DPLG. A recent report (DPLG 2003) proposed that a decentralised model should involve the following principles: • The principle of subsidiarity, according to which services are managed at the lowest level of effective management, usually local government level, and that they are effective, accessible, co-ordinated and responsive (whether public or private); • The level above this lowest level (DMs and provincial government) supports and supervises local governments, and provides strategic planning for cross-municipal areas (tourism planning, for example); • There is increased strategic and monitoring capacity at the centre (provincial and national government), so that it can provide strategic direction, redistribution and oversight. Municipalities are showing a variety of new responses to the rural service delivery conundrum. One way of assessing the progress in municipal thinking is to examine municipalities’ IDPs, because these at least reflect the municipalities’ developmental intentions. IDPs are meant to guide municipal programmes and budgets, and although this still remains a distant ideal in many areas, some municipalities have made significant progress in implementing their IDPs.26 A survey of 16 randomly selected municipalities in the Free State, Gauteng, Mpumalanga, Northern Cape, North West and Limpopo provinces suggests that a variety of new developmental themes is coming to the fore.27 These themes remain uneven and patchy. Some are much more comprehensive and imaginative than others. But they offer a sense of the wealth of developmental ideas that are available and that should be harnessed into a coherent rural development strategy, as outlined in Chapter 12 of this book.28 An overview of these municipal IDPs contained six distinct themes: service provision to farm workers; spatial planning of rural areas; service provision to agricultural areas; the establishment and support of emergent farmers; land reform; and institutional alignment. Table 9.5 shows the prevalence of farm worker issues, as found in the 16 municipal IDPs.
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The fact that some services are mentioned by some municipalities is encouraging. Infrastructural and health services are most commonly mentioned, and there is some awareness of the transport challenges that farm workers face. But there are still many topics such as farm schools, cemeteries and recreation that do not receive the attention they deserve. Some IDPs suggest that the compilers earnestly grappled with specific problems. For example, Nketoana Municipality (Reitz area, Free State) advocated the reinstatement of mobile clinics in rural areas. The Nketoana IDP also expressed the dilemmas of infrastructure provision, and the spatial consequences of inadequate service delivery: Farmers currently provide water to farms and farm workers’ households themselves but need to bring water closer to farm workers’ households. In this regard, the Rural Council used to provide a subsidy in the amount of R500,00 per household for storage tanks and to bring water closer to households. The decline of the agricultural sector (individual farmers and landowners) places a burden on development and results in basic services not being provided. Since the subsidy scheme was made available, a considerable contribution has been made in terms of service delivery, although this scheme is no longer continuing as a result of the amalgamation process. Although electricity is available in most areas, there is a problem with the provision of electricity to farm workers’ houses that are situated further than 200m from a connection point. The provision of housing in the rural area is currently a sensitive aspect that is complicated by the government’s policy framework that results in farm workers being discriminated against. The existing government housing subsidy scheme can only be implemented if a beneficiary receives ownership of a property or enjoys some form of security of tenure. This situation creates a lot of fear amongst farm owners and causes them to become negative. This situation has resulted in many farm owners providing their workers with housing units in urban areas which in turn has resulted in large-scale depopulation of the rural area. (www.idp.org.za)
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194
x
x
Electricity
Water, sewerage
IDP 2
x
IDP 3
xx
xx
xx
IDP 4
IDP 5
x
xx
x
x
IDP 6
xx
x
IDP 7
x
x
x
x
IDP 8
IDP 9
xx
x
xx
IDP 10
xx
x
IDP 11
xx
x
x
IDP 12
x
xx
xx
IDP 13
xx
xx
IDP 14
IDP 15
xx
x
x
x
x
IDP 16
Note: x indicates that a topic is generally mentioned in the relevant IDP; xx indicates a definite strategy on the topic. The survey was based on IDP documents downloaded from the DPLG’s IDP central web site (www.idp.org.za). Because IDPs are often large and unwieldy documents, consisting of numerous separate files in different formats, it is possible that specific content items may be unintentionally omitted. Furthermore, IDPs are in a constant state of flux and some municipalities’ IDPs are more dated than others. IDPs are numbered as follows: IDP 1 Bojanala DM and Madibeng LM, IDP 2 Fetakgomo DM, IDP 3 Kgalagadi DM, IDP 4 Ekhurhuleni Metro, IDP 5 Greater Tubatse LM, IDP 6 Lejweleputswa DM, IDP 7 Matjhabeng LM, IDP 8 Mogalakwena LM, IDP 9 Moses Kotane LM, IDP 10 Frances Baard DM, IDP 11 Ehlanzeni DM, IDP 12 Lesedi LM, IDP 13 Maluti-a-Phofung LM, IDP 14 Nketoana LM, IDP 15 Tswelopele LM, IDP 16 Nala LM.
Source: Municipal IDPs
Recreation facilities
Accommodation of children in town
Farm schools; transport for learners
AIDS programmes
Health services
x
xx
Housing
Cemeteries
x
Transport of farm workers
IDP 1
Table 9.5 Service delivery to farm workers in municipal IDPs
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service delivery and the micro-welfare system
Table 9.6 reflects the issue of general service delivery to agricultural areas.
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Roads, transport and productive infrastructure received the most attention. This, however, includes infrastructure for emergent farmers. Generally, there were few concrete suggestions for promoting commercial agriculture, even though the IDPs recognised the economic importance of agriculture widely. Nketoana Local Municipality’s focus on safety and security is notable: Within rural areas, the most serious crimes facing the community include farm murders, stock theft, vehicle theft and the starting of veld fires. Security services are currently being provided by the SA police service as well as the SA National defence force, commandos and farm watch systems. Although existing policing services function relatively well, the SAPS is no longer actively involved due to several internal problems being experienced in terms of available personnel, vehicles, etc. (www.idp.org.za) Moses Kotane LM, a rural northern area of North West Province, paid particular attention to disaster management. A total of 150 farm workers have been trained to extinguish and prevent grass fires. Emergency plans for all the dams, mines and other high-risk areas are in place. The municipality graphically depicted the many effects of droughts, in terms of reduced crops, reduced income, food shortages, farm worker evictions, reduction and contamination of water, reduced grazing and the loss of livestock. Only one municipality in the survey referred to rural rates. According to Ekhurhuleni Metro, property rates – including rural rates – are the key source of revenue for local authorities. Nevertheless, Table 9.6 shows that there is enormous scope for interaction between commercial agriculture and municipalities in the drafting of IDPs in future. In the survey, Ekhurhuleni District Municipality (eastern Gauteng) showed the most creativity in this regard. It is already creating an agricultural forum and it has established an interdepartmental food security forum.
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196 xx
IDP 5
Property rates
x
x
x
x
IDP 6
IDP 7
x
x
xx
IDP 8
x
IDP 9
IDP 10
x
xx
xx
IDP 11
xx
xx
xx
IDP 12
x
xx
IDP 13
xx
IDP 14
IDP 15
x
IDP 16
Note: x indicates that a topic is generally mentioned in the relevant IDP; xx indicates a definite strategy on the topic. IDPs are numbered as follows: IDP 1 Bojanala DM and Madibeng LM, IDP 2 Fetakgomo DM, IDP 3 Kgalagadi DM, IDP 4 Ekhurhuleni Metro, IDP 5 Greater Tubatse LM, IDP 6 Lejweleputswa DM, IDP 7 Matjhabeng LM, IDP 8 Mogalakwena LM, IDP 9 Moses Kotane LM, IDP 10 Frances Baard DM, IDP 11 Ehlanzeni DM, IDP 12 Lesedi LM, IDP 13 Maluti-a-Phofung LM, IDP 14 Nketoana LM, IDP 15 Tswelopele LM, IDP 16 Nala LM.
Source: Municipal IDPs
Emergency services (fire, drought, crime etc.)
Environmental management/overgrazing
Agricultural markets
xx
x
Support for commercial agriculture, exports, BEE
Tourism, game farming
x
Agricultural water management, water pricing
xx
xx
IDP 4
Productive infrastructure – irrigation, electricity, dams, fences xx
IDP 3 x
x
IDP 2
Transport of agricultural products
Roads
IDP 1
Table 9.6 Municipal IDPs: service delivery to agricultural areas
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G o i n g f o r b r o k e : T h e f at e o f f a r m w o r k e r s i n a r i d s o u t h a f r i c a
x
x
IDP 2
IDP 3
x
xx
IDP 4 x
IDP 5
x
IDP 6
IDP 7
x
x
IDP 8
IDP 9
IDP 10
xx
IDP 11
xx
IDP 12
IDP 13
IDP 14
IDP 15
x
IDP 16
Note: x indicates that a topic is generally mentioned in the relevant IDP; xx indicates a definite strategy on the topic. IDPs are numbered as follows: IDP 1 Bojanala DM and Madibeng LM, IDP 2 Fetakgomo DM, IDP 3 Kgalagadi DM, IDP 4 Ekhurhuleni Metro, IDP 5 Greater Tubatse LM, IDP 6 Lejweleputswa DM, IDP 7 Matjhabeng LM, IDP 8 Mogalakwena LM, IDP 9 Moses Kotane LM, IDP 10 Frances Baard DM, IDP 11 Ehlanzeni DM, IDP 12 Lesedi LM, IDP 13 Maluti-a-Phofung LM, IDP 14 Nketoana LM, IDP 15 Tswelopele LM, IDP 16 Nala LM.
Source: Municipal IDPs
Agri-villages
Speed up zoning applications
Establish service delivery centres in rural areas
Rural nodes, development corridors
Urbanisation
Spatial planning for agriculture
IDP 1
Table 9.7 Spatial and demographic dynamics in municipal IDPs
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service delivery and the micro-welfare system
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Table 9.7 shows the municipal themes related to spatial planning of rural areas. Clearly, much less attention has been paid to spatial issues than to service delivery. The most common theme is that of agri-villages, suggesting that municipalities are beginning to favour off-farm housing schemes for farm workers. In Ekhurhuleni District Municipality, for example, a study has been commissioned to perform a socio-economic survey and to identify land for the establishment of a rural residential village to serve the farming community and workers in the area. These issues are handled with varying degrees of sophistication. A noteworthy example is Nala Municipality (Bothaville area), whose IDP succinctly states some of the spatial quandaries it faces. The area is ‘subject to unnatural physical growth perceived to be due to the depopulation of the rural hinterland. There seems to be a tendency that more and more farms are operated and managed from within the urban centres by means of settlement of farmers and associated investment injections into the residential areas’. Residential expansion is one priority that the IDP identified for all the towns within Nketoana Local Municipality: The growing need to constantly provide new erven in urban areas can be linked to the increase in population growth, high rate of influx of farm workers into the urban areas and the perceived high economic potential of the urban areas … The depopulation in favour of the urban centres is perceived to be due to reduction of farm labour, the current national policy application on land ownership and the readily available subsidy funding in urban centres … The last few years indicates a consolidation of housing on farms with the provision of subsidised and acceptable permanent structures. (ww.idp.org.za) These useful observations, pregnant with meaning, deserve much fuller exploration at national, provincial and municipal levels. The issue of urbanisation received attention in some of the IDPs. The Masilonyana IDP (Theunissen area, Free State Province) states that deteriorating farming conditions, the tense safety and security situation and the lack of educational and health facilities on farms will result in the migration of workers as well as employers from farms to towns. This will increase the need for municipal infrastructure and services, but not
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necessarily provide the resulting growth in income due to employment opportunities in town. Table 9.8 considers service delivery to emergent farmers, many of whom are known to be ex-farm workers. The theme of emergent farmers finds much more resonance in the 16 IDPs than any other theme. Municipalities are concerned about poverty and unemployment. They are hoping that small-scale agriculture can offer some salvation. The Nala IDP, for example, explicitly notes that the labour force possesses skills that can be used especially to establish new agriculturally related ventures. Table 9.9 reflects the theme of land reform. Like the issue of emergent farmers, this was a relatively popular theme, especially the problem of farm worker evictions. A final theme of the IDPs was that of institutional co-ordination and alignment. There were a few notable examples of interdepartmental partnerships in promoting agricultural development. For example, in Moses Kotane LM: The Departments of Social Services, Agriculture and Labour are engaged in projects in several villages for unemployed women that provide training in livestock farming, slaughtering and marketing sales … In a joint venture on poultry farming by the Departments of Social Services, Agriculture and Labour, 48 unemployed women were employed and trained in project management and entrepreneurial skills development. (www.idp.org.za) In Bojanala DM (Rustenburg area, North West Province), the DoA and the DLA have operational structures at local government level to co-ordinate land reform projects. Ehlanzeni DM’s IDP (Nelspruit area, Mpumalanga) noted that an agricultural desk should be created at local government level. The absence of such relationships in the other IDPs suggests that institutional structures and relationships remain confused or simply non-existent. The Nketoana IDP is refreshingly honest on this point. It suggests, as a strategy: ‘To investigate and clarify the roles and responsibilities of the municipality in providing and maintaining services in rural areas’. This strategy should include: ‘[Gaining] knowledge regarding the municipality’s functions in relation to the rural areas; [gaining] knowledge about the exact needs in the rural areas in relation to services such as water, sanitation etc.; and [compiling a] comprehensive database of the rural area’.
199
200 xx
x
Livestock improvement x
xx
IDP 4
x
xx
IDP 5
x
x
IDP 6
xx
xx
xx
IDP 7
x
xx
xx
IDP 8
x
x
x
IDP 9
IDP 10
x
x
x
x
xx
IDP 11
xx
x
x
xx
xx
IDP 12
xx
xx
xx
IDP 13
x
xx
IDP 14
xx
IDP 15
xx
x
xx
IDP 16
Note: x indicates that a topic is generally mentioned in the relevant IDP; xx indicates a definite strategy on the topic. IDPs are numbered as follows: IDP 1 Bojanala DM and Madibeng LM, IDP 2 Fetakgomo DM, IDP 3 Kgalagadi DM, IDP 4 Ekhurhuleni Metro, IDP 5 Greater Tubatse LM, IDP 6 Lejweleputswa DM, IDP 7 Matjhabeng LM, IDP 8 Mogalakwena LM, IDP 9 Moses Kotane LM, IDP 10 Frances Baard DM, IDP 11 Ehlanzeni DM, IDP 12 Lesedi LM, IDP 13 Maluti-a-Phofung LM, IDP 14 Nketoana LM, IDP 15 Tswelopele LM, IDP 16 Nala LM.
Source: Municipal IDPs
Municipal commonage
Agricultural processing
Agricultural markets
Urban agriculture
xx
xx
IDP 3
Farm worker job creation
xx
xx
Grazing land
xx
Co-ops
x
Subsistence agriculture
xx
xx
IDP 2
Farming associations
xx
x
Rural SMMEs, off-farm enterprises
Agricultural extension services/farmer training
Promotion of emergent & small farmers
IDP 1
Table 9.8 Peri-urban emergent and small-scale farming
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G o i n g f o r b r o k e : T h e f at e o f f a r m w o r k e r s i n a r i d s o u t h a f r i c a
x
x
IDP 9
IDP 10
IDP 11
x
x
x
IDP 12
xx
IDP 13
IDP 14
IDP 15
IDP 16
Note: x indicates that a topic is generally mentioned in the relevant IDP; xx indicates a definite strategy on the topic. IDPs are numbered as follows: IDP 1 Bojanala DM and Madibeng LM, IDP 2 Fetakgomo DM, IDP 3 Kgalagadi DM, IDP 4 Ekhurhuleni Metro, IDP 5 Greater Tubatse LM, IDP 6 Lejweleputswa DM, IDP 7 Matjhabeng LM, IDP 8 Mogalakwena LM, IDP 9 Moses Kotane LM, IDP 10 Frances Baard DM, IDP 11 Ehlanzeni DM, IDP 12 Lesedi LM, IDP 13 Maluti-a-Phofung LM, IDP 14 Nketoana LM, IDP 15 Tswelopele LM, IDP 16 Nala LM.
Source: Municipal IDPs
Land restitution
x
IDP 8
xx
x
xx
IDP 7
xx
x
IDP 6
Land reform in general
IDP 5
xx
IDP 4
x
IDP 3
Land reform for farm workers
IDP 2
x
IDP 1
Farm evictions/ implementation of ESTA
Table 9.9 Land reform
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service delivery and the micro-welfare system
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The survey of these numerous municipalities, as well as other research, suggests that the municipal service delivery role in rural areas is still inchoate. It is not clear what should be done, what strategies should be pursued, and who should undertake these strategies. In this context, service delivery to rural areas has generally declined, or has descended into ad hoc projects implemented on a piecemeal basis. Some coherent developmental vision is urgently required.
Conclusion This chapter reflected on the passing of the era when landowners were primarily responsible for providing services for farm workers. Until the present time, the standards of housing and services were almost exclusively the decision of the landowner. Since the mid-1980s, however, non-farm institutions became increasingly involved in promoting service delivery. The Rural Foundation had a major influence in some parts of the country and from 1994, district councils played a significant role. But since 2000, service delivery to farming areas has deteriorated due to LMs’ inability to assume responsibility for this task. There remains widespread confusion regarding the appropriate role of DMs and LMs in service provision in rural areas. The hiatus in service delivery comes at a time when the rights and responsibilities of farmers and the public sector are profoundly unresolved. The triangular relationship between employers, workers and the state is interpreted differently by different government agencies and departments. There is little coherence about the appropriate legal and moral framework that should govern service delivery, but there are good reasons for adopting the principle of farmers as service intermediaries, as DWAF has already done. In this vacuum, the principle of devolution of functions to municipalities is the only guideline available. While devolution will have the advantage of simplifying the allocation of rights and responsibilities within the government system and of consolidating functions at municipal level, the implications for municipalities’ development planning and operations remains to be explored. The next chapter turns to these challenges.
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CHAPTER 10
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Tough choices for service delivery
The unfortunate consequence of the rapid loss of farming jobs and migration to the towns is that unemployed farm workers have become the government’s problem. Unemployed agricultural workers are crowding into the towns. They have little or no access to land and depend on an overstretched and underskilled government bureaucracy to assist them to re-enter the economy. It is extraordinary, then, that the government has reacted so indifferently to the repeated offers by organised agriculture to assist the state with the training and mentoring of emergent farmers. This chapter approaches the issue of service delivery to farm workers from the standpoint of a municipality. How can municipalities, which are inevitably faced by numerous developmental challenges in a context of limited resources, meaningfully address the backlog in services for farm workers? This question has a ‘what’, a ‘how’ and a ‘where’ dimension. What services should be provided, how should they be provided, and where should they be located spatially? The question also has a resource dimension because revenue for additional services will have to be raised.
What rural services? Providing rural services is a very different logistical matter to providing urban services. Rural areas have their own challenges and these tend to differ substantially from one locality to another, depending on natural features and human habitation patterns. There remains the fundamental question of how farm workers experience their situation, and what services or assistance they need. In the HSRC Survey conducted in the Free State and Northern Cape in 2003, farmers and farm workers were asked which services they consider to be most urgent and important (Atkinson 2003: 62). Farmers overwhelmingly regard ill health, HIV/AIDS and domestic abuse as the most pressing problems facing farm workers. Numerous farmers that the survey interviewed suggested that the
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general health of their workers had radically declined over the past three years. All attributed this decline to the spread of HIV/AIDS. The decline was apparent enough for some farmers to see it in the general productivity and physical strength of the workers. One farmer is now paying between R3 000 and R5 000 per month to take care of the orphans of some of his deceased employees. The farmers proposed several government services, such as the reinstatement of mobile clinics, improved town-based clinics, improved ambulance services, the provision of medical aid kits for farmers so that they can offer on-farm medical services to farm workers, HIV/AIDS awareness training, family planning and awareness training about nutrition. Farmers mentioned other urgent services for farm workers: • Transport (road maintenance, commuter transport for farm workers, the upgrading of donkey carts and teaching farm workers about how to care for donkeys); • Environmental health (sanitation training, refuse removal); • Infrastructure for farm workers (toilets, servicing of pit toilets, dissemination of information about subsidies, water connections to homes, electricity for farm workers, solar panels, free basic electricity); • Housing (in town for pensioners, and subsidies for farm workers); • Social services (improved payment points for pensions and grants, counselling services, alcohol abuse treatment); • Recreation facilities and mobile libraries; • Telecommunications and media (radio/TV signals, improved telephone lines, public telephones, cellphone infrastructure); • Education and training (more schools to teach agriculture, farm schools, crèches, school hostels in town, in-service training, agricultural skills training, life skills training and adult classes). The needs that farm workers articulated were rather different. Of the 64 interviewees, several had grievances related to wage levels. Ironically, the minimum wage laws have, on occasion, had counterproductive consequences. One worker indicated that his wages were reduced when the Basic Conditions of Employment Act became law in 1997 and another mentioned that things used to be better before the minimum wage laws, because then he did not have to pay rent. The fact that some of the workers have to maintain households on the farms and in towns places additional strain on their salaries. The lack of
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governmental services on the farms implicitly requires higher wages to enable workers to access services in town. Remarkably, there is virtually no unanimity between farmers and their workers about workers’ most pressing developmental needs. Whereas farmers emphasised ill health, HIV/AIDS and domestic conflict, no farm workers mentioned these problems. In contrast, farmers did mention farm workers’ concerns about wages, contracts and infrastructure. Given the findings mentioned earlier about the development gap that farm workers experience, and their relative inability to conceptualise and articulate their needs, it is likely that sustained participatory approaches will be required to assess more realistically the needs that they feel. This will be a challenge for service delivery organisations. The diversity of responses suggests that municipalities will need to offer a variety of different services. Municipalities face great challenges in extending their service delivery systems to rural areas. Surveys have shown that farm workers’ current housing conditions vary greatly (CRLS 2001; Atkinson 2003). Many farm workers have poorer housing conditions than urban residents. Farm workers’ houses are typically small and on some farms there is a problem of overcrowding (CRLS 2001). In future, municipalities will not only be responsible for allocating housing subsidies to farm workers and for monitoring the construction of their homes. They will also have to implement housing standards and codes. The virtual absence of environmental health services and building control means that in some cases, housing does not comply with basic health requirements such as ventilation, illumination and privacy concerns. Generally, water provision for farm worker housing is above Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP) levels, although farm workers’ water services levels are still below urban levels (CRLS 2001). Some DMs actively promoted water provision for farm workers in the period between 1995 and 2000, but there are still many farm workers without water provision in or near their homes. Significantly, it is now generally understood that even infrastructure provision often has concomitant soft services such as needs assessments, training, community awareness, leadership development and monitoring. On-farm services will have to be planned in an integrated way in future to cut the costs of delivery and to make services more effective. Proper on-site planning will become increasingly important.
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The quality of water, or the absence of adverse micro-organisms and chemicals in it, is as important as the availability of water. On many farms, housing settlements and water provision have been implemented haphazardly. But water provision has to be linked to environmental health services. In areas where people depend on boreholes to obtain water, the distance of the water source from possible sources of contamination is important. This includes french drains, pit latrines, refuse dumps and even burial plots. If people draw water from a river downstream from where people do their washing or even bathe, or where livestock drink water, the risk of contamination and serious illness increases exponentially. Also, in the case of rivers, the pollution of the water source with fertilisers used for crop production is equally possible and could cause serious damage to people’s health. Many municipalities have no environmental health officers at all, so extending environmental health services to farm workers will be a major challenge in terms of staffing and costs. On-farm sanitation services are of a much poorer standard than water services. The majority of farm workers do not have RDP-level sanitation services (flush toilets or ventilated improved pit toilets). Sewage systems on farms consist mainly of french drains and pit latrines. Poorly maintained pits and drains create potential problems for underground water quality (Smith n.d: 14–6). Inadequate sewage and refuse removal systems can cause environmental health problems. Municipalities will need to provide infrastructure, but will also need to educate farm workers about sanitation and infrastructure maintenance. On many farms, electricity has been provided for farm worker dwellings. But the 1996 Census showed that 56 per cent of farm worker households still did not have access to electricity (CRLS 2001: 33). Even where electricity has been provided, the use of wood and coal is still widespread due to the high cost of electricity. This may have significant implications for household air pollution and health issues. Municipalities will need to extend free basic electricity (FBE) to farm worker households to enable farm workers to use electricity effectively. The provision of solar or photovoltaic systems offers significant potential to improve rural communities’ standard of living, because a solar system provides enough energy for three lights, a radio and a small TV set (Green & Erskine 1999: 231). Solar power is relatively inexpensive and easy to maintain, and can be purchased by way of a once-off capital grant.
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Farm workers have poor access to telecommunications. Private and public telephones are seldom available, and cellular phone reception is often nonexistent. Nevertheless, telephone communication is such an essential part of modern life that municipalities need to actively promote the extension of landline telephones to farm workers, possibly on a prepaid basis. Health delivery to farming areas has declined since the 1990s. Given the rapid rate of urbanisation, this is not surprising because it is much more costeffective to provide health services at fixed clinics in the towns than to run mobile clinics to the farms. But this means that the remaining farm workers have less access to mobile clinics (Husy & Samsodien 2001: 12). There is a general dearth of recreation opportunities for farm workers, which partly explains the widespread problem of alcohol abuse on farms. As municipalities become increasingly responsible for recreation services, they will need to promote the provision of facilities to farm workers. Well-maintained gravel roads and effective systems of transport are indispensable for the delivery of other services and for the economic livelihoods of farmers and farm workers. In farming areas, many gravel roads are almost impassable for anything but a tractor, animal-drawn vehicle, 4×4 vehicle, or pedestrian. Poor road surfaces also add to the cost of transportation and service delivery, including damage to commercial vehicles and emergency services vehicles. In addition to the poor road conditions, any form of public transport system in the non-urban areas is virtually non-existent, or only obtainable at huge expense. Farm workers frequently do not have access to motorised transportation, and must therefore travel to town using their own or animal energy, or by pleading with their employers for a lift. This overview of physical infrastructure on the farms suggests that many farms do have valuable ‘sunk capital’ in the form of housing and infrastructure, but that other farms leave a great deal to be desired. Table 10.1 illustrates the multiplicity of municipal services that may be relevant to residents on private land. As Burgert Gildenhuys notes, ‘It is important for the Council to apply its mind to … develop a coherent strategy for active delivery in farming communities’ (Gildenhuys 2003: 2).
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Table 10.1 The applicability and practicalities of service delivery to commercial farms
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Function
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Normal funding source
Support and delivery options for residents on remote private land
Refuse removal
Consumer tariff
Not practical to render, but assistance and support can be provided in terms of advice on options for disposal as well as on health and environmental considerations.
Health services
Nominal levy
This is a provincial responsibility but the municipality plays a very important implementing role. This service can answer very direct needs of remote communities. Mobile clinics are the traditional way of rendering this service to outlying areas. It should be possible to link this service to, for example, support of other health issues such as advice on waste disposal or testing the quality of water used for domestic purposes.
Electricity
Consumer tariff
Not applicable if not included in the municipality’s distribution licence. However, there are examples in the Free State where municipalities facilitated the electrification of farm worker houses.
Water
Consumer tariff
This service should receive direct attention. It might not imply that the municipality physically renders the service to remote communities, but it can facilitate and support the provision of safe potable water. It can start with providing a service for testing water quality and advising on securing springs, boreholes and wells for human use. In terms of government policy, municipalities can appoint landowners as water services intermediaries.
Sanitation
Consumer tariff
This service should receive direct attention. It might not imply that the municipality physically renders the service to farm dwellers or remote communities but it can facilitate and support the provision of safe sanitation. It can start with advising on health matters and sanitation as well as education programmes. Direct financial assistance for infrastructure provision and assistance with maintenance is a strong possibility through national support structures.
Library
Nominal levy
This is a service to the benefit of all the municipality’s residents. However, the scale and cost of the service will prevent it from being widely spread through the municipal area. It might be possible to provide a mobile library service with assistance of the provincial government.
tough choices for service delivery
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Function
Normal funding source
Support and delivery options for residents on remote private land
Disaster management
Tax
This service should cover the whole municipal area.
Roads & street works
Tax
Not directly applicable to farms, but farm dwellers benefit from it when using amenities and services in town. However, the municipality should ensure proper maintenance of district roads by the appropriate authority. The municipality can serve as a very important vehicle for exerting the necessary pressure when warranted.
Stormwater drainage
Tax
Should be provided to protect farm workers’ houses.
Fire protection User charge
This service should cover the whole municipal area, in partnership with farmers.
Public transport
User charge
Public transport as a municipal service is expensive and requires a critical number of users. However, smaller municipalities can and should play a role in providing the necessary infrastructure and in facilitating proper service coverage throughout the municipal area.
Ambulance
Nominal levy
This service should cover the whole municipal area. A provincial responsibility but the municipality can play a very important role in optimising the service.
Source: Gildenhuys (2003: 6–7) Note: The payment of taxes is non-discretionary. There is no quid pro quo for taxes paid. User charges refer to payment for the use of a service while consumer tariffs are paid for the consumable goods. Nominal levies relate to the previous two, but do not bear any relation to the cost of the service or the benefit to the consumer. They are applied to relieve the tax burden in funding a service.
In general, rural service delivery poses a massive challenge to municipalities, particularly in the context of severe revenue constraints. This means that municipalities need to make some tough choices. To refrain from extending service delivery to farms will promote the migration of farm worker families to the towns. Service delivery in urban contexts is a great deal easier than on the farms, but most of the new immigrants are likely to be unemployed for many years – with concomitant pressures on the municipality’s revenue base. At the same time, some level of service delivery on the farms is important, or some farm workers will remain in perpetually deprived conditions.
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One possible way out of the conundrum is to provide infrastructure as part of an incentive system, by offering rate rebates to farmers. The question of rural rates has been a politically thorny one, as the next section will show, but there are ways in which rates can be applied constructively and creatively.
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Linking finance to functions Municipal finance has been a sore point for farmers since the amalgamated municipalities were introduced in 2000. There are two sources of grievance. The first is that the equitable share that TRCs used to receive from national government (the discretionary grants made available to each municipality), and that the TRCs spent largely on farm workers, has now been diverted to subsidise services in the urban areas. The second grievance is the imminent threat of a land tax, or rural rates. This issue has always inflamed political passions. Farmers resisted rates almost as intensively as they resisted farm worker tenure rights. Finally, after years of debate and many legal drafts, the new Municipal Property Rates Act 6 of 2004 extends the municipal rating system to all property owners, whether rural or urban. The notion of levies and taxes on rural constituencies is not entirely new. Before 1984, the Divisional Councils in the Cape Province levied rural rates to pay for health, transport and road maintenance. After 1984, the Regional Services Councils required all businesses to pay levies based on turnover and employment. However, the current municipal regime is the first to be controlled by populist urban majorities and this has led to widespread anxiety amongst farmers. Many landowners fear the extension of the municipal rating system. Such fears have been intensified by a few over-enthusiastic municipalities imposing exorbitant rural rates. These rates were subsequently reversed after farmers’ unions appealed to the courts. In particular, the Nketoana Municipality (the Reitz, Tweeling and Petrus Steyn areas in the Free State) drew the farmers’ ire with a rate of 2 per cent of property value. Free State Agriculture has alleged that the municipality wishes to use rates on agricultural land to make good its R9.1 million budget deficit (SALGRC, August 2003: 38). In KwaZulu-Natal, the Howick Farmers Association engaged in a protracted battle with the uMgeni Municipality (Howick area). The KwaZulu-Natal farming lobby felt that the land tax was a desperate measure by the municipality to make good its R52 million debt (Farmer’s Weekly, 4/7/2004).
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In the Western Cape, Agri Western Cape secured an interdict against the Beaufort West municipality which proposed an agricultural property rate of 0.93 cents in the rand (SALGRC, August 2003: 38–42). Agri Western Cape claimed that a farm of 10 000 ha with a carrying capacity of 24 ha per stock unit would have to pay R28 000 in rates. To afford this, the farmer would require an additional 780 ha for extra sheep. According to the agricultural union, the farmers are not unwilling to pay rates, but they asked the municipality to halt the process and to call in agricultural economists, stock scientists and pasturage experts to resolve the matter. The municipality subsequently placed a moratorium on the rate while an independent study was conducted into its affordability. The Western Cape MEC for Agriculture, Mr Cobus Dowry, then launched a specialist task team to formulate guidelines to assist municipalities to determine equitable property rates for agricultural land. Important questions about the viability of an agricultural tax, particularly in the context of severe international competition, remain unresolved. Agricultural economists have warned that high levels of rural rates will encourage farmers to reduce their workforce to keep financially afloat (Landbouweekblad, 27/8/2004). During August 2003, the Provincial and Local Government Portfolio Committee considered further submissions on the rating of conservation and agricultural land (discussion based on SALGRC, August 2003: 38–42). Professor Johann Kirsten, an agricultural economist from the University of Pretoria, told the committee that any rate of taxation of agricultural land would have so many complications that the income earned in the process would probably not cover the total cost of valuing the land and collecting the revenue. Taxing agricultural land only makes sense if the rate is 4 per cent or higher. But at this rate, all profits or returns to land are taxed away, so nobody would want to farm. ‘The consequences in terms of the poverty and food security agendas of government will be too ghastly to contemplate’ (SALGRC, August 2003: 38–42). There are four main arguments about the impact of rural rates on agriculture. Firstly, it is argued that a tax on agricultural land will lead to a considerable drop in the value of such land, which could affect the collateral base of many farms. This will limit the ability of farmers to obtain production credit. This could in turn affect levels of production with a potential range of negative consequences, such as lower employment and lower foreign exchange
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earnings. It is also argued that a tax on agricultural land would lead to farmers reducing their investments in improving their land. This again negatively influences productive capacity and land values. It is common knowledge among agricultural economists that the average return on agricultural land is around 5 per cent of asset value, which is not very attractive to any investor. Any tax on land would therefore take away a proportion from this meagre return, making investment in agriculture even less attractive. Given these low returns, any tax above 0.5 per cent of agricultural land will have a considerable effect on land values and thus on the tax base. The second argument is that the valuation of agricultural land is a complex endeavour. The concept of improved value in relation to farmland and to the complexities in valuing farmland is ambiguous. The improved value of agricultural land typically includes the value of crops, vineyards and orchards. The value of crops on the land can change monthly, which makes valuation very difficult, but the value of improvements is often more than the value of the land on which these are grown. The market value of land includes all these aspects, but one cannot include this for the purpose of a land tax because sales of produce are already taxed through income or company tax. Therefore, it was argued by most submissions that the Bill should explicitly stipulate that these items are to be excluded from the valuation base. Valuing farm land is very difficult. This will put immense pressure on the resources of municipalities to train valuers, and in many cases there will be litigation when the valuation base is disputed. The third argument is that the level of taxation should be reasonable. A comparison of land taxes in other countries showed that South Africa’s main trading partners do not tax agricultural land, or tax it at very low levels. In addition, many of the rich nations subsidise agriculture at very high levels. Developing countries typically tax agriculture, which negatively influences the ability of these countries to compete internationally. The fourth argument is that rural rates will make many farmers uncompetitive in the international market. Farmers already face a large tax burden, including higher water tariffs, tollgates, regional service council (RSC) levies, estate duty, tax on diesel, minimum wages and VAT. They compared this with other countries, where agriculture is treated very favourably with limited taxation and high levels of subsidisation by governments.
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Then there are questions about the service levels to be obtained from municipalities. Municipalities currently deliver virtually no services to the majority of farming communities. Farmers sometimes provide many of the services themselves, such as sewerage, road infrastructure, water, refuse removal, social services, clinics and even schools. Farmers are not rewarded for these functions. Farmers do make use of urban facilities when they visit towns, but many of these services are more to the benefit of the urban dweller. One cannot expect farmers, who do not benefit from street lights, for example, to pay the same rates as urban residents. According to Prof. Kirsten (SALGRC, August 2003), there is an international debate about the role of agriculture in society among policy-makers in Europe, USA and Japan. Policy-makers and governments in these countries justify their favourable treatment of agriculture on the grounds that agriculture provides additional functions to society apart from the traditional roles of producing food, creating employment and earning foreign exchange. This new debate is currently being extended to developing countries in a project led by the Food and Agricultural Organisation of the United Nations (FAO). The additional roles of agriculture include: • An environmental role. The beauty of the agricultural landscape has a tourism value, and appropriate and good agricultural practices prevent soil erosion and provide clean air; • A social role. Farmers provide a number of social services, which would have been provided by the state. People on farms are cared for by farmers. If these farm dwellers are not employed by the farming sector, they flock to the towns and cities, putting pressure on municipalities to provide services, housing, schools and clinics. By ensuring that agriculture employs as many people as possible, these additional costs to municipalities and ratepayers could be avoided; • A poverty and food security role. South African households engaged in agriculture are less likely to be chronically poor and also less likely to show signs of malnutrition. Also, growth in commercial agriculture has positive impacts on the employment and income levels of the poorest communities; • A buffer role. When macroeconomic crises occur and people lose their jobs in the urban areas, they return to their rural home where they engage in agricultural activities. Thereby, they ensure that they are not totally destitute.
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The argument here is that society enjoys ‘externalities’ that agriculture provides, yet it wants to tax agriculture further. If this argument is added to the limited benefits that farmers enjoy from the services that municipalities provide, it does make a compelling case for a differential treatment of agricultural land in a new property rates dispensation. There may be some merit in levying a nominal tax rate on agricultural land, if the administrative costs can be minimised by using, for example, a flat rate per hectare. In this context, the Municipal Property Rates Act brought a large measure of sanity to the fraught question of rural rates. The Act provides for a viable, fair and equitable system of municipal rates. Many checks and balances have been included to prevent excessive rates from being levied. The Act has several provisions that affect the interests of landowners. It provides for exemptions and rebates and it requires the municipality to promote local social and economic development, which would, presumably, include rural development. Section 3(4) of the Act requires municipalities specifically to take into account the contribution of agriculture to the local economy and the contribution of agriculture to the social and economic welfare of farm workers. Section 4 provides that, before the municipality adopts its rates policy, it must follow a process of community participation. Section 16 provides that any sector of the economy may, through its organised structures, request the Minister of Local Government to evaluate evidence that a specific municipal rate is materially and unreasonably affecting the economy. Section 21 provides that a rate levied on newly rateable property must be phased in over a period of three financial years. Section 22 provides for special rating areas, where an additional rate can be levied to raise funds for upgrading that area. This should take place in consultation with the local community and such funding must be paid into a special account. A community committee will advise the municipality on the use of the funds. Landowners can appeal to provincial Valuation Appeal Boards if they disagree with the valuation of their property. Overall, the provisions seem conspicuously fair, and organised agriculture has already expressed its support. Furthermore, by paying municipal rates, the landowner has gained a moral and political claim on the municipality to provide services of some kind. Already, AgriSA is advising local farming organisations to become involved with local municipalities, ‘so that they can get some information on what services they are entitled to when land rates are introduced’ (Landbouweekblad, 14/5/2004).
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It remains to be seen how municipalities will go about introducing rural rates. National government is placing increasing pressure on municipalities to behave in financially responsible ways. This should obviate excessive demands on the agricultural rates base in future. An important aspect of a system of rural rates is that it offers scope for incentives. Since municipalities are unlikely to be able to extend services to farming areas in the near future, and since landowners are likely to receive increased recognition as service intermediaries, some creative thinking is required. Municipalities can extend services by offering farmers tax rebates, on condition that farmers provide services to their workers.
The ‘where’ of development Where should farm workers be provided with housing and services – on-farm or off-farm? Should the demographic trends of urban drift be encouraged or counteracted? What spatial choices need to be made? The issue is not simply one of spatial location. Spatial issues intersect significantly with livelihoods and lifestyle questions, including access to jobs, secondary livelihoods, education, health and social life. With the decline of the Rural Foundation and of government services to the farms, farm workers have faced an increasingly difficult choice: keep your job on the farm, but forego social (or infrastructural) services, or sacrifice the farm job for the sake of living in town where housing, social services and infrastructure grants are more readily accessible. For poor people, this is a very difficult choice. For farm workers, residential preferences may mean giving up a farm job to move to town or trying to keep a farm job and commuting between town and farm. For municipalities, farm workers’ preferences have important service delivery implications. There is a prima facie need for municipalities to investigate and quantify farm workers’ preferences to plan for future migration and for people’s spatial distribution.
Providing services Most studies of migration focus on migrating families’ expectations of work opportunities at the destination point. However, there is evidence that
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households often move to places where there are no definite expectations of work, and that several other factors are involved. These include access to infrastructure, public services, social networks and tenure security (Cross et al. 1998: 638; Tiebout 1956).
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This argument has some specific implications. Firstly, some farmers’ requirement that workers have to pay for housing, water and electricity on a farm appears to be a major disincentive to stay on the farm. Ceteris paribus, the more farmers begin to charge for services, the more workers will move to town to get access to subsidised services. If municipalities do decide to extend free basic services to farm workers, as DWAF and Eskom argue they should, it would encourage farmers to provide a decent level of services to on-farm workers. Municipalities should develop policy guidelines in this regard. This will mean a tough choice for municipalities. Such free basic services will imply a drain on the municipality’s revenue, either in the form of capital subsidies for on-farm infrastructure or in the form of tax rebates. Presumably, this expense should be covered by the introduction of rural rates, but some municipalities may be reluctant to plough rural rates revenue back into the farming sector and would prefer to spend rural revenue on urban services. On balance, municipalities need to decide whether they want to provide incentives to farmers to provide services to farm workers, so that farm workers have an incentive to continue to live on-farm, or whether municipalities would prefer to encourage migration toward the towns. Secondly, the non-availability of services such as schools and clinics to farm workers on the farm is a major disincentive to continue living on the farm. This means that government decisions about farm schools and mobile clinics will have a huge impact on farm workers’ preferences. It is not always farm life or farm employment per se that is problematic, but the failure of third parties such as the government and NGOs to provide the same services as are available to urban communities. The availability of transport also influences this issue. Where workers depend on their employers for transport, it creates more difficulties than where workers have their own transport or can easily catch a taxi or bus. Municipalities have little direct control over education or health services. Education remains centralised at provincial level, and, as indicated earlier,
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health services have been de-concentrated (but not devolved) to district officials of the Department of Health. The only health service that is indisputably under municipal control is environmental health. Nevertheless, municipalities are responsible for drafting IDPs, and it is likely that these IDPs can be used with increasing effectiveness to persuade or cajole provincial departments to adjust their spending patterns to meet local needs. The same argument holds for numerous other sectoral functions, such as policing, land reform and agricultural extension. This means that municipalities cannot walk away from the issue of service provision to farm workers; they have to take a policy stand, because the provision of these services will have major implications for migration and urbanisation.
Providing housing Municipalities’ decisions regarding the allocation of housing subsidies may affect urbanisation patterns significantly. This is because the decisions will affect the choices that farmers and farm workers make. In the 2003 HSRC survey of 64 farm workers, about 50 per cent of farm workers preferred to live in the town even while working on the farm. Table 10.2 shows the current preferences in nine Free State and Northern Cape districts. Table 10.2 Preferences for farm workers’ residence: nine Free State and Northern Cape districts, 2003 Prefer on-farm residence
Prefer town residence
Combination of on-farm and off-farm
Farmers
40
18
6
Farm workers
30
31
No response
3
Note: n = 64
The shortage of urban housing is a disincentive for farm workers to leave farm employment (Gordon 1991: 126). Municipalities can encourage urbanisation by choosing to reserve a certain number of housing subsidies to build town housing for farm workers, or they can discourage urbanisation by making housing subsidies available for on-farm residence. At the same time, farmers also calculate the advantages and disadvantages of on-farm housing.
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Occupational rights that the new tenure legislation confers on workers, together with the considerable costs of new housing, are cautioning farmers against expanding their permanent labour force that lives on the farm. Instead, farmers may recruit more permanent workers off-farm in future, where possible (Ewert & Hamman 1999: 211). This is more likely in intensive agricultural areas. A study conducted in the Western Cape in 2003 showed that 11.6 per cent of all farm houses in a survey of 77 farms were standing empty, and 7.4 per cent of the farms had houses that were being used for other purposes such as storage (Du Toit & Ally 2003: 13). In remote areas, where commuting poses a greater challenge, farmers are likely to retain a core staff to live on-farm. In the 2003 HSRC survey in the Free State and Northern Cape, most farmers preferred their workers to live on the farm, although the number of employed farm workers had dropped drastically (Atkinson 2003). Farmers are more cautious about employing labour but they still prefer their workers to live on site. Farmers suggested a wide variety of reasons for having farm workers live on the farms. Labour is nearby when farmers need it, especially on weekends. Farmers, particularly part-time farmers, are frequently away from home and they need trustworthy workers on site. Labour is available during emergencies, such as veld fires. Workers living on the farm help to reduce security problems. Transport costs are reduced because commuting is time-consuming and costly. The farmer distrusts the social influences in towns. Workers take pride in their work when they live on the farm and they become more responsible for the well-being of the farm. Workers are better off on the farm because the farmer would help in case of need. Farmers have made a large investment in housing. Farmers can ensure adequate food for farm workers. Many of these farmers subscribe to the philosophy of a farm community, as outlined earlier in the book. Nevertheless, even in remote areas, some farmers prefer their workers not to live on the farm. These farmers cited the following reasons: there will be fewer social problems on the farm such as alcohol abuse during weekends; people who visit farm workers on the weekends are a security risk; land tenure legislation may mean that workers eventually have a claim to lifelong tenure on the farm; and the farmer would not have to provide housing or infrastructure. In the HSRC survey, land tenure and labour legislation featured prominently in farmers’ arguments. One farmer said that he would prefer workers to live on the
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farm, but the reality is that ‘we are working towards a position where farmers will not have workers living on the farm due to the new Labour Relations Act. We won’t even have permanent workers, but will make use of contract workers’. This view was heard repeatedly. In a Western Cape survey of farmers in 2003, 10 per cent of respondents preferred to let a significant housing investment stand empty rather than use it to house a permanent worker who may acquire strong labour and ESTA rights (Du Toit & Ally 2003: 21). Paradoxically, land and labour legislation appears to be promoting the casualisation of farm work, which will affect residential patterns in a complex manner. There is no longer a neat correlation between permanent employees and on-farm residence, and between temporary employees and off-farm residence. Research in the Western Cape suggests that permanent farm workers may live in town and commute to the farms; conversely, some farmers may offer temporary accommodation to contract workers (Du Toit & Ally 2003: 14). In intensive farming areas, these dynamics are particularly complex because one should distinguish between seasonal workers, contract workers and migrant workers. These worker types have different housing needs and preferences. It is apparently widespread for farmers to employ workers who reside in town, usually on a casual or piecework basis. Usually, farmers transport these workers to and from the farm themselves. There is also an increasing trend that some farmers themselves live in town, and so they can pick the workers up in the morning en route to the farm. Municipalities can encourage or discourage this trend by housing subsidy allocations for on-farm and offfarm housing. Another novel approach is the creation of ‘township suburbs’, situated adjacent to urban areas and inhabited exclusively by farm workers. In the case of Fauresmith and Bothaville in the Free State, municipalities allocated housing subsidies to farm workers to access off-farm housing. Employers purchased the land for the settlement and the residents obtained freehold tenure, while the ‘top structures’ were paid for by the housing subsidies. The workers commute to the farm on a weekly basis. This was at least partially a response to ESTA, to avoid future land tenure claims by farm workers. However, it is probably also a measure to improve farm workers’ access to social services, particularly in the light of the decline of government services provided on the farms.
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These projects have had distinct advantages and disadvantages (Hartwig 2004). In the case of Bothaville, the new houses were generally smaller than those on the farms and, in some cases, of poorer quality. Although the system of water provision was an improvement for some residents, others felt that their quality of services had deteriorated. Sanitation was poor, due to poor infrastructure planning. Although access to health and education was much improved, the commuting system became a problem for most employees. Another unfortunate consequence of the move to the town was that farm workers could no longer keep livestock, and this affected their livelihoods. The workers also found that, in a context of high levels of urban unemployment, it was difficult for their family members to find work. This village or suburban model of farm worker housing offers a way for municipalities to provide services located close to town while ensuring that the beneficiaries keep their farm occupations. But municipalities need to plan better to ensure that they provide appropriate levels of infrastructure. There is an enormous need for research to be done on a locality-by-locality basis, since local trends are influenced by local demographics, environmental conditions and types of farming operations. One can distinguish in particular here between extensive grazing operations and more intensive irrigation farming. At present, municipalities are proceeding to site infrastructure heedlessly, displaying no regard for underlying dynamics or future trends. In this, they are pressured to deliver by national and provincial departments that are anxious to spend their annual budgets. There is an urgent need for the national government to formulate suitable local research methodologies that can be incorporated into the next round of IDPs. Municipalities need to consider that many farm workers are likely to want to move to the towns at some point in their lives, particularly upon retirement. Some farmers appear to encourage this trend by providing houses in the urban areas. This means that municipalities may face an increasing number of cases of double households (one house on the farm, and one in town). This is associated with the fact that farm worker households have always been rather fluid. It is typical for farm worker households to maintain some of their members on a temporary or semi-permanent basis in other localities, or with relatives or connections (Cross et al. 1998: 636). Municipalities need to draft guidelines to cater for this. It may mean that they have to finance double infrastructure due to the peculiar tenure and demographic patterns that are
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emerging in South Africa. This would mean that a farm worker household may qualify for on-farm as well as off-farm subsidies. To force households to choose one or the other would place them under great strain and would jeopardise the quality of life of farm workers’ families living in town. One novel intervention has been the Western Cape government’s Policy for the Settlement of Farm Workers (Provincial Government Gazette no. 5572, 1/9/2000), which promotes partnerships between farmers, farm workers and municipalities. The policy provides for off-farm residential options, including old-age homes, retirement villages and housing projects in nearby towns or agri-villages. Such agri-villages would be developed, owned and managed by a legally constituted association such as a trust, a Section 21 company or a communal property association. It would represent a partnership between farmers, farm workers and the state. Security of tenure would be afforded by a lease or notarial deed of servitude, because the land and housing would remain the property of the institution. The Western Cape model offers an interesting way out of the current spatial dilemmas.
A diversity of options: lessons from the United States A comparison between South Africa and the United States is particularly useful because the latter juxtaposes a strong commercial farming class with a class of poor, ethnically and economically disadvantaged farm workers, mainly Hispanic migrant workers.29 The US policies make provision for various types of farm worker housing: on-farm housing (which has to meet certain standards); off-farm ownership schemes for permanent farm workers; off-farm rental accommodation for migrant farm workers and their families; and off-farm basic accommodation for single contract workers. An important policy dimension of farm worker housing provision in the US is that it is linked to rural development more generally. The United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) promotes farm worker housing, not the Department of Housing as is the case in South Africa. So the issue avoids the general urban bias that characterises the South African Department of Housing. The purpose of the farm worker housing policy is to improve the quality of life in rural towns and villages, thereby countering urbanisation trends and building local skills levels (George 2002). A wide variety of programmes is funded by the USDA, under the rubric of rural development. Examples are Enterprise Community Programmes,
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Self-help Housing Programmes, extension of safe drinking water, promotion of recycling enterprises, and promotion of agricultural co-operatives.
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A second factor is that housing promotion, unlike the case in South Africa, is not only targeted at the poor. There are important initiatives to promote housing for people with modest incomes but who are ‘bankable’ and can secure mortgages. In these cases, housing support takes the form of bank guarantees. Furthermore, farm worker housing provision in the US, as is the case with any other kind of government-sponsored housing provision, always requires some contribution by the beneficiaries, usually in the form of self-help or ‘sweat equity’. This contrasts markedly with South Africa, where housing subsidies, which are far too small to be really effective, are implemented using contractorbuilt housing, which reduces the impact of the small subsidy even further. The USDA provides grants and loans to employers for on-farm housing. In the case of loans, the interest rate is 1 per cent. At the same time, the USDA conducts strict housing inspections. California’s Department of Housing and Community Development has a Division of Building and Housing Standards, which has powers of inspection on farms that house more than five employees. The Division’s inspectors try to reach as many farms as possible. Criteria for scrutiny include adequate heating, adequate water drainage, no insect breeding areas, no keeping of livestock or poultry in or near the house, adequate insulation, garbage disposal, fire and safety, no overcrowding of sleeping areas, adequate plumbing and safe electrical systems. The US approach has several beneficial consequences. On community-based housing projects, the beneficiaries typically work together to build their houses. This builds strong community institutions and leadership during the period of construction. A committee of beneficiaries usually leads such projects. This committee instils a sense of community loyalty and neighbourhood identity. If all the beneficiaries work together on building each other’s house, members have a vested stake in completing the project. Furthermore, beneficiaries learn about house construction, which enables them to repair their houses when the need arises. It builds a sense of ownership, which encourages people to make further investments in their homes. Certain state governments fund the construction and operation of migrant farm worker accommodation centres. For example, California’s Office of Migrant Services (OMS) funds 15 municipalities to operate 26 migrant
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housing centres, for a total of 12 546 workers and their families. These centres are available for occupancy for a maximum of 180 days of each calendar year. The tenants are expected to pay rent. Supplementary services include day care for young children, summer school for school-going children, medical services, counselling and other referral services. The US policies hold several lessons for South African farm worker housing policy-makers: provide adequate funding; build strong local government leadership; provide village and suburban housing and suitable transport systems for farm workers; create a mortgage system so that farm workers can access housing loans; and provide temporary accommodation for migrant workers.
Mobility and transport As government distribution points for social services become concentrated in urban areas, farm workers are encouraged to move to the towns permanently, with our without a commuting farming job, or to attempt to access these services on a periodic basis. In particular, the collection of monthly pensions or grants requires people to present themselves at government offices on a regular basis. In the 2003 HSRC survey, farm workers mentioned several reasons to visit the towns: school, church, visiting family, visiting doctors and clinics, shopping, visiting the bank and post office, sport and recreation, visiting a social worker, accessing social grants, attending community meetings, having to check up on one’s town dwelling and visiting the magistrate’s court. Farm workers were asked about the frequency of their visits to the towns. Their responses are shown in Table 10.3. Table 10.3 Frequency of visits to town Commuting patterns Commute daily or by choice Commute once a week Visit town once a fortnight Visit town once a month Visit town less than once a month
Number of responses 9 17 9 26 3
Note: n=64
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The majority visit town once a month, although a significant number commute once a week. It is likely that the frequency of visits and the availability of transport are closely related. Farm workers were also asked what types of transport they use to get to town. Their responses are shown in Table 10.4.
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Table 10.4 Transport modes Mode of transport Own car
Number of respondents 6
Travel with farmer
46
Taxi
13
Walking
9
Bicycle
13
Horse or donkey cart
9
Hitchhike
5
Bus
3
Access to farmer’s vehicle
1
Note: n=64, with multiple responses.
The survey shows that the vast majority of farm workers depend on their employers for transport to town. Significantly, some workers have their own car, which indicates that they earn sufficient wages to purchase and maintain vehicles. A minority still uses horse or donkey carts, which is a very affordable mode of transport for many poor people. The very small number of farm workers who use buses (5 per cent) shows how rare organised transport is. It is only in towns that are located on major through-routes where bus transport is available. Clearly, there is a real need for some kind of organised (and possibly subsidised) transport system between the farms and the towns. The lack of municipal transport services connecting towns and their rural hinterlands is a major cause of social dislocation and dysfunction. Inadequate transport systems lead to numerous problems in people’s lives. Finding safe and reliable transport for children to schools is often a problem that creates a need for accommodation in town, a problem which might otherwise have been avoided. If a viable and affordable transport system existed, farm workers would be able to make more effective residential choices. Some may prefer to live in
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town and keep their jobs on the farm, while others may positively prefer to live on the farms, as long as they can access urban services when they need to. A transport system would have major implications on people’s choices, and therefore on their quality of life. Few municipalities have costed rural transport systems. Once rural rates are levied, however, and possibly with dedicated contributions from farmers, a regular bus service may become feasible. Such services could perhaps be outsourced to local taxi-drivers.
Beyond infrastructure: towards enabling local government? To some extent, the post-1994 focus on farm worker services has settled on hard infrastructure and has neglected the human side of development. The valuable work that the Rural Foundation did during the 1980s has largely fallen away. There is a great need for such development to be resuscitated. However, this will require a new style of government service delivery in farming areas. During the early 1990s, the ideas of Ted Osborne and John Gaebler enjoyed widespread currency in South Africa. The essence of their work is the idea of enabling and entrepreneurial government. This is the type of government that does not try to do everything, but assists citizens in strategic ways to promote their own interests and pursuits: [Entrepreneurial governments] empower citizens by pushing control out of the bureaucracy, into the community. They measure the performance of their agencies, focusing not on inputs but on outcomes. They are driven by their goals … not by their rules and regulations. They redefine their clients as customers and offer them choices … They prevent problems before they emerge rather than simply offering services afterward. They put their energies into earning money, not simply spending it. They decentralise authority, embracing participatory management. They prefer market mechanisms to bureaucratic mechanisms … they focus not simply on providing public services but on catalysing all sectors … into action to solve their communities’ needs. (Osborne & Gaebler 1993: 19–20)
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In many respects, this vision of government informed the Local Government White Paper of 1998, which coined the term ‘developmental local government’: ‘Developmental local government is local government committed to working with citizens and groups within the community to find sustainable ways to meet their social, economic and material needs and improve the quality of their lives’ (1998: 17). In the same vein, municipalities can facilitate the livelihoods and welfare of farm workers and residents of remote communities in many creative ways. For example, municipalities can host workshops aimed at sounding out the rural communities’ needs, as suggested in an earlier chapter. They can provide a onestop service to farm workers to deal with government departments, facilitate links with NGOs or promote mediation services in conflict situations. Furthermore, an enabling approach would encourage the creation of effective partnerships between municipalities and farmers. This would extend the reach of municipalities to include farmers as their service intermediaries. Municipalities’ limited resources would be much more effectively deployed than if municipalities tried to implement all functions by using their own staff. An enabling approach would also help to transcend the narrow sectoral concerns of the various government departments. Once municipalities have a better understanding of farm workers’ particular needs, they can target their interventions on the farms more effectively. For example, municipalities can: • Combine the provision of toilet facilities with education about waste management; • Provide each farm’s workers with two mules and a donkey cart; • Acquire cheap second-hand bicycles that farm workers can buy for a nominal fee (there are some municipalities that have done so); • Provide each farm with an emergency medical kit; • Initiate literacy classes or technical skills training, financed by the Department of Labour; • Subsidise farm workers (and indeed farmers) to attend road-building courses; • Engage NGOs to provide life skills training; • Provide health education and check that immunisations are performed; • Teach farm workers about environmental health; • Provide or organise safe accommodation for farm worker children attending schools in the towns (Ingle & Van Schalkwyk 2004).
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These suggestions are still light years ahead of most municipalities’ comprehension of, and interest in, farm workers’ issues. For many municipalities, urgent and pressing urban problems need to be dealt with first. In this vacuum, some government departments are increasing their pressure on municipalities to promote service delivery to farm workers. DWAF has recently issued a manual to municipalities to promote water and sanitation delivery to farm workers, and the Department of Housing appears ready to reconsider its insistence that subsidy recipients must be house-owners. Eskom is also coming around to the view that it needs to co-operate with municipalities in rolling out electrification to farm workers’ homes as part of the drive towards free basic electricity. This will put added pressure on municipalities to take farm workers’ issues seriously. Municipalities will have no choice but to transcend their urban bias.
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CHAPTER 11
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The professionalisation of farm work
Farm workers’ poor skills level condemns them to manual and semi-skilled work, makes them dispensable and prevents upward professional mobility. What are the chances of a class of skilled, even managerial, agricultural employees emerging? This chapter considers the provision and impact of education and training on farm workers’ lives. One could construe the story of farm worker training and education as a historical attempt by farmers and the state to secure a subservient agricultural working class, but it is not quite so simple. As the agricultural economy began to require skilled workers after the 1970s, farmers began to display a definite interest in farm worker training and advancement. With the evolution of the unfree labour system into a more market-driven system, workers and their families have found more ways of exercising their employment options – mainly through migration. This chapter will show that farm workers also express a greater desire for choice about training possibilities to improve their life chances on and off the farms. However, the rapid loss of employment opportunities in agriculture constantly threatens to thwart their ambitions. Freedom is a double-edged sword, as freedom may effectively mean redundancy. The wheel is turning inexorably towards a small, more professional agricultural workforce that casual and part-time workers will supplement. Economists have argued that increased wages in agriculture require structural changes in the workforce, so that those who remain on the farms may fare better. But out-migration does not necessarily have beneficial consequences for those who remain. Several factors account for this (Williams 1961: 87). Heavy out-migration is likely to leave the rural areas with low achievement motivation, particularly where incomes are low. In the United States, offfarm migration has failed to equalise returns for farm and non-farm labour. Limited off-farm employment options have meant that labour remains bottled up in farming areas (Bishop 1961: 44). Furthermore, the ‘best and brightest’ tend to migrate, as Chapter 6 showed, leaving less productive and lower-paid workers behind. 228
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t h e p r o f e s s i o n a l i s at i o n o f f a r m w o r k
In South Africa, the prospects of many farm workers are generally poor because of a legacy of inadequate schooling. Yet there is great scope for improvement. This chapter explores the possibilities for upgrading farm work into more skilled and professional activities. The argument is based on the normative assumption that a smaller, more skilled workforce would ultimately benefit the agricultural sector as well as the economy as a whole more than the precarious existence that farm workers currently endure.
The legacy of poor schooling A key factor militating against farm workers’ advancement in the workplace is the poor level of school education throughout the twentieth century. The 1996 Census showed that about 41 per cent of male farm workers had no education at all and another 34 per cent had a little primary school education (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 9). Coloured farm workers were slightly better educated, but a quarter of the male workers had no education. Women farm workers tend to have even less schooling. Why are farm workers so badly educated? The answer lies in the National Party government’s ambivalent sentiments towards black people’s education in general and farm workers’ education in particular. The Bantu Education Act 47 of 1953 made the education of black children living in white-designated areas the state’s concern. Farmers had established and financed farm schools, but these schools were established according to government regulations. Despite the Education and Training Act 90 of 1979, which aimed to introduce compulsory education in all areas, rural school facilities remained severely inadequate. Consequently, education levels of farm labourers and their families are still comparatively low. Low-density populations, remote settlements, poor transport systems and an absence of qualified staff pose tremendous logistical problems for the improvement of rural education. Other problems are the lack of parental involvement, the low economic status of rural communities and widespread malnutrition (Robertson 1988: 100). Under apartheid, the system of education and training for farm workers and their children exhibited some of the contradictory aspects of farm workers’ position on the farms. Commercial farmers relied heavily on family-based labour, yet many farmers made very little provision for the education of their workers’ children. In 1985, 36 per cent of rural children of school-going age
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(6–14 years) were not attending school (Robertson 1988: 101). Learners often had to travel long distances to school, usually on foot. A high failure rate and shortage of educational facilities caused a high drop-out rate. Girls’ education rate was significantly lower than boys’. Many farm schools provided tuition only up to standard two (usually age 10), so learners left school before they were functionally literate. The number of farm school learners grew steadily up to 1989, when it reached a total of 475 000 pupils. This increase may have been due to a growing concern within the South African Agricultural Union, which progressive farmers dominated and which urged farmers to raise wages and improve conditions for workers so that agriculture could compete with other sectors for labour. A long-term trend showed an increasing number of learners but after 1989 the number of children in farm schools began to decline for the first time (Gordon 1991: 82). This was presumably due to the decline in farm employment. The provision of schools for farm workers’ children was hampered by several factors. Firstly, the farm school system depended on farmers’ willingness to construct schools. The subsidies remained minimal and the government placed a limit of two classrooms and two teachers per school (Gordon 1991: 82). Farmers could receive a subsidy of no more than half of the building costs. Farmers had to provide accommodation for the teachers, a water supply, electricity and access roads. The state only covered the costs of teachers’ salaries, furniture, books and equipment (Robertson 1988: 105). Given these onerous requirements, it is remarkable that so many farm schools were established. This suggests that many farmers did feel a sense of social responsibility for their workers’ children’s education. It also meant, however, that the children on farms where farmers could not afford to build schools were condemned to extremely adverse schooling conditions or simply to no schooling at all. By 1987, there was one farm school for every ten farms (Gordon 1991: 85). In effect, the policy left a legacy of a largely illiterate farm labour force. Secondly, many farmers had mixed feelings about the training of farm workers because while a skilled labour force would improve productivity, it would also raise farm workers’ expectations about wages and living conditions (Gordon 1991: 81). At the same time, farm schools had the advantage that farmers were allowed to use the learners’ labour during school hours, under the official rationale that this amounted to ‘training in agriculture’. This meant
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that farmers had a labour reserve available, particularly for seasonal activities such as harvesting and packaging (Gordon 1991: 85). Thirdly, the isolation of farm schools meant that there was little chance of attracting professional staff to a setting in which they could not own a house, where there were few social facilities, limited employment opportunities for their spouses, and few professional contacts (Robertson 1988: 116). To make matters worse, the government pegged farm schoolteachers’ salaries at a lower level than salaries in urban schools, making farm schools an unpopular option for newly qualified teachers. The learner to teacher ratio was often greater than 40 : 1, and included multi-level classes. So even where farmers provided infrastructural facilities, the schools offered inferior education. A further problem was securing the commitment and participation of the learners’ parents and families. In many cases, parents’ isolation and illiteracy contributed to their indifference and apathy. Parents’ life circumstances perpetuated the deprived circumstances in which they found themselves. Robertson’s 1987 survey provided some reasons that farm labourers gave for not furthering their post-school education. Financial constraints were the single largest contributing factor. Training centres were available, but were often too expensive for the majority of farm workers to access. Workers’ need to support their households and to look after livestock worsened the situation. In many cases, girls were taken out of school to look after invalided or elderly relatives or small children so that their parents could go to work. In remote areas, the lack of educational facilities was a significant factor, although this was less of a factor in the more urbanised and populous commercial farming areas such as Natal. Factors such as parents’ lack of commitment and learners’ dislike of school also played a role (Robertson 1988: 110). The story of farm education since 1950 is one of missed opportunities, ambivalence and an unresolved relationship between farmers and the state. The National Party government believed that basic farm school education would reduce migration to the towns (Gordon 1991: 81). This assumption has proven to be largely wrong. The government also claimed that learners’ work on the farms would teach them that ‘education does not mean that you must not work with your hands, but that … manual labour on a farm is just as good a formative and development level as any other subject is’ (Minister of Education, cited in Gordon 1991: 85). But the provision of basic farm
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schooling did little to stem the tide of farm workers migrating to the towns. Better-educated people are more likely to take their chances elsewhere; but poor education is also an incentive to leave. In both cases, those who remain are likely to be the least educated and the least ambitious people.
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After 1988, the government attempted to improve farm education. Subsidies were increased and for the first time the government began paying for toilets, storerooms, offices, water and sanitation and teachers’ accommodation. The state was also now prepared to lease farm schools from farmers. Departmental officials believed that more stringent governmental controls and interventions would promote more sophisticated vocational education and increase parental involvement, and that this would help to obviate the ‘social problems’ and militancy that characterised the cities during the 1980s (Gordon 1991: 97). The Education Laws Amendment Act 31 of 1988, which was passed but never actually implemented, provided for an end to the use of child labour during school hours, for the establishment of governing bodies and for the transfer of the schools to full state ownership. Ironically, the government saw that schools had to be removed from farmers’ control, precisely to create the kind of skilled workforce that farmers needed – a curious type of state paternalistic intervention to promote agriculture’s long-term interests. The 1988 Act illustrates the underlying confusions and contradictions of government policy. The conceptions of farmer control, government control, rural investment, the need for farm worker training and the fear of contamination by urban liberationist ideologies continued to exist in tension with one another. This is illustrated by the reaction of the white right wing to government proposals. Conservative Party (CP) members were alarmed at the idea that black parents on school governing bodies would have the same status and powers as white farmers. They expressed their concern that the loss of farmers’ control would dovetail with the government’s new policy of racial integration. The Department of Education finally acceded to CP demands, saying that school governing bodies would be established only if the farm owner should decide not to manage the school himself (Gordon 1991: 98). Effectively, farm owners remained in control of farm schools. For the NP government, it was simply too difficult to contemplate a shift in power relations on the farm. In this sense, Nasson’s (1988) model of the farm as a closed institution has a great deal of resonance.
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At the heart of the farm school conundrum was the relationship between the state and the farm worker and the mediating role of the farm owner. The central problem was that the schools were located on private land, and that private individuals – the farmers – had to pay a substantial part of their establishment costs. Farmers had mixed feelings about having farm schools on their property. For some, it was an important and beneficial perk for their workers, while others regarded it as a necessary evil. The farm school became one point at which the state could legitimately seek access to the farm population (Gordon 1991: 104). In this uncomfortable triangular relationship, the state vacillated. This awkward interface still haunts government policy, even with an ANC government, as has already been demonstrated. In essence, commercial farmers need some level of control of their workers and their families – but it is not clear to them (or to the government) how much control they should retain, or how much latitude the government should have to intervene. In this uneasy truce between the government and farmers, the education of farm workers’ children has been the casualty. There is still very little provision for secondary school education, unless learners are prepared to board in the towns and cities, often with strangers. In 1990, only 1.7 per cent of farm school learners attended secondary classes on the farms, indicating the impossibility of farm education, as it was conceived then, making a meaningful contribution to secondary school education on the farms (Gordon 1991: 107). At that time, the Department of Education refused to countenance the creation of hostels in urban areas because of likely ‘disciplinary problems’ (Hansard 1988, cited in Gordon 1991: 99) – a policy that the ANC government was reviewing at the time of writing. Neither the NP nor the ANC government, however, has shown much understanding of the implications of their policies for long-term migration trends and the impetus for farm worker families to relocate to the towns, for the sake of their children’s education. After 1988, the number of farm schools declined steadily every year, despite more generous subsidies. The government made desultory attempts to purchase farm schools in a few instances, but this never became widespread. After 1994, urban schools were promoted, and farm schools were left to stagnate. To secure any education at all, it is increasingly necessary for both primary and high school learners to attend urban schools.
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Relations between commercial farmers and the Department of Education are currently strained as both parties search for an acceptable approach to farm schools. After 2000, the Department of Education decided to sign leases with farmers. The passing of the South African Schools Act (SASA) 84 of 1996 was supposed to be the death knell for this dual management system: farm schools, together with all public schools on private land, were to be proclaimed public schools, which meant they would be governed and financed in the same way as their public school counterparts. Legislation on the organisation, governance and funding of schools provided for the transfer of assets or the transfer of management of schools from the property owners to the state. Section 14(1)–(7) of the SASA endorsed the state’s responsibility for schools on private land, stating that a public school should be allowed to operate on private land only in terms of an agreement between the MEC and the property owner. This agreement should provide for the provision of education and the performance of the normal functions of a public school (with respect to governance, access, security of occupation, maintenance and capital improvements) together with the protection of the owner’s rights. The Act stated further that such agreements would be enforced against successive owners if farms were sold. Other options provided for in the SASA were: • The closure of schools; • The registration of educational rights on a piece of land, which could be endorsed on the title deed of the property; • The expropriation of land or a real right in or over land for any purpose relating to school education in a province. The new system of school registrations never really took off. The SASA provided for schools signing agreements within six months after its promulgation and, therefore, those without agreements were left in a legal limbo. Where concluded, these have not always been able to protect the interests of the learners or the farmers, as agreements do not include measures to enforce compliance. As a result, district offices, farmers and parents are constrained in their attempts to improve schools and facilitate delivery of essential services (DoE 2005: 65). The department claimed that farmers were asking unrealistic rentals (Farmer’s Weekly, 10/1/2003). Farmers, in turn, claimed that the department never
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produced the leases. In this vacuum, farmers continue to carry the financial burden of farm schools. The Department of Education announced that it wanted to expropriate the land on which farm schools were situated, as a last resort, if agreements could not be reached with individual farmers (Farmer’s Weekly, 22/10/04). This has caused much resentment on the part of the farming lobby, which feels that the government is ducking its responsibilities towards rural education. ‘Farmers want to keep the system of rural education viable, but farm schools have deteriorated since the department took over these schools’ (Landbouweekblad, 22/10/04). Farmers claim that they are eager to work with the department, but that the latter has failed to make good its agreements with farmers. The current situation is beset with difficulties regarding the future of farm schools. It remains unclear whether public schools on private land should be continued and promoted, by means of improved staff and infrastructure, or whether farm schools should be closed in favour of urban-based hostel provision. There are advantages to both systems. Worldwide, rural education offices are facing difficult choices regarding the placement and size of schools for rural learners. Even though centralised schools tend to offer educators and learners more facilities and subject choices, the state has to finance transport or provide accommodation for learners. It is also considered harmful for young children to leave their homes. In contrast, a larger number of smaller schools may ease the transport burden, but the schools cannot offer the wealth of facilities and learning options that can be provided in larger schools (DoE 2005: 68). But both these systems will have major implications for infrastructure delivery and teaching systems. Both these systems need to be addressed within the context of integrated, multi-sectoral service delivery.
Towards the professionalisation of farm work? Numbers of lower-skilled workers have declined or levelled out systematically within the agricultural sector. Agricultural professional, managerial and transport occupations have grown significantly (albeit from a low base), as shown in Table 11.1.
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Table 11.1 Changing employment patterns within agriculture, 1970–1995 1970 Professional/semi-professional/ technical
3 631
910
6 672
Clerical and sales
3 330
12 709
Service
4 919
17 809
2 443 353
1 019 352
13 163
21 657
Administrative/managerial
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1995
1 450
Farm workers/fisheries/forestry Operators and artisans Labourers
8 331
19 448
Transport
6 293
137 159
Unspecified Total
211
407
2 481 960
1 238 844
Source: Bhorat (2000: 440–1) Note: These figures refer to formal employment in the agricultural sector. They exclude people in informal employment (the informal sector). The 1970 census figures include the Transkei–Bophuthatswana–Venda–Ciskei areas. The 1995 figures are based on the StatsSA 1995 October Household Survey.
At the same time, the educational profile of the agricultural sector changed dramatically, with a sharp decline in unskilled work to a much greater emphasis on matriculation and tertiary education, as Table 11.2 shows. Table 11.2 Formal employment and education in agriculture, 1970–1995 1970 No education
290 289
Sub A to Standard 5 (Grade 7)
704 927
618 016
Standard 6 – Standard 9
166 472
232 159
Matriculation Tertiary Total Source: Bhorat (2000: 446)
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1995
1 584 594
23 124
61 551
2 843
36 829
2 481 960
1 238 844
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t h e p r o f e s s i o n a l i s at i o n o f f a r m w o r k
Table 11.2 shows the importance of the acquisition of skills in the agricultural sector. In this light, the fact that the provision of skills training for farm workers has been as inconclusive and ineffective as that of school-level education is a cause for alarm. The long history of limited education has become a major constraint on farm employment, despite ample early warnings about the need to remedy the situation. Even in 1939, the Farm Labour Commission claimed that poor productivity on the farms was due to the low education levels of black farm workers. The state still refused to support farm education (Gordon 1991: 56). The National Party’s fear of an educated black rural class prevented serious investment in education and training. There was constant anxiety about educated black workers becoming instigators and agitators amongst the ‘Natives’ (Hansard 1951, cited in Gordon 1991: 56). The government also feared that educated black workers would compete with poorly educated white Afrikaners – even at a time when Afrikaner migration to the cities had virtually depleted the countryside of an Afrikaner labour force. Even when the agricultural system began to require more skilled workers from the 1970s, the government did not introduce a strategy of literacy and technical training. The 1971 Marais-Du Plessis Commission of Inquiry into agriculture emphasised the need for a more skilled workforce in agriculture. The commission confirmed the deleterious effects of an illiterate and untrained workforce. It claimed that, because only 10 000 of the country’s 180 000 tractor drivers had had any formal training, heavy maintenance costs and a high injury rate were being incurred (Gordon 1991: 60). The De Lange Commission of 1981 led to an increased focus on non-formal technical training for farm workers (Gordon 1991: 64). From the 1960s onwards, several training centres for farm workers were established. These quickly increased their student intake. For example, Kromme Rhee College opened in 1964, under the auspices of local agricultural unions. It was aimed at coloured men, although a few women and Africans were later admitted (Gordon 1991: 64–5). By the end of 1989, the college had trained approximately 15 000 workers. Courses ranged from 5 to 18 days for the basic entry-level course, while senior foreman courses lasted eight weeks. All trainees had to be sent by farmers or employers. Employers received a 50 per cent government subsidy on training and travelling costs, as well as on farm workers’ salaries for the duration of the course. A two-year diploma course was introduced in 1983, and by 1989, 53 students had received the diploma.
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The South African Agricultural Union established Boskop, another wellknown college, in Potchefstroom in 1977. The Department of Manpower subsidised it. Boskop trained over 15 000 workers between 1977 and 1989. It also had 30 mobile training units that visited farms on request. After the closure of the Rural Foundation in 1998, however, Boskop was also closed down. In general, training institutions for farm workers are few and far between. Robertson (1988: 78) found only one institution for 8 340 farm employees in Lions River, one centre for 21 000 farm workers in Stanger and no training facilities at all in the Elliot district. Nevertheless, the training institutions that did exist provided a much-valued service. With funding that the Department of Manpower provided, nine group training centres were established throughout the country. In 1987, more than 23 000 people received training in a variety of disciplines. The largest proportion of the number of trainees was in the field of agriculture (HSRC/NTB 1989: 37). Employers were encouraged to design training schemes for their own staff, and in 1987, about 6 000 agricultural workers received training in this programme. Training was also provided for unemployed people, and a total of 4 500 unemployed people were trained in agricultural skills in 1987. The Rural Foundation promoted training particularly actively. By 1989, some 28 000 farm workers had participated in technical courses run by the Foundation. These courses were aimed at improving the skills of the workers and included modules on workmanship, tractor driving and harvesting. Agricultural training provision ran headlong into some of the underlying social contradictions that characterised the position of farm workers. Some farmers resisted promoting farm workers to management levels, and graduates of the diploma course tended to leave agriculture. Some farmers feared that workers would become ‘too clever’ and wanted them to remain answerable to white supervisors (Gordon 1991: 65). Impressionistic evidence suggests that, for most African and coloured workers, the chances of developing managerial competencies is fairly remote, due to farmers’ lingering preference for self-managed farms or for white managerial staff. There was clearly a tension between the more enlightened views of the South African Agricultural Union and the Rural Foundation on one hand and the more conservative white farmers on the other.
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When black trainees returned to their workplaces, their technical training did not always translate into higher levels of productivity. Some farmers claimed that the graduates of the colleges worked harder for a time, and soon thereafter became frustrated with their work or simply slackened off. One reason for this counterproductive result may have been that farmers did not give workers recognition for their improved performance, so workers became more demotivated than ever (HSRC/NTB 1989: 62). Because of the need to address farmers’ perspectives on personnel management, Boskop College had to develop a parallel course for farmers that covered workers’ attitudes and expectations (Gordon 1991: 66). In 1986, it introduced a personnel management course for farmers that was partially designed by the Rural Foundation and was offered in co-operation with the Foundation’s structures. The course included communication, motivation, managerial practices, conflict resolution and disciplinary codes. In 1989, the Rural Foundation modified the course so that it could be presented as a diplomalevel qualification at the Kromme Rhee agricultural college in Stellenbosch. New components included community development, personnel management and labour relations. Another problem was that not all farmers could afford training for their farm workers, even if they considered it to be worthwhile. The major supporters of the training centres tended to be the large employers (Gordon 1991: 67). Finally, there was a tendency for newly trained farm workers to use their skills to secure urban employment, possibly because they received inadequate material compensation for their newly acquired skills at their on-farm workplaces (Gordon 1991: 68). Once again, improved education led to a greater propensity to migrate. Two further factors militate increasingly against the professional advancement of farm workers. The first is the shift from regular to casual labour on farms, so that farmers do not see any need to invest in worker up-skilling. The second factor is that the Department of Labour has, since 2003, issued regulations that require farmers to increase wages by a set percentage at specified times of the year. This is clearly aimed at preventing inflation from eroding minimum wages. But it has the deeply unfortunate consequence that it discourages farmers from offering performance-based wage increases, so farmers lose a valuable mechanism to incentivise workers to strive for higher levels of productivity.
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Notwithstanding all ideological and sociological complications, there remains an overwhelming need for agricultural training. As Johan Hamman pointed out, with reference to Chilean agriculture, large improvements in earnings for the presently unskilled will come not from the tightening of labour markets (by minimum wage legislation, for example), but rather from considerable investments in human capital, which will increase individual productivity (Hamman 1998: 240). The HSRC research in the Free State and Northern Cape shows that, at entry level, there are virtually no training opportunities for workers. This is a consequence of the abolition of the Rural Foundation and the closure of some training colleges such as Boskop and the college in Bloemfontein. Training opportunities have declined drastically during the last ten years. A study conducted in the Western Cape in 1999 found a decline in training levels of almost 23 per cent from a previous survey conducted four years earlier (Kritzinger & Vorster 1999). Some provinces like the Western Cape do have a better track record of farm worker training. Training centres in this province can accommodate up to 2 500 farm workers every year (Landbouweekblad, 15/10/2004). However, given that there are about 200 000 farm workers in the Western Cape, this is still inadequate. One difficulty is the growing bureaucratisation of training. In terms of the Skills Development Act 97 of 1998, a Sector Education and Training Authority (SETA) has been created for each economic sector. In the agricultural sector, the AgriSETA is responsible for accrediting skills programmes.30 There are numerous requirements for such programmes: they must contain unit standards; they must be presented by an accredited provider; they must lead to accumulation of credits towards a qualification registered in terms of the National Qualifications Framework; and they must address a demonstrated need in the sector. Once training programmes are accredited, the AgriSETA can allocate funds to training providers and employers to finance training activities. Concern has been expressed about the fact that the entire training system has been made subject to elaborate procedures. For example, for an employer to access training for an employee, he or she will first need to consult with the worker representatives at the workplace, then appoint a facilitator to
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co-ordinate efforts and identify what skills are needed to underpin the implementation of business strategies, then compile a Workplace Skills Plan and then apply to the SETA for funding (DoL 2003). It is difficult to conceive of remote, under-resourced and overworked farmers being able to comply with these bureaucratic requirements. The institutional hurdles in the way of registering training programmes and accrediting service providers has meant that the provision of training has fallen far short of what is required. The process of setting up SETAs and getting them to function effectively has proved to be a mammoth task (Lundall 2003: 22). The opposition Democratic Alliance (DA) has demanded the abolition of SETAs in favour of a system of subsidies to business enterprises to provide training directly to their employees. The DA believes that this is the only way to relieve the country’s skills shortage rapidly. During 2001, of the more than 120 000 enterprises that had paid the compulsory skills development levy, only 21 per cent had received any training grants (Landbouweekblad, 13/8/2004). Furthermore, while skills development among those who are already employed is gradually increasing, training of unemployed people remains conspicuously small. The 100 000 unemployed people that presently receive training represent only about 1 per cent of those who are unemployed (HSRC 2003: 20). In 2004, the issue of farm worker training suddenly received a new impetus. As part of the government’s black empowerment proposals for agriculture, the government wants the agricultural sector to eliminate illiteracy by 2008 and to promote the ‘unlocking of the skills of historically disadvantaged individuals’ (Landbouweekblad, 13/8/2004). Development programmes for farm workers must be introduced, and mentoring must be provided to 5 000 unemployed black graduates (Landbouweekblad, 13/8/2004). These proposals caught the agricultural sector totally off guard. A great deal of work needs to be done to address this need. The facilities for training and education in the farming sector have decayed over the last ten years, leaving a confused tangle of responsibilities between farmers, the Department of Education, the Department of Labour and the Department of Agriculture. Clearly, this institutional system will have to be rebuilt from the ground up. The paltry training available to farm workers contrasts with the situation in the United States, were farm worker training receives a much greater emphasis than in South Africa. In the US, training is readily available to farm workers
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to improve their agricultural skills or to enable them to leave the agricultural sector to join the urban economy. The National Farm Worker Jobs Program (NFJP) is an initiative managed from Washington DC. It works through 53 NGOs and public agencies, and has 5 000 employees. The NGOs, located throughout the US, provide ‘agricultural stabilisation services’, employment training and related assistance to over 25 000 migrant and seasonal farm workers. This is about 2 per cent of the eligible farm labour workforce. The NFJP hopes to double its current reach to 50 000 farm workers. In 2003, the government provided funding of $81 million. This training initiative has several important aspects. It provides flexible assistance to a category of farm workers (migrant and seasonal) who are subject to very unstable work conditions. Many of these families live permanently on the edge of financial crisis. Where bad weather or crop losses result in lost wages, the NFJP agencies provide thousands of farm workers with emergency food, shelter, childcare, medical treatment and other necessities that allow them to stay in the migrant labour force. Agencies also provide vouchers for food, clothing, shelter, and even car repairs, which enable families to travel between jobs, or to survive when conditions prevent them from working in the fields. Significantly, NFJP agencies do not only provide agricultural support and training, but also assist farm workers to find more stable jobs outside agriculture. Vocational training and ESL (English as a second language) training are also provided.
Informal training and professional advancement Formal training is not the only route to professional advancement. Informal training or on-the-job training is much more widespread. The 2003 HSRC survey found that formal qualifications are rare, but that on-farm, informal training has been extensive. Many workers have some experience in farm management, which means that they manage the farm when the farmer is away. A key issue is farmers’ views of the need for farm worker training. This indicates the extent to which farmers believe that skilled employees can add value to their businesses. It also suggests the degree to which farm work has been professionalised, or can be further professionalised in future. This, in turn, could precipitate changes in the power relations between employers and
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employees. The more skilled and specialised farm workers become, the more their work will become valued, to the point where they might even become indispensable. Given the current economic climate, it is not clear how many farmers will invest in training. It is likely that only those who want a long-term relationship with more professionalised workers will do so. A Western Cape survey conducted in the late 1990s found that only 22 per cent of farmers in the fruit and wine industry invested in training to promote productivity (Ewert & Hamman 1999: 214). The situation may be different in an extensive livestock farming system, such as in the Free State and Northern Cape. In the 2003 HSRC survey, 64 farmers were asked an open-ended question about the types of training they would find useful for their workers.31 Table 11.3 shows their responses. Table 11.3 Farmers’ views of farm workers’ training needs Subject
Farmers’ responses
Welding
9
Animal care and disease management
13
Farm management and entrepreneurship
30
Driver’s licence and tractor driving
17
Repair of farm vehicles and equipment, e.g. windmills, tractors
21
Literacy
34
Sheep shearing
7
Wool classification
4
Fencing
4
Mohair treatment Life skills (including parenting, work ethics, sense of responsibility, time management, social skills, family life, dealing with domestic violence, dealing with alcoholism)
1 19
Construction/artisan
4
Water infrastructure maintenance and technology
5
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Table 11.3 contd.
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Subject
Farmers’ responses
Domestic work/housekeeping
3
Needlework
1
Financial management, including personal finances
5
General farming methods (animals, crops, fences, gardening, etc.)
21
Care for stock (e.g. dosing, artificial insemination)
2
HIV/AIDS training, health training, hygiene
8
First aid
1
Religious education
2
Veld maintenance
2
Care of horses
1
Hunting and working with hunting trophies
1
Farm security
1
Note: n=64, with multiple responses.
Table 11.3 suggests that farmers regard literacy, farm management/entrepreneurship, mechanical repairs, general farming methods and life skills as the most important skills for farm workers to acquire. The wide range of categories, together with the large number of responses, indicates that there is a general desire on the part of farmers to have a better qualified and skilled workforce. This contrasts strongly with the very low level of formal skills training that workers have received. One farmer remarked that unschooled workers, with little potential and who can only carry out simple tasks, are unaffordable in terms of the new labour laws. Another farmer referred longingly to the valuable training at Boskop College, which has been closed down. Farm workers also show a great desire for training (Simbi & Aliber 2000: 18). The 2003 HSRC survey findings in Table 11.4 corroborate this finding.
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Table 11.4 Training experience and training needs
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Subject
Number of farm workers who have received training
Number of farm workers who would like to receive training
Welding
17
25
Animal care and disease management
27
16
Farm management
20
20
Driver’s licence
19*
29
Tractor driving
1
Repair of farm equipment and vehicles, mechanics
22
23
Literacy
26
17
5
6
Cooking, needlework, housework Business/entrepreneurship
2
Electronics
1
Ploughing
1
Sheep shearing
3
Fencing
2
Construction
1
Note: n=64, with multiple responses. Farm worker interviewees were provided with a list of six training areas (welding, animal diseases, farm management, driver’s licence, repair of farm vehicles and literacy). They were then asked if there are other training areas which they may have had, or which they would like to have. * Five can drive, but do not have licences.
An important element of farm worker up-skilling is management training. This has become of more than mere academic interest. In mid-2004, the government released its proposals for black empowerment in agriculture (AgriBEE). These proposals set targets, inter alia, for black workers’ advancement to management level in the agricultural sector. By 2006, 30 per cent of management staff should be black workers; by 2008, this figure should climb to 70 per cent. At farm level, enterprises should include 10 per cent of black equity by 2008 (Landbouweekblad, 13/08/2004) – an
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injunction that is being interpreted to mean black ownership of 10 per cent of each and every farm.
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To some extent, farmers are beginning to share the government’s interest in management training for farm employees. In the 2003 HSRC survey, almost 50 per cent of the farmers mentioned the need to train workers in farm management. But the radical content of the government’s BEE proposals sent tremors of anxiety through the farming community. Agricultural specialists warned that training programmes for farm managers would require funding on an enormous scale. The government’s proposals imply that the commercial farming sector must carry these costs, which is clearly unrealistic (Willemse 2004: 10).
Training providers In the 2003 HSRC survey, farmers were asked an open-ended question about their views regarding desirable service providers. Their responses are shown in Table 11.5. Table 11.5 Farmers’ views of desirable training providers Service provider Agricultural college (e.g. Boskop) Farmers’ associations Producers’ associations (e.g. wool growers), co-operatives Farmers themselves Farmers’ wives Department of Agriculture, extension officers Department of Labour Department of Education Government – either directly or by providing subsidies
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Farmers’ responses 6 14 2 41 4 13 2 3 13
Farm workers should access it by themselves
1
Specialist organisations and NGOs (e.g. Training Solutions)
4
No training needed
1
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Service provider
Farmers’ responses
Church
1
Farm schools
1
Social workers for life skills training
1
Retired teachers
1
Agricultural Research Council
1
Tractor companies
1
Note: n=64, with multiple responses.
Table 11.5 is interesting because it shows that two out of three farmers believe that they themselves would be the most effective training provider. This indicates a promising willingness to invest in the skills of their employees. Farmers also mentioned farmers’ associations frequently as significant training providers. Several farmers suggested that the government must hire farmers to do on-the-job training. They suggested that there should be an evaluation process of on-farm training and that workers who complete the training should receive certificates of competence. In other words, informal training should be formalised. Several farmers expressed the need for agricultural colleges, which suggests that the closure of colleges has left a real gap in the provision of training for farm workers. Some farmers believe that it is the government’s responsibility, particularly through the Department of Agriculture, to provide training to farm workers. Curiously, the Department of Labour got very few mentions, which suggests that its funding and training opportunities are not being marketed effectively or that its training attempts have not been impressive. In the 2003 HSRC survey, farm workers were also asked who they would prefer as training providers. The questionnaire suggested the farmer, the farmers’ associations and the government, but also asked for additional suggestions. Farm workers’ responses are shown in Table 11.6. The majority of farm workers believe that farmers or farmers’ associations or farmers’ wives should provide training – presumably a type of in-service training. This indicates a generally trusting relationship between farmers and workers, and coincides with farmers’ views. Only one in four of the farm
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Table 11.6 Farm workers’ preferences for training providers Service provider Farmers’ associations
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Farmers Farmers wives Government
Farm workers’ choice of training providers 3 30 6 16
Farm workers should access it by themselves
2
Specialist organisations and NGOs (e.g. Training Solutions, Rural Foundation)
1
ABET classes
1
Schools
2
Skilled people, e.g. mechanics
3
Children who can read and write
1
Does not know/no reply
2
Note: n=64, with multiple responses.
workers in the survey thought that the government should provide training. There was no explicit reference to the Department of Labour, which suggests that farm workers do not know about the department’s funding and training programmes. The survey gives the overall impression that there is an enormous need and desire for training, but there are no coherent systems of training in place and no knowledge of how to access the formal training methods that might exist. The new AgriSETA (previously the Primary Agriculture SETA, or PAETA) emphasises the role of mentorship, especially in the transfer of management skills. Interestingly, the Education and Training SETA has unit quality standards for mentorship.32 The professionalisation of mentors and the idea of payment for commercial farmers who act as mentors is increasingly being mooted. AgriSETA argues that a generic type of training for mentors needs to be offered. Furthermore, a national database of mentors needs to be compiled, so that potential mentors can be identified rapidly. This means that mentors in an area should be trained before a land reform project is launched in that area. Monitoring and evaluation should be conducted constantly and norms for successful mentoring should be compiled.
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Conclusion The provision of training is a crucial component of a strategy to promote labour-intensive agriculture. Agriculture still generates more jobs per rand invested than any other major sector (Kirsten et al. 1998: 9). Given the pressures of globalisation, it is critically important that the future of agricultural training should be thought through clearly. This is the task of the government’s new Sector Education and Training Authorities. They, in turn, will need guidance on the future of agriculture as a sector and on likely employment patterns. Many farmers are eager to provide training for their workers. They are also ready to volunteer their services as mentors. Given the extensive practical experience of many commercial farmers, it would be a great pity not to use this type of social capital to broaden the agricultural skills base of the country. Many farm workers seem to favour training provided by their employers. This offers a valuable opportunity for farmers and workers to find new co-operative relationships.
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CHAPTER 12
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A journey to somewhere?
The previous chapters have shown that farm workers’ livelihoods are highly insecure. A growing disjuncture between rural jobs and urban services, and poor communication and transport linkages to connect the two parts of their world, confront them. But farm workers with jobs are still the lucky ones. Many thousands of people have lost their jobs in the last ten years, and have drifted to the towns, hoping to find a foothold in the urban economy. This chapter examines the question of future livelihoods. For farm workers who have lost their jobs, or who have been down-scaled to casual or parttime workers, there are three main possibilities. The first option is engaging in peri-urban agriculture and mixed livelihoods. The second option is seeking some kind of land reform grant and farming independently. The third option is forfeiting a farming job for an urban livelihood. Each of these trajectories is fraught with institutional and financial difficulties – unnecessarily so, because a few well-targeted interventions could make a huge difference to the chances of these options succeeding. These sentiments are not new. In 1937, the Department of Agriculture economist, AP van der Post drew attention to the need to build viable local economies based on agriculture. He identified poverty among black people as a key reason for the weak performance of agriculture in South Africa because it constrained local markets: ‘An important step towards the alleviation … of the agricultural problem in the Union would be a determined effort on the part of the white man to raise the standard of living of the native’. And, he argued, the increase in local purchasing power would require purposeful attention ‘to develop the earning capacity of the native’ (1937: 616, 645). In the interval between 1937 and 1994, such arguments were drowned out by government policies on spatial segregation, white favouritism and influx control. Post-apartheid South Africa is still grappling to understand and support holistic and integrated local economic development. The following section begins with a discussion of grazing and cropping rights on the farms. For those farm workers who still have access to such resources,
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it offers a first-stage opportunity for farm workers to acquire technical and managerial skills. The right of farm workers to cultivate their own crops or keep their own livestock on the farm is significant in several respects. It has implications for farm workers’ livelihoods, skills training and management experience. The government has also included the principle of grazing and cropping rights in its recent proposals for AgriBEE, or black economic empowerment in agriculture, that it announced in September 2004. According to the government, by 2014, 10 per cent of commercial farm land should be made available to farm workers for their own productive operations.
Grazing and cropping rights There are historical reasons for the principle that farm workers should have the right and the resources to undertake their own agricultural activities. Unlike pure wage relationships, as found in the agricultural sector in developed countries, many South African farmers still allow workers to keep livestock or grow crops. This is a remnant of the earlier systems of labour tenancy and sharecropping. In certain parts of the country, these rights have been a significant part of the wage package (Roberts 1959: 39) because workers can sell their stock for cash. In most cases, the farmers treat the workers’ livestock in the same way as their own, This means that, in addition to the provision of grazing land, farmers pay for veterinary services, medicines and dipping (Heunis 1993: 52). Typically, farm workers also get access to good quality bulls or rams to service their stock. Farmers allow cropping and grazing rights for several reasons (Roberts 1959: 40; Atkinson 2003). Some farmers regard them as a reward for good service, while, for others, they serve training purposes. Employers believe that it encourages workers’ sense of responsibility and commitment to the enterprise, and teaches the need to care for the animals. In some cases, farmers provide workers with high-quality animals for their own use, which enables workers to learn the techniques appropriate to such livestock. For yet other farmers, the system discourages stock theft. Some farm workers are also allowed to keep horses and donkeys for their own transport.
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Most farmers provide their workers with some land to grow vegetables and grain crops. In many cases, farmers provide seeds, fertilizers, implements, irrigation equipment and insecticides. Curiously, several surveys found that farm workers do not utilise this opportunity to the full, despite being encouraged to do so by their employers (Atkinson 2003; Heunis 1993: 44; Roberts 1959: 42). Farmers experience workers’ rights to have cattle or crops as onerous. Not only is the productive capacity of the farmer’s land reduced, but farmers are concerned that their disease-free farms may be compromised by workers bringing untested animals onto the farm (Ardington 1985: 94). One way of dealing with this problem is to insist that farm workers draw their animals from the farmer’s own herd or flock. Farmers’ views of their social relationship with farm workers may overlap with their views on farm workers’ rights to keep livestock or grow crops. These views indicate whether a farmer regards the work relationship as one of pure exchange of labour, as opposed to a quasi-feudal relationship where the worker has certain production rights. It might even reveal a potential partnership, with the worker and farmer beginning to farm together. This latter possibility could lay the basis for share-equity land reform schemes. In the HSRC survey, many of the farmers who regarded their farms as a community allowed their workers to keep livestock, while those who subscribed to the ethos of a formal labour relationship often did not give their workers this right. The system of stock ownership is, therefore, more than a remnant of quasifeudal social relations. It can also lay the groundwork for future development initiatives. Farm workers keep animals as a form of capital. In the HSRC survey, one Fauresmith farmer has entered into a partnership with his workers. The workers run a sheep shearing concern. Another farmer noted that stock ownership teaches farm workers participatory management skills. A third farmer intends hiring land in partnership with the workers, so that they could farm together. In such ways, a pre-modern, quasi-feudal system is adapting to modern co-management approaches. Those farmers who do not allow their workers to keep livestock have found that the system has failed in the past (Atkinson 2003). Some workers are not sufficiently motivated to care for their animals. In other cases, there is a rapid turnover of staff, which is itself an indication of a modern wage labour
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situation. Or there are too many workers, so livestock ownership would intensify conflict among workers. Another argument for prohibiting stock-keeping is that farmers pay workers an adequate cash salary, which is more than they would make if they kept stock. In some cases, farmers share profits in the form of bonuses or they increase workers’ cash wages to compensate for not owning livestock (Atkinson 2003; Ardington 1985: 95). This suggests that more modern management and remuneration practices are coming to the fore. But most commonly – and tragically – farmers now resist livestock-keeping because of land tenure legislation such as ESTA. In the words of one farmer, ‘legislation has taken its toll on the “humane” relationship; the issue of grazing rights places stress on the relationship between farmer and worker’ (Atkinson 2003). Farmers’ fears are probably unfounded in terms of ESTA, but stockkeeping would make it more difficult to terminate the services of workers. When the worker leaves his employment, he normally has nowhere to take his livestock. Not all farm workers actually want to keep their own livestock. There are cases where workers are allowed to keep stock, but prefer not to (Atkinson 2003; Ardington 1985: 95). This might indicate that the workers see their work on the farm as no more than wage labour, and that they have no special interest in farming. Furthermore, in some cases, workers are allowed to keep stock but they prefer to reside in town. This suggests that the advantages of urban life and services are stronger than whatever incentives life on the farm may offer. It is also possible that farm workers may indeed wish to keep their own livestock, but to reside in town – along the same lines as the increasing number of farmers who prefer to live in town and draw on urban and farming livelihoods or services simultaneously. Where farmers and workers want to enjoy rural and urban advantages simultaneously, this creates new and interesting rural-urban links. A great deal more qualitative investigation is needed to determine what farm workers’ ambitions are with regard to farming activities and urban livelihoods and lifestyles. For example, do significant numbers of farm workers want to grow crops or keep livestock for their own income? And if so, might this be an indication of potential directions for land reform? Could the government encourage stock-keeping, possibly by means of incentives, to promote mutually
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supportive relationships between established and emergent farmers? If so, where do these farm workers want to live – on-farm or off-farm? Does the desire to farm indicate a desire to become independent farmers in their own right? Are there farm workers (or ex-farm workers), who reside in town, who may be more suited to farming entrepreneurship than the wage labourers on the farms? A fuller understanding of the dynamics of crop cultivation and livestock-keeping may well make a valuable contribution to policy design.
The ideal of farm ownership One set of livelihoods issues is the far-reaching question of land reform. How many farm workers would like to graduate to becoming independent farmers themselves? Are farm workers primarily resigned to remaining wage labourers, or to furthering their economic ambitions through off-farm employment? Given that many farm workers have a great deal of farm work experience, they are arguably prime candidates to qualify as land reform beneficiaries. The government has launched a wide range of land reform options, including household food safety-net projects, share equity schemes, out-grower schemes, partnerships and purchasing farms for groups or individual beneficiaries. Provincial offices of the Department of Land Affairs drive land reform. They are making slow but steady progress in implementing projects. In the 2003 HSRC survey, farm workers were asked whether they would like to own their own farm. This is clearly a much more complex question than can be reflected in a survey question, but their answers do provide a glimpse into a complex situation. Table 12.1 Farm workers’ ambitions to farm independently
Totals
Farm workers who would like to own farms
Farm workers who do not want to own farms
Unsure/ other
Farm workers who have taken steps to owning a farm
42 (76%)
10
2
1
Note: n=55, multiple answers possible
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Table 12.1 shows that the majority of workers would like to own their own farms. This is roughly in keeping with a Limpopo study, which stated that the majority of workers in a maize and livestock area wanted their own farms, whereas only about half of the workers in an intensive horticultural area had this ambition (Simbi & Aliber 2000). Of course, a farm worker’s stated desire to run a commercial farm is not necessarily a realistic or well-considered response and should probably be taken with a pinch of salt. However, the survey indicates that a significant proportion of farm workers would prefer to remain in the agricultural sector if they could attain an independent livelihood. There is, however, a school of thought that says the demand for agricultural land may be overstated. Is land reform what people really want, or would they prefer another form of social redress or security? According to research conducted by the South African Institute of Race Relations, the main demand for land is for housing and not for agriculture (Tilley 2003). This will result in massive urbanisation pressures. The 2005 Centre for Development and Enterprise (CDE) report argues that land demand by black South Africans is mostly an urban and peri-urban phenomenon. South Africa is already a predominantly urban society and will become even more urbanised. This will lead to a need for urban land redistribution that is more important than rural or agricultural land reform. These two realities have enormous significance for land policy (CDE 2005: 41). Among farm workers in the HSRC survey, there was a general lack of awareness about formal land subsidy programmes. Several workers had asked their employers for some rental land, so that they could keep livestock. In some cases, such requests are successful. One worker is indeed being assisted by the farmer to acquire a farm, and there are even precedents of farm workers inheriting land from their erstwhile employers (Landbouweekblad, 15/10/2004). The role of farmers in assisting farm workers to access their land needs to be researched further, because it appears that there is a substantial degree of low-key land reform taking place, either on the basis of land transfer or land rental. When workers were asked whom they would turn to for help in accessing land, most workers said that they would turn to their employer for help in renting land. But others said that they believe the government should help them to purchase or rent land, although they had no idea how they would go about making an application.
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Farm workers’ difficulties in accessing the DLA’s LRAD grants are not surprising (Pienaar & Zingel 2004: 30). DLA offices are usually located in the main cities, and farm workers do not have transport. The offices are typically open during the week, when workers cannot leave the farms. Many farm workers do not know where the DLA offices are, and workers are poorly informed about the functions of the DLA. Overworked DLA staff do not conduct farm visits. Table 12.1 shows that a significant minority (about 20 per cent) have no desire to farm independently, and are presumably content to remain as wage labourers or take on off-farm work.
The private sector’s role in land reform In the HSRC survey, farmers were asked a totally open-ended question about who they believed should support emergent farmers. Remarkably, the majority of farmers believe that established farmers should help emergent farmers. A smaller number believed that it is the responsibility of the government, and some felt that farmers’ unions should help. Table 12.2 Farmers’ views of appropriate support providers for emergent farmers
Number of mentions
Government agencies
Farmers
Farmers’ unions
Agricultural colleges
Other
32
42
11
2
4
Some farmers are much more positive about land reform than others. Farmers may feel politically pressured in this regard, to avoid more radical forms of land reform: ‘If we are not going to make it work, then the government is going to make it work’ (Atkinson 2003). Farmers of this sort are more than willing to provide training, mentoring, information and equipment to assist the emergent farmer. But several farmers were concerned that emergent black farmers do not receive sufficient government help, so their farming enterprises collapse and they do not use the land productively. These sentiments echo those of numerous leaders in the farming community who have publicly expressed their support for commercial farmers’ involve-
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ment in land reform. In many localities, commercial farmers have become involved in mentoring projects on an informal basis. For example, in the eastern Free State, commercial farmers assisted emerging farmers who were affected by widespread veld fires by providing them with fodder for supplementary feeding. But there are dissenting voices. Some farmers resist change. In the HSRC survey, one farmer felt that emergent farmers ‘had it too easy’, while another observed that land reform is ‘just a chaotic mess’. The odd farmer stated that existing commercial farmers were not obliged to help emergent farmers. The left, the government and commercial agriculture share the common ground of understanding that land reform has to be delivered at scale, to meet the 30 per cent target for 2014.33 AgriSA agrees that land reform has to be speeded up, and that the current pace of land reform is too slow. In fact, AgriSA has recently indicated that it is going to undertake its own privately driven land reform programme, so that the land reform process can be speeded up. For AgriSA, the government’s land reform programme is too constrained by bureaucratic procedure, and a more flexible, rapid and responsive programme is required. Several of the provincial farmers’ unions already have land reform committees. The initiatives that the private commercial agricultural sector undertook have been some of the most successful ones. In 2001, AgriSA reached an agreement with the National African Farmers’ Union (NAFU) and the Minister of Agriculture and Land Affairs on a strategy for South African agriculture. The strategy’s vision of a united, non-racial and prosperous agricultural sector is based on three strategic goals: access and participation, competitiveness and profitability, and sustainable resource management.34 This growing consensus results from commercial agricultural stakeholders developing a growing appreciation of the importance of land reform for the sake of political stability to avoid the Zimbabwean scenario. These preliminary findings suggest that farmers support land reform widely. This offers a wealth of social capital on which to build a viable land reform strategy – and it is tragic that it has been used so little. The private sector promotes land reform in two main ways. The first is the promotion of mentorship. In the Free State, AgriFS is actively identifying new black farmers and offering training and mentorship. It is also building a database of such projects in the Free State, so that it can monitor them
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and provide support. AgriFS enjoys good relations with NAFU and plans to become a key partner in land reform in that province (Farmer’s Weekly, 26/08/ 2005: 33). A major innovation is the creation of the Farmers’ Development Trust (FDT), with the purpose of co-ordinating farmer support mechanisms. This is the product of collaboration between NAFU and AgriSA, which represents mainly white commercial farmers. Chairmanship of the FDT rotates between NAFU and AgriSA. The large co-operative, Senwes has established the Silo Academy to train black employees. It has developed an accelerated management development programme. Senwes procured R535 million worth of goods and services from BEE companies. Senwes spent R1.3 million of this on the development of emerging farmers. A university bursary scheme has also been launched (Farmer’s Weekly 05/08/2005: 17). The organisation representing grain farmers, GrainSA, has 12 000 black members (Landbouweekblad, 09/07/2004). It has also created 500 study groups, with growing participation by emerging farmers (Landbouweekblad, 4/7/2003). GrainSA has recently assisted 25 emergent farmers in North West Province to restore their degraded land. The National Wool Growers’ Association (NWGA), together with the Department of Agriculture’s LandCare Programme, has achieved an important goal by including black wool farmers in the former homelands in the NWGA. The LandCare Programme included erecting shearing sheds, as part of a shearing training system, and creating structures to negotiate better prices for emergent farmers. Currently, the genetic improvement of black farmers’ flocks is high on the priority list. This includes providing rams with a high breeding potential and control tests to test the results scientifically, identifying communities to become involved in the breeding of rams, and implementing effective veld management systems (Landbouweekblad, 04/03/2005: 14). The NWGA has proved that wool can be grown successfully in a communal situation. But the most important achievement is the human development that has accompanied this agricultural support. Black delegates have progressed within the NWGA’s structures, as was shown by the high level of their participation in the recent NWGA Congress. In a few cases, government departments have encouraged such co-operation. As part of the Free State Department of Agriculture’s Pick your Neighbour programme, the commercial farmers in the Senekal area transferred 200 hectares of land to 80 black emerging farmers. The local agricultural union
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provided the farmers with diesel, seeds and fertilizer (AgriNews, September 2003). But there is much more scope for such government-sponsored cooperative programmes. The second approach that the private sector adopts is the creation of partnerships with emergent farmers by launching out-growing schemes or share equity schemes. The latter is of particular interest for farm workers. As Chapter 1 showed, the widespread system of agricultural sharecropping was virtually destroyed after 1913. This system is now making a comeback as some commercial farmers experiment with new types of production. Typically, this is a response to new land reform legislation such as ESTA. Commercial farmers and black out-growers have established partnerships in many cases, sometimes with the aid of DLA subsidies. Where off-farm agri-villages are established, housing subsidies can also be accessed (Hamman & Ewert 1999: 450). One of the more ambitious approaches to land reform is the creation of share equity schemes, in which farm workers receive ownership of a percentage of the equity of a commercial farm. The government purchases the beneficiaries’ equity in the form of land redistribution grants. These grants are allocated to the beneficiaries in their individual capacity and then pooled to make up a purchase price. Thus, the farm workers, who now become co-owners of the farm, are entitled to a share of the returns and profits as well as a share of the capital value of the farm. The advantage of this approach is that the commercial farmer remains on the farm, as part of the project, so the beneficiaries benefit from the farmer’s management experience. These projects are a potentially cost-effective way for beneficiaries to enter capital-intensive, high-tech, highrisk enterprises safely. In this approach, the commercial farmer’s existing enterprise is not risked financially because production carries on as normal (De Lange 2004: 8). In some cases, commercial farmers and farm workers purchase new farms jointly, with the farm workers contributing their subsidies and the commercial farmer his or her own capital to the new enterprise. Several studies have pointed out the potential challenges and pitfalls of the establishment of partnerships and equity schemes. The legalities are complex, so rights and obligations need to be clearly elaborated in a contractual agreement. The critical success factors are a high level of trust; a change in management style; a real sense of ownership by the beneficiaries; short-term benefits to the beneficiaries; and an economically viable agricultural project.
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New entrants should receive cash rewards at an early stage in the project to build their confidence and commitment. New types of financial measurement are required to reflect the profitability, solvency, liquidity, share value growth and workers’ total returns (Gray et al. 2004). Furthermore, teaching equity partners life skills and making them feel at home in the agricultural fraternity is as important as teaching them technical and managerial skills. Farm workers have to make a quantum leap from having technical skills to becoming managers and decision-makers (De Lange 2004: 8). In practice, share equity schemes have not always been implemented effectively. In some projects, farm workers were not presented with real choices between share equity schemes and other types of land reform projects such as the outright ownership of their own piece of land on an individual or collective basis. Often farm workers do not understand the full implications of entering a share equity scheme. Becoming a co-owner of a sophisticated commercial enterprise entails enormous management. Most farm workers are not prepared for this, or do not particularly want to undertake this. Experience has shown that effective farm worker participation in joint farm management requires outside mediators to provide ongoing facilitation. This creates effective co-operative procedures for the commercial farmer and the new equity owners. Equity schemes do provide some kind of empowerment for farm workers, but deciding whether they are the best option requires a great deal more careful investigation in each individual case.
The fate of unemployed farm workers Farm workers who lose their jobs have to move. They seek work on other farms; they move to town and try to get jobs; they move repeatedly, from one town to another, in the hope of securing a job; or they become perpetually unemployed urban residents, dependent on government grants or the livelihoods of their extended kin. The population growth of the small towns indicates that many unemployed farm workers find a refuge there. The fortunes of ex-farm workers have received very little attention in research and policy. An important exception is Du Toit (2004), who examined the impact of casualisation of farm labour. In a study of Ceres in the southern Cape, he found that unemployed or seasonal workers are doomed to poverty, due a variety of factors – their asset poverty and resultant cash
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dependency, the seasonal nature of their work and the destructive types of patron-client relationships to which they have to resort with clientelistic municipal officials, loan sharks, shacklords and criminal gangs. Poor people are reduced to ‘a dependent status in complex and unequal relationships of patronage, clientelism and exploitation’, resulting in experiences of ‘shame, self-devaluation and deprivation’. One remarkable insight is that ex-farm workers may have escaped the paternalist system on the farms, but they then find themselves in a mutated form of paternalistic relationships vis-à-vis a range of undesirable interest groups in the towns (Du Toit 2004: 994). During the 2003 HSRC survey, interviews were held with 32 ex-farm workers in nine localities in the Free State and the Northern Cape. The majority of interviewees were over 40 years old, and their education level was generally low. Most interviewees were illiterate or had only some primary school exposure. A remarkable feature of this sample group was that many had long periods of service and extensive farm experience. Some left farm employment because they were dismissed or retrenched. Others suffered poor health, old age and accidents. Still others moved to town voluntarily to be near services or family. The interviewees were asked to compare their current living conditions to their farm situation. A large proportion (54 per cent) lived in temporary structures or shacks. Some interviewees said that their access to water, sanitation and electricity was of a higher standard in town than on the farms where they had come from, but several interviewees also recorded that their conditions of life had deteriorated since arriving in town. They had mixed feelings about their facilities in town. Town life had various advantages, including: • Ownership of a house or a shack; • Access to social services and networks such as clinics, schools and churches; • The ability to attend social gatherings and events, and proximity to family members; • Proximity to sport and recreation facilities; • Work possibilities, particularly piecework; • Easier transport. There were also some distinct disadvantages. Housing and water supply tend to be worse than on the farms, and residents have to pay the municipality for water and electricity. Work is scarce and 54 per cent of the respondents were unemployed. Several more rely on piece-jobs to make a living. Urban residents cannot keep livestock. It is very expensive to live in town, and
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people are dependent on relatives. Some people have to beg for food, there is no heating in the winter, there is no wood available and people cannot sleep at night due to the noise in the township. There is no camp where their donkeys can be kept. Those who keep stock on the municipal commonage complain of stock losses due to vagrant dogs. These are typical problems that characterise peri-urban slums. Several people stated that they long for their work and lifestyle on the farm – an indication that farm life has important compensations, despite fairly low monetary wages. Government spending policies have probably encouraged urbanisation. By limiting mobile clinic visits to the farms in favour of fixed clinic services in the towns, it becomes extremely desirable to relocate to the towns. In the Free State, the allocation of housing subsidies has systematically advantaged smaller towns, rather than the larger cities (Marais & Krige 2000). This may well have encouraged farm workers to settle in those towns. In general, it appears that ex-farm workers have not managed to secure proper urban jobs. The lucky ones get piecework. Some ex-farm workers do not want to work on farms again, because of low wages or because they do not have to deal with haughty farmers or the insecure tenure of their homes any more. In general, many ex-farm workers show a strong desire to remain involved in some kind of farming. It can be deduced that agriculture is their comfort zone, the arena in which they have real skills and experience. Their skills include welding, animal care, general farm methods, tractor driving, farm equipment repair, sheep shearing, construction and gardening. The fact that many of these potentially productive workers are now unemployed is a real loss to the economy. The survey asked unemployed workers whether they would like to start their own farming enterprise. It also asked what obstacles prevent them from doing this, and who they expect to help them. Some are still involved in smallscale farming by using municipal commonage land. Typical problems are a lack of land, finance, equipment and training. Remarkably, despite several interviewees’ eagerness to engage in some farming enterprise, they have no information about land reform subsidies. Unlike employed farm workers, who generally felt that their employers should help them to access farm land, almost all the unemployed farm workers now turn to the government to help them. The sheer fact that they had lost their links to commercial farmers means that the government’s developmental responsibilities have multiplied.
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A persistent level of unemployment in the non-agricultural sector does not bode well for the easy assimilation into urban occupations of poorly educated and unskilled rural people. This resembles conditions in the United States in the 1960s: Are we, as a nation, on the way to creating a kind of ‘subproletariat’ of uneducated and unskilled and poorly motivated workers – in rural communities and among rural migrants to cities – who are becoming frozen in self-perpetuating enclaves within our generally affluent middle-class society? (Williams 1961: 87) In all countries, rural in-migrants tend to have low-status jobs and a poor selfperception. Off-farm migrants are far more restricted in their choice of occupation than urban residents. In American cities, migrants are disproportionately exposed to criminal activity, juvenile delinquency and unemployment (McNamara 1961: 153). The migrants find themselves in a world of different and sometimes incomprehensible norms and practices. But in America at least, the prospects are not totally bleak, particularly for migrants’ children. In the longer term, migrants in the US gradually adapt to urban conditions and broaden their skills and coping strategies so that the subsequent generations are well adapted to the city (Shannon 1961: 123). Is such adaptation likely in South Africa? Research has shown that there are fundamental differences between urbanisation patterns in industrialised countries and in less developed countries. In advanced countries (or advanced parts of less developed countries), cities are associated with a culture of ‘urbanism’, which includes phenomena such as institutional differentiation, specialisation, economic growth, expansion of socio-economic opportunities and changing family patterns and values (Goldschneider 1980: 47). In contrast, cities in less developed countries experience widespread problems such as high unemployment, extensive poverty and the continuation of rural or traditional social networks (‘urbanism without urbanity’). Some migrants may join the urban cash economy in a total immersion approach, but many others may hover on the fringes of the city, still hanging onto rural resources as much as possible and trying to operate both urban and rural lines of support (Cross et al. 1998: 642). To what extent does South Africa reflect this experience? To what extent do recent migrants in the cities become absorbed effectively into the mainstream of urban economies? Are farm workers and
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their families condemned to continue living on the margins of the towns and of society? Will they live a life of unemployment or piecework and dependence on government social grants?
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The next section suggests some creative development options for urbanised farm workers. In fact, they have economic assets that remain underutilised, notably agricultural skills and frequently a desire to farm. As such, they may actually be better placed than the growing class of perpetually unemployed young people who grew up in the townships, and have no technical skills or work experience of any kind.
Commonage, peri-urban livelihoods and land reform An increasing number of unemployed farm workers and other rural residents are moving into the towns. This is associated with a rapid expansion of urban informal settlement areas, combined with intense poverty and worsened by the HIV/AIDS and TB epidemics. At the same time, there is enormous political pressure building up for land reform. The government regards the fact that the bulk of agricultural land is still in the hands of white farmers as a major political issue. Groups such as the Landless People’s Movement (LPM) pressure the government to promote the transfer of land ownership from white to black hands. The example of the Zimbabwean land conflicts are a constant reminder of the dangers of rapid land reform gone awry. The government’s black economic empowerment strategy for agriculture, or AgriBEE, envisages that 30 per cent of all agricultural land should be in black hands by 2014, in comparison with the estimated 18 per cent of land currently in the hands of previously disenfranchised people (Smith 2004: 16). Until now, land reform has been regarded as primarily rural. In fact, rural towns offer valuable opportunities for viable land reform. Typically, the towns consist of a built-up area, including townships and informal settlements, and surrounding commercial agricultural land. South African towns are not designed to promote mixed rural-urban livelihoods. Smallholdings and small farms are not readily available. Consequently, there are few land reform options for small-scale farmers that will enable them to draw on the facilities of urban environments such as markets, transport, banks, input suppliers and supplementary livelihoods. Township housing is usually provided on
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small erven, which are unsuitable for promoting livelihoods such as smallscale or backyard farming. The overriding theme in Department of Housing policies has been densification, not livelihoods. So there is little scope for agricultural livelihoods in the towns and peri-urban areas. Nevertheless, evidence is mounting that urban food gardens are an important livelihood and food security mechanism. They can indeed lay the groundwork for more commercial forms of urban agriculture (Karaan & Mohamed 1998: 80). No policy aims at promoting small-scale peri-urban agriculture yet, despite self-evident potential advantages. A land reform strategy aimed at purchasing large farms near the towns, dividing them into smaller farms and smallholdings and making them available for sale or rental to township households would offer valuable economic synergies. In many small towns, local demand for goods and services is stimulated by a national roll-out of grants for the indigent and for families with children. As yet, there is very little government or private sector support for small-scale agriculture, product beneficiation or the creation of local market facilities to meet this demand. The overriding priority of almost all South African towns today is poverty alleviation and the creation of a basic foundation on which very poor people can enter the economy. Increasingly, it is recognised that poor people have to rely on multiple livelihoods. One of the most promising approaches to improving the prospects of farm workers would be integrating seasonal farm work with other work more effectively, either off-farm or on the farm itself, or in integrated foodprocessing facilities (Findeis et al. 2002: 8). Farm and off-farm livelihoods are highly complementary. Non-farm activities provide for immediate food security through providing money to buy food and for long-term food security by providing cash to buy farm inputs (Machethe et al. 1997: 378). Links between farm and non-farm enterprises should be promoted, in the form of ‘upstream production linkages’ where the non-farm sector supplies inputs and intermediate goods to the farm sector, and ‘downstream production linkages’, where the non-farm sector adds value to farm products. One of the main contributing factors to migration and urban poverty is the seasonality in agricultural employment. The Western Cape Provincial Growth and Development Strategy expressly recognised this concern:
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Unless the seasonal and undiversified economies of the Western Cape hinterland are redirected to provide scope for improved human conditions of the poor, people will migrate to the metropole to obtain the benefit of the better conditions there. The establishment of strategic safety nets to tide people over in times of temporary hardships such as droughts and seasonal unemployment, could also contribute towards containing irrational migration to the metropole – where real relief of poverty could be questionable. (Western Cape 2003: 2) Farm dwellers and their families need to be able to access landholdings on the urban periphery, to enable them to pursue mixed livelihoods. A diversity of farm and smallholding sizes is needed to offer opportunities for emergent farmers to experiment with small-scale agriculture, most likely in combination with a variety of urban livelihoods. Large-scale agricultural land is difficult to access due to high land prices, its operating capital requirements are too large for emergent farmers and it is situated too far away from the urban areas. Various theorists have argued that small family farms will become a much more dominant feature of South African agriculture, both in the former homelands and in the commercial farming areas (Low et al. 1999: 335). A proactive strategy on land subdivision is needed. This will require municipalities to identify agricultural land on the periphery of urban areas, which will need to be purchased through DLA subsidies, for example, and then subdivided into smallholdings. A variety of peri-urban tenure options needs to be provided. Different beneficiaries will have different requirements for rental or purchase or leasing, as well as for different sizes of land parcels, depending on agricultural uses and local environmental considerations. A systematic stepping-stone policy is needed whereby commonage users can exit from the commonage onto smallholdings. After a period of economic consolidation, they can apply for a larger land redistribution grant. Urban and peri-urban agriculture, in the form of community gardens, market gardens and smallholdings, are an important means of overcoming poverty (May & Rogerson 1994: 89). It should become an intrinsic part of the land reform strategy (Karaan & Mahomed 1998: 80). In South Africa, the concept of smallholder agriculture has never enjoyed much currency. This is partly due to agricultural extension officers’ very restrictive definitions of land sizes as economic units, and a strong unwillingness
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to subdivide agricultural land. This reluctance found legal expression in the Subdivision of Agricultural Land Act of 1970. It still informs much of government thinking, despite the formal abolition of the Act (McIntosh & Vaughan 2000: 232). It is also partly due to the implicit assumption that agriculturalists will strive for a middle-class level of income, which necessitates large landholdings. Extension officers are reluctant to contemplate the use of pristine agricultural land for the more messy mixed urban-rural livelihoods. For many an agricultural extension officer, the prospect of subdividing agricultural land so that a township resident could produce a field of pumpkins alongside a panel-beating shop is complete anathema. Many extension officers also believe that small-scale land units will be prone to overgrazing. Furthermore, rural poverty can only be addressed if methods of small-scale agriculture are developed to increase production. Smallholder development should be part of an integrated rural development strategy (Kirsten et al. 1998: 7), for several reasons. It can be targeted at different groups with different needs (Fenyes 1982: 10). It is also more sensible to make initial mistakes on a smaller scale and for expansion to be planned as an evolutionary process. Studies show that smaller dairy herds may be more cost-effective than larger herds (Coetzee 2003: 18). Land in the rural areas in South Africa could be used more effectively by means of better fertiliser and crop types (Rijkenberg 2003: 58). Small-scale farmers need more extension services to assist them with crop combinations, crop sequences, livestock types that can be supported by fodder on a small plot, water harvesting, the prevention of soil erosion, the nutritional needs of families, alternative energy sources and the use of trees for fodder and fuel production. But the dilemma is that the quality of extension services has deteriorated markedly over the last ten years, because newly recruited extension officers at provincial level lack sufficient technical expertise and experience (Düvel 2004: 2). A major consequence of boosting smallholder peri-urban agriculture may be the development of local economic multipliers, although it is not clear what the scale of such multipliers would be (Hendriks & Lyne 2003: 424). Direct growth is stimulated by increasing the production of saleable goods, or by lowering the unit cost of marketing these goods. The strength of growth linkages depends on the consumption patterns of those benefiting from an increase in agricultural income. If households spend most of their increased
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income on locally produced goods and services, then agricultural growth is likely to stimulate the local economy. Such locally produced goods may stimulate other farming enterprises, such as milk, eggs, fruit and vegetables, or non-farm enterprises, such as building materials, childcare, labour, mini-bus transport, traditional healers and personal services. There are various ways of promoting access to land for small- to medium-sized commercial farmers. This can be done by promoting land rental markets, by resuscitating sharecropping arrangements, by encouraging joint ventures of workers and owners, by creating contract farming systems and by allocating land reform subsidies to small- and medium-scale owner-operators (Kirsten et al. 1998: 7). One way of laying a platform for small-scale agriculture is the use of municipal agricultural land, or commonage. In some provinces – notably the Free State, Northern Cape, Western Cape and Eastern Cape – there has been a rapid increase in municipal commonage use by emergent farmers in the towns, often resulting in overgrazing. Municipal commonage is agricultural land that municipalities own. It was originally purchased for urban white residents, but after 1995 it was gradually made available for black township residents. Numerous black residents keep some livestock on the commonage as a supplementary source of income and food. The management of municipal commonage leaves a great deal to be desired. Commonage infrastructure is deteriorating, at least partly because municipalities lack the skills, resources and experience to manage commonage land effectively. The result, in many towns, has been overgrazing and poor management of livestock. A viable model of communal natural resource use still has to be developed. Peri-urban commonage and smallholder agriculture offer an obvious training ground for more large-scale land reform projects. In fact, several distinct categories of commonage users can be identified. Survivalist commonage users are often desperately poor unemployed ex-farm workers who need access to commonage lands for food security purposes. Some of these farmers will develop into small-scale farmers, who will aim to farm indefinitely on the commonage. Some will use commonage to accumulate livestock and capital, and thereby to develop into proto-commercial farmers. A number of these emergent farmers would prefer to farm on their own, on periurban smallholdings. Finally, the really successful peri-urban farmers would accumulate sufficient capital, livestock and business experience to qualify for
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larger land reform grants as self-sufficient medium- and large-scale farmers. Their peri-urban agricultural experience would enable them to accumulate capital and other resources for more large-scale enterprises at a later stage. Commonage use offers a valuable springboard for developing a class of smallscale peri-urban producers, most of whom will require a mix of urban and agricultural livelihoods in their households. Urban activities complement farming activities. There is, in any case, a growing movement towards parttime farming among commercial and emergent farmers alike. Part-time farming disperses risk. This is part of an international trend: in the United States, a shift from a farm to a non-farm residence may not imply a shift from agricultural to nonagricultural jobs. Part-time farming combined with off-farm employment has increased and fewer farmers are exclusively engaged in farming (Williams 1961: 85; Fuller 1961: 35; Sjaastad 1961: 11). Typical part-time urban livelihoods for smallholder farmers would be trading, contracting, transporting, ploughing, sheet metal work, selling vegetables, herbal medicine, brickmaking, building, butchering, teaching, plumbing, woodwork and taxi-driving. Studies conducted in tropical Africa suggest that non-farm activities in the rural areas provide a source of primary or secondary employment for about 30 to 50 per cent of the rural male labour force. Historical evidence in many countries reveals a rising share of the rural labour force engaged in non-farm work. This is partly a result of the slow growth of labour absorption in agriculture, and partly because higher urban incomes lead to higher demand for non-food goods and services (Fenyes 1982: 138). Non-farm activities in rural areas are an essential element in economic and social development, and rural development policies, in addition to providing the support necessary for raising agricultural productivity, should also address the need for local non-farm activities. These should be managed in tandem. Significantly, Fenyes (1982: 189) comments: ‘The extent to which rural markets can be developed as dynamic service centres for small farmers by providing such additional services as credit, marketing promotion, marketing extension and inputs requires much more investigation, trial and development work’. In the context of peri-urban South Africa, this view is especially pertinent.
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Institutional support
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For rural and peri-urban livelihoods to be developed, a whole host of government and private support mechanisms should be introduced in a holistic manner (Fenyes 1982: 95). This includes the provision of small-scale loans (at accessible local outlets), advice on production methods, co-operatives or government departments lending oxen, tractors or implements to small-scale farmers, providing more land, providing irrigation infrastructure, seeds and registered bulls, providing marketing assistance and advising on diseases and overgrazing. A much more vibrant government extension system should be introduced, which might include demonstration plots, core projects, information distribution, mass media, organised meetings, visits, agricultural shows, tours, farmers’ days, auctions, training courses and lectures. For this to happen, the very constrained budgets of provincial departments of agriculture need to be increased so that adequate numbers of properly qualified and experienced staff can be employed. Overgrazing and soil erosion should be combated by means of training and guidance, as well as rigorously enforced government regulations. Crucially, the solution to overgrazing and overstocking must be the provision of alternative investment opportunities, not necessarily in land or agriculture. Rural banking and credit institutions and agro-based rural industries may serve as examples (Fenyes 1982: 193). This shows how interactive the rural and urban economies could be, and how they should be developed in synchronisation with one another. Insufficient information concerning present and future market conditions is one of the most common shortcomings of less developed countries, due to inefficient communications systems and low levels of education. There are severe difficulties in obtaining information on the market structure (the number and size of sellers and buyers, for example), on the degree of product differentiation and on barriers and advantages to entering the various markets. For example, considering the poor transport facilities and poor roads, and the fact that many producers do not have their own vehicles, the difficulties in getting products to market sites such as abattoirs or auctions are enormous. In Lebowa, it was found in 1982 that many small farmers had moved their livestock many miles to market, just to find that the prices were unacceptable, and they had to walk them home again (Fenyes 1982: 200).
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Markets for the sale of livestock and for the purchase of inputs and consumer goods should be within walking distance. That is why a peri-urban spatial strategy for agriculture is so important. For urban and peri-urban agriculturalists, new types of extension services and support should be provided. Urban vegetable gardens have shown that they not only improve nutrition and community cohesiveness, but also provide a marketable surplus (Nell et al. 2000: 816). Such projects are hampered if urban residential sites are too small, however. Market gardeners need regular technical advice as well as the provision of seeds, manure and equipment (Karaan & Mahomed 1998: 81). Public extension should be designed as a client-oriented, problem-solving approach, and new partnerships should be formed with NGOs to identify new types of crops, find new niche markets, identify and assist value-adding opportunities, promote marketing skills, organise trade exhibitions and promote skills training. Transaction costs need to be reduced, such as postal services, telecommunications, transport, and contractual arrangements (Wynne & Lyne 2003: 565). In addition, financial institutions should be available to provide micro-credit to commonage farmers. Empirical studies have shown that small farmers in South Africa are constrained by low and irregular income, which reduces their ability to save, borrow and invest in agriculture (Fenwick & Lyne 1999: 144). While this problem is particularly prevalent in traditional communal areas, it is also widespread amongst commonage farmers. This prevents them from turning their stock-holding from being primarily an insurance policy against cash flow crises, to more commercial enterprises. This requires a new style of government development support – a type of integrated, proactive support, which is still currently lacking in South Africa. Such support could include the creation of stokvel-based co-operatives, producer-marketing co-operatives, and traders’ associations (Hendriks & Lyne 2003: 438). At the heart of the matter is the need for a much more robust rural development strategy than South Africa currently enjoys. The development of the rural economy will create substantial employment and income opportunities, and may reduce the alarming population flows to the already overcrowded urban sectors (Kirsten et al. 1998: 8). For this to be successful, sectoral issues such as agriculture, local economic development, infrastructure, skills training,
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credit provision, health and education should be conjoined more effectively at local level. As Leslie London observed, with reference to the problem of alcoholism on South African farms: ‘The solutions to the high rates of alcohol consumption amongst farm workers in the region may therefore lie as much in the promotion of a comprehensive and intersectoral rural development strategy for disadvantaged groups, as in the implementation of health sectorspecific interventions’ (2000: 204). The central question is the role of both commercial and small-scale agriculture, ranging from urban and peri-urban to small-farm agriculture, in boosting local livelihoods and local economies. South Africa’s Integrated Rural Development Strategy is designed to realise a vision that will attain socially cohesive and stable rural communities with viable institutions, sustainable economies and universal access to social amenities, able to attract and retain skilled and knowledgeable people, who are equipped to contribute to growth and development (DPLG 2000). Unfortunately, no such integrated programme has yet been designed. Assistance to emergent entrepreneurs should be provided as a seamless and coherent inter-sectoral set of programmes. Poor people need development support to be accessible and user-friendly. At present, government programmes are often locked in departmental ‘silos’, which require poor people to negotiate difficult bureaucratic obstacles to access the available resources, instruments and benefits associated with new policies and programmes. Frequently, potential beneficiaries are sent from pillar to post and have to endure long delays and difficult entry requirements to access complementary elements of a support package or of different packages. At present, there are very few linkages, at the programme level, between the commonage development programme (managed by municipalities and funded by the DLA), the LRAD programme (managed by the DLA and assisted by provincial departments of agriculture), the housing programme (managed by municipalities and subsidised by the Department of Housing) and entrepreneurship support programmes (promoted by the Department of Trade and Industry and provincial departments of economic affairs, as well as provincial departments of agriculture). Already in 1997, the need for cooperation between the Departments of Trade and Industry and Agriculture became evident (Machethe et al. 1997: 391). In addition, private sector organisations such as agricultural co-operatives and farmers’ unions can be harnessed
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much more effectively to provide mentoring, guidance, marketing assistance and input discounts. South Africa has a strong tradition of agricultural cooperatives, which have provided valuable technical, financial and marketing services since 1937 (Hobart Houghton 1967: 65). Farming co-operatives can play many potential roles: collecting, storing and selling agricultural products; processing products; purchasing inputs, livestock, machinery, feed, fertiliser, manure and fuel on behalf of members; manufacturing or purchasing implements and machinery; hiring and controlling breeding stock; undertaking farming operations such as crop-spraying, cleaning and ploughing of lands; giving information and advice to members; and organising credit for farmers. Co-operatives may, by bulk purchasing, ensure a certain price for farmers’ produce, and thereby encourage production for the market (Fenyes 1982: 217). Not only do co-operatives have a strong track record internationally, but they have also been of major importance in building a class of white commercial farmers in South Africa. These strengths now have to be re-tailored and extended to a new wave of small-scale agriculturalists. Government guidelines have been promulgated for co-operatives. The guidelines require that at least a quarter of company shares should belong to black shareholders and that black people should be appointed to executive and directors’ posts in companies. The real proof of the pudding will be in the services provided by co-operatives to their new class of clients. Some agricultural co-operatives have already taken the initiative for transforming the racial profile of their management structures. In Limpopo Province, the NTK Co-operative opened its membership to black farmers in 1982 and appointed the first black director in 1999. NTK has transferred 40 per cent of its own shares to a registered trust for emerging farmers, for resale to black farmers, community organisations, emergent co-operatives and black businesspeople (Landbouweekblad, 11/6/2004: 81). The large Senwes co-operative has put together a holistic black economic empowerment policy, with clear targets and milestones (Landbouweekblad, 14/5/2004: 71). There are also some precedents for grassroots-level support for emergent farmers. The NWGA has an extensive training and development programme for smallscale sheep farmers (Landbouweekblad, 11/6/2004). There is a great deal more potential for future involvement on the part of cooperatives. There is an urgent need for commodity groups and organisations to set up help desks to assist prospective beneficiaries or farmers that want
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to take the initiative with BEE (De Lange 2004: 8). In government circles, there are signs of a new interest in co-operatives. In 2004, the promotion of co-operatives was transferred from the Department of Agriculture to the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI), precisely to encourage agricultural and non-agricultural linkages in the promotion of new enterprises. A new Co-operatives Development Unit was created, and a new Co-operatives Bill is being drafted. DTI envisages assisting black farmers to become part of the value-adding chain. It is important to create complementary agricultural and urban investments. This requires an integrated system of development support that is essentially economic and stimulatory. Furthermore, a peri-urban spatial framework will enable commonage and smallholding users to use urban infrastructure and services, including NGOs, co-operatives, hardware stores, clinics, pension pay-out facilities, post offices, stokvels (savings clubs), schools and churches. This will also enable emergent farmers, their spouses and their adult children to exploit the possibilities of mixed livelihoods, by drawing on urban jobs (either permanent, full-time or piecework jobs), pensions and child maintenance grants. Different support strategies need to be compiled for these different types of agriculturalists. A more coherent stepping-stone approach to land reform is likely to avoid some of the fiascos experienced to date by many large land redistribution projects – in particular, those projects in which the beneficiaries began with no capital resources, management experience or support networks. This approach will build on the agricultural skills and experience of farm workers, so that many of them can re-enter the economic world in which they are at home.
Policy questions Our understanding of current and future farm labour trends will have major implications for policy. Several important issues need to be addressed. Firstly, to what extent can commercial agriculture be expected to alleviate unemployment and poverty by creating jobs? As the Centre for Development and Enterprise’s 2005 report warns, there is a: key reality about commercial agriculture’s relationship with development: it cannot be ‘transformed’ into a large-scale
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mechanism for relieving poverty or creating jobs. By contrast, a healthy agricultural sector can play a modest part in South Africa’s development, if allowed to flourish as a secure and non-racial economic sector. (CDE 2005) Are there ways in which farm work can be professionalised to become more attractive to employers and employees alike? Thirdly, what are the future trends of farm worker migration? Are we in the middle of an era of rapid individual and household upward mobility, where rural people seize urban opportunities and risk migrating? Or are the main dynamics primarily push factors, as people get squeezed out of the agricultural sector, without a hope of finding a viable foothold in the urban areas? Sociologists need to discern the current social causes and impacts of urbanisation; demographers need to predict urbanisation trends; geographers and economists need to analyse the spatial and economic consequences of urbanisation; and psychologists need to study the impact of migration on different types of farm workers – from those who successfully adapt to urban life, to those who slip further down the slope towards poverty, destitution and despair. Has urbanisation been good for farm workers? Does it improve their livelihoods? What are the characteristics of urban and industrial settings where opportunities for integration are at their maximum? Also, has urbanisation been good for cities, towns and villages? Has it created more economic multipliers, or has it compounded urban social problems? What are the prospects for urban and peri-urban agriculture? Do shifts from farm to nonfarm residence necessarily imply a shift from a farm to a non-farm job? How is the relationship between rural and urban areas changing? In what ways should such changes be managed or channelled? Then there are the normative and policy questions. Should migration be regarded as a positive or a negative phenomenon? International opinion is mixed. One view emphasises the positive aspects: ‘It is essential to the health of the entire national economy that migration continue and even increase, in the interests of efficient allocation of human and other natural resources’ (McNamara 1961: 154). Another view regards urbanisation as a loss of rural community values and agricultural livelihoods, and therefore something to be discouraged. South African policy-makers have shared in these vacillations,
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with some legislation aimed at making farm residence more attractive, while other programmes conspicuously favour the towns over farming areas.
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If we could predict migration in South Africa, how ought this to affect government policy? Is current government policy premised on limiting urbanisation, through land tenure legislation, for example, or on promoting urbanisation, through providing housing subsidies in the towns? Is there any coherence between these policies and their diverse impacts on urbanisation? Has the urbanisation trend reached its limits? If so, will it become easier to absorb the remnants of the off-farm migrants? Will off-farm migration lead to better wages and living conditions for the remainder of the farming population? The fourth policy area is farm worker residence. The migration of farm workers to the small towns, cities and peri-urban informal settlements raises far-reaching developmental questions. One issue concerns trends regarding on-farm and off-farm residence and, consequently, the nature of spatial planning and infrastructure provision. If farmers and farm workers prefer to live on-farm or off-farm, it has huge implications for service delivery, including the logistics, cost, staffing and quality of services to be provided. This will be a major issue for municipalities in the next few years. A fifth area is the role of agriculture in urban and peri-urban development. Industry and urban commerce have proven unable to provide enough employment opportunities to absorb the immigrants. There is growing interest among policy-makers in the prospects for urban and peri-urban agriculture, although this will depend on the provision of agricultural support services such as technical advice, credit and organised marketing. A related issue is the stimulation of small-scale agriculture in the rural areas. Given the social costs of urbanisation, incentives to encourage higher returns from agricultural work and the development of agro-based small-scale industries in the rural areas seem particularly important (Fenyes 1982: 116). The renewed interest in peri-urban, small-scale land reform should be seen in the context of the high level of failure of conventional land redistribution projects. The prospect of land reform as a salvation for the generally poor condition of farm workers and the agricultural unemployed remains a highly challenging prospect. While agrarian reform in the commercial farming areas is certainly necessary, it should not be undertaken without due regard for economic realities. The costs of entry into commercial farming are prohibitive
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for most individuals. Land transactions among white commercial farmers show that new farmers are typically inheritors of family land and capital equipment (Beinart & Murray 1996: 24). As a recent CDE report warns: Many participants in the debate on land reform are informed by an idealised vision of rural South Africa and a once thriving peasant agriculture cruelly destroyed by successive white governments; memories of forced removals; anger at the way in which, until recently at least, white farmers were protected by means of subsidies and other privileges while black farmers were discriminated against and dispossessed; and a strong desire to show that, given opportunity, land, and resources, black South Africans can farm successfully. (CDE 2005: 6) Such idealistic assumptions need to be scrutinised critically when policy options for farm workers are constructed. Finally, the study of urban social development is also relevant here. Important developmental opportunities arise from these urbanisation pressures. Urbanisation has implications for the agrarian economy as well as for urban design and livelihoods. Farm workers have a distinctive set of agricultural skills and experiences. Their presence in the cities can, at worst, be dysfunctional in that they are unemployable because they lack urban skills. With improved urban design and livelihood support mechanisms, however, their in-migration may be turned into a positive feature for cities and towns. A much more incisive approach to rural development in general and farm workers in particular needs to be found. The Rural Framework and the ISRDP contain many useful ideas, but they lack a meaningful focus. The beginnings of an integrated approach would consist of the following: • Determining district-level demographic trends, to determine the extent of push and pull factors and the extent of future urbanisation; • Identifying advantages of on-farm housing for different types and levels of farm workers such as skilled and unskilled workers, contract and permanent workers and workers with families compared to single workers or childless families; • Offering capital subsidies, tax incentives and logistical assistance to landowners and employers to improve farm worker services;
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• Identifying the advantages of off-farm housing, whether in agri-villages, peri-urban areas or towns; • Creating a menu of housing options for farm workers in various localities, so that each family can select the most advantageous option given its circumstances; • Improving rural transport systems, possibly by means of co-ordinated and even subsidised taxi schedules on rural routes, to enable farm workers and their families to secure employment and urban services; • Up-skilling and professionalising farm work by means of training, mentoring, share equity schemes, sharecropping and profit-sharing schemes; • Creating meaningful agriculturally linked exit options for workers who want to leave farm employment, to engage in small-scale processing or mixed livelihoods, for example; • Creating different spatial options in peri-urban areas, such as land parcels of different sizes for purchase or rental; • Providing more innovative support for small-scale and emergent farmers, such as co-operatives, joint marketing, outsourcing and contract farming. National-level framework policies should create these options along with provincial-level support programmes. In some cases, current national policy would need to be revised. It would certainly require more effective coordination of institutional initiatives between, for example: • The Department of Trade and Industry and Department of Agriculture; • The Department of Housing and municipal spatial planners; • The Department of Housing, Department of Water Affairs and Forestry, and Eskom; • The Department of Labour, Department of Agriculture and the AgriSETA. In all of these cases, co-operation with commercial farmers’ unions and municipalities would be absolutely critical. The essence of the matter is that rural development needs to become more than a political mantra. In commercial farming areas, at least, a much better understanding of social and economic dynamics, government service delivery patterns and types of social capital is required. Commercial farming areas have proven their economic resilience and their phenomenal organisational capacity in terms of commercial farmers’ unions and agricultural co-operatives.
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Such capacity generally remains underutilised, because of totally inadequate co-operation between the government and commercial agriculture.
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Conclusion: an outlook for the future Agricultural labour in South Africa has suffered enormous disadvantages for well over a century. Various government policies have, intentionally or unintentionally, undermined the position of farm workers in the economy. In the post-apartheid era, farm workers’ interests have barely surfaced on the public agenda, with the exception of the poorly designed Extension of Security of Tenure Act – a piece of legislation that fundamentally misunderstands the underlying demographic and economic dynamics of South African society. A few brief conclusions will suffice. Firstly, urbanisation will continue. The downsizing trend on farms will continue to have far-reaching results for workers, their families and the community at large. Because the tendency to downscale is so widespread, the chances that retrenched workers will be re-employed are remote. It follows, then, that retrenched farm workers will continue to move to the towns, where their chances of their finding formal sector jobs are equally remote. The reduction in the number of farm workers contributes to the increase in unemployment and entrenches poverty, with all its concomitant social problems. Many ex-farm workers possess skills that are suitable for their functioning in the agricultural sector, but their skills are going to waste in the towns. The reduction in farm labour is due to globalisation, agricultural competition, the lack of a skilled class of farm workers, rigid employment legislation and ill-timed land tenure laws. This legislation, which was meant to improve conditions for farm workers, has contributed to job losses. People have consequently lost their housing and other on-farm benefits. The termination of the Rural Foundation has left a void regarding service delivery to farm workers. Today, NGOs serving farm workers are small, financially fragile and often unsustainable. Government services to farm workers are deteriorating, with the result that farm workers migrate permanently or commute to the towns to access services. Poor rural transport systems have a major impact on farm workers’ quality of life and social networks.
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Road maintenance needs serious attention lest the farming communities become more and more difficult to reach.
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Commercial farmers appear to be increasingly positive about agricultural training for farm workers. Training would not only improve agricultural productivity, but it would help workers to improve their livelihoods and circumstances on the farms or in peri-urban areas. However, there are currently few options for formal farm worker training. The services and financing that the Department of Labour provides are generally unknown or inaccessible. Many farmers are prepared to provide training on a more formal basis than mere on-the-job informal training. Many farm workers would like to receive such training from their employers. This provides a valuable reservoir of social capital that can be utilised much more effectively for training agricultural workers. The involvement of NGOs should be encouraged, particularly with regard to training, recreation and social services. The farmers’ associations and agricultural co-operatives could play a significant role here. The new labour and land tenure legislation has affected the relationship between farmer and farm worker significantly. This has instilled a measure of reciprocal distrust between some farmers and their workers. The introduction of this legislation in a situation of under-employment has triggered additional evictions and job losses. Some farmers experience the government as hostile towards them, and this is then carried over in their relationship with their workers. The farm worker is the victim of the lingering tensions that have arisen between farmers and the government. Some farmers have interpreted the laws in a positive spirit and still have good relationships with their workers. But much more could have been done to encourage good relationships between the government and farmers to dilute and defuse the negative impacts of land and labour legislation. In this context, it was highly unfortunate that this legislation was introduced without a corresponding extension of government services to rural areas. Many farmers are eager to assist emergent farmers, but have serious reservations about the ways in which land redistribution is currently being implemented. There is a need for more discussions between the government and the farming sector – at national, provincial and local level – to find realistic and sustainable ways of promoting land reform and to clarify the various parties’ roles and contributions. Government departments, farmers and farm workers need to hold urgent talks about matters such as the impact
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of land and labour legislation; the extension of government services to the farming community; the training of farm workers; providing incentives to employers to bring real improvements in the quality of life of farm workers; and promoting and fast-tracking alternative models of land reform, including peri-urban small-scale agriculture. Municipal IDPs can play an important role in galvanising local alliances and designing local programmes. The agricultural sector has emerged from two decades of severe trials and hardships, and has managed to survive the ordeal of globalisation and restructuring. The government has played its hand in terms of placing its normative cards on the table in terms of farm labour legislation, land tenure and land reform. It is now critically important that new forms of cooperation are created along new avenues of development. The NGO sector and the co-operatives are tentatively showing the way towards new developmental initiatives. What is now needed is a much more holistic approach to rural development, encapsulating on-farm and off-farm livelihoods to build on farm workers’ existing skills and sense of entrepreneurship. The implementation of a viable rural development strategy – along the lines of the Rural Development Framework of 1997 – is urgently needed. This will require closer liaison between several government departments. There are still major bureaucratic obstacles in the way of achieving this goal, but with strong government leadership, new spaces for co-operation can be created.
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1. The nine localities are Jagersfontein, Fauresmith, Luckhoff, Philippolis and Ladybrand in the Free State, and Colesberg, Philipstown, Ritchie and Hopetown in the Northern Cape (see map on page xii). 2. Corvée services are the exchange of labour time on the lord’s land for the right to work a parcel of land. In South Africa, this was known as labour tenancy. 3. The use of coercion to secure a cheap labour force in the early capitalist phase of South African agriculture should not be regarded as unusual. In Canada (Lalibertz & Satzewich 1999) and California (Walsh 1999), the government resorted to the withdrawal of farm workers’ resources (in these cases, welfare payments) to force them to enter the labour market. 4. This refers to Section 10 of the Bantu Laws Amendment Act of 1952. 5. Information about the reasons for changes in employment patterns was not specifically requested. Rather, farmers volunteered their opinions in unstructured discussion. 6. It is not entirely clear whether the two earlier documents should be considered as official rural strategies in their own right. The ISRDS explicitly refutes the claim that South Africa does not have a rural strategy (DPLG 2000: 16). But the ISRDP then asserts that these earlier strategies were discussion documents and were not confirmed as the government strategy for rural development. 7. These nodal districts are Kalahari-Kgalagadi (Northern Cape/North West Province), Central Karoo (Western Cape), Ukhahalamba (Eastern Cape), Chris Hani (Eastern Cape), OR Tambo (Eastern Cape), Alfred Nzo (Eastern Cape), Ugu (southern KZN), Umzinyathi (central KZN), Zululand (northern KZN), Umkhanyakude (northern KZN), Sekhukhune (Mpumalanga/Limpopo) and Eastern Municipality (Limpopo). 8. This information comes from an interview conducted in September 2002 by Anja Benseler. 9. The work was undertaken by Prof. Retha du Plessis of the University of the Free State, and Rev. Carin van Schalkwyk of the NG Church in Bergmanshoogte, Philippolis. Their social work students carried out the project in 2003. 10. The house must have a durable and waterproof roof, glass windows that can be opened, electricity that is available in the house, water that is available on tap inside the house and a flush toilet or pit latrine. The house must be no less than 30 square metres in size.
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11. A very useful analysis of the likely consequences of the minimum wage is contained in Vink and Tregurtha (2003). 12. This section draws on research conducted by Daniel Pienaar of the HSRC. The author would like to thank informants who worked with the erstwhile Rural Foundation. These include Mr Henk Vermeulen (former provincial manager of the Free State, 1988 to 1997) and Mr Alwijn Dippenaar (former chief director: operations); Ms Evelynn Oppelt, National Manager: Childcare; Ms Riana Terre’Blanche, Senior Community Development Officer: Sport, Education, Gender Issues; Mr Vikus Scholtz, chairperson of the Rural Foundation Free State Executive Council; Faan de Kok, provincial manager of the Rural Foundation in the Free State. Information was drawn from: Beeld, 30/07/91, 22/2/92; Die Burger, 4/12/87, 20/3/89, 3/8/89, 10/5/90, 15/3/91, 19/6/91, 21/9/91; 24/7/92, 2/11/92, 8/12/93, 17/12/95, 23/1/97, 7/5/98; Die Karet, 18/5/92; Die Transvaler, 28/5/90; Die Volksblad, 5/11/88, 3/6/92; Die Volksblad, Panorama, 31/5/88; Eastern Province Herald, 31/8/93; Finansies en Tegniek, 22/3/85, 28/5/87, 22/10/89, 29/2/92, 5/7/96; Hansard (A) 6 col 5572, 13/5/85, (A) 8 col 6492, 19/4/88; Landbouweekblad, 8 /6/84, 8/5/87, 22/5/87, 2/5/88, 5/8/88, 24/11/89, 18/5/90, 12/10/90, 1/9/92; Oosterlig, 31/10/89; Rapport, 5/10/87, 14/2/88, 6/10/90, 31/5/96; The Argus, 25/10/89; Weekend Argus, 17/12/95. 13. This study was conducted by Anja Benseler. The civil society organisations were identified by consulting the Department of Social Development’s register of NPOs. The HSRC sent letters to all the NPOs that appeared to provide services to farm workers. Those NPOs that responded to the letters were then interviewed telephonically. 14. Some TRCs consisted of African or coloured settlements such as Masizakhe TRC near Colesberg, or the settlements along the Orange River in the Upington region. These TRCs often voted for the ANC. Another exception is Tweespruit TRC in the eastern Free State, where a white farmer councillor joined the ANC and built up a strong ANC base in the farm worker community. 15. Platteland is an Afrikaans term for rural areas; more literally translated, it means ‘flat lands’ or ‘low lands’. 16. District Councils’ revenue base consisted of levies on commercial enterprises. These levies were based on the number of workers employed and on turnover. 17. The exceptions are farms that fall within District Management Areas (DMAs), which are administered directly by district municipalities. 18. Research for this section was conducted during 2002 by Nhlanhla Ndebele, as part of an HSRC study on rural representation on municipal councils.
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19. The term micro-welfare system was introduced by Ashira Consulting in an unpublished paper. 20. No PGDS could be obtained for KwaZulu-Natal. 21. Other developmental gatekeepers are ‘shacklords’ and traditional leaders.
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22. The only other notable category of single-tier municipal government contains the metropolitan municipalities, which function without being overseen by District Municipalities. 23. Research for this section was undertaken during 2002 by Monyake Motheke of the Centre for Development Support, University of the Free State. 24. For example, in 2003, the Kareeberg Local Municipality in the Northern Cape budgeted – and actually spent – a sum of R500 000 for a rural needs assessment. The municipality has made available a series of farm worker subsidies (R500 per farm worker house for water; R500 for sanitation; R1 000 for electricity) (Ingle & Van Schalkwyk 2004). The municipality has retained the services of a consultant to liaise with the Vroue Landbou Unie (VLU), to initiate literacy and needlework courses on the farms. However, it should be noted that the Kareeberg Municipality is dominated by the opposition party (the Democratic Alliance), which no doubt explains its willingness to support farming interests. 25. The Constitution refers to spheres of government rather than tiers of government. The term ‘spheres’ is intended to convey the idea that national, provincial and municipal governments are equal in importance and constitutional status. 26. Some municipalities’ IDPs are more consultant-driven than others. For some municipalities, IDPs are a formalistic requirement that languish on dusty shelves. But new participatory approaches such as community-based planning are being developed to ensure that IDPs are rooted in community needs and realistic community-level development strategies (see, for example, www.khanya-aicdd.org). 27. The 16 municipalities are listed here. North West Province: Bojanala District Municipality (Rustenburg area), Madibeng Local Municipality (Brits area), Moses Kotane Local Municipality (Madikwe area). Free State Province: Matjhabeng Local Municipality (Welkom area), Nala Local Municipality (Bothaville area), Malutia-Phofung Local Municipality (Harrismith area), Nketoana Local Municipality (Reitz area), Tswelopele Local Municipality (Bultfontein area), Lejweleputswa District Municipality (Welkom area). Gauteng: Ekhurhuleni Metro, Lesedi Local Municipality (Heidelberg area). Northern Cape: Frances Baard District Municipality (Kimberley area), Kgalagadi District Municipality (Kuruman area). Limpopo:
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Fetakgomo Local Municipality (Ga-Mankopane area), Mogalakwena Local Municipality (Makopane area). Mpumalanga: Greater Tubatse Local Municipality (Burgersfort area), Ehlanzeni District Municipality (Nelspruit area). 28. The same caveats should apply to provincial development strategies as apply to municipal IDPs. Many of these documents were compiled or facilitated by consultants, so it is not always clear whether the relevant government departments have bought into these proposals. 29. There are, however, some glaring differences between the two situations. For example, the commercial farming lobby is inordinately powerful in the US, in contrast to the South African commercial farming sector; the US fiscus is capable of much more generous grants and subsidies; and the US farmers do not live in the shadow of land redistribution. US farmers are doubly protected – firstly, by high levels of direct subsidies and, secondly, by the fact that the US government picks up the tab for extensive farm worker services (housing, health, education etc.), which translate into indirect subsidies for US farmers. 30. AgriSETA was previously called the Primary Agriculture Education and Training Authority (PAETA). 31. Farmers were asked a totally open-ended question on their views of what training should be provided to farm workers. 32. Interview, Machiel van Niekerk, AgriSETA. 33. Interview, Nkuzi Development Association, September 2005. 34. Hans van der Merwe, AgriSA CEO, Farmers Weekly, 12 August 2005.
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Index Acts Agricultural Labour Act (1994) 66 Bantu Education Act (1953) 229 Bantu Laws Amendment Act (1952) 28 Basic Conditions of Employment Act (1983) 66 Basic Conditions of Employment Act (1997) 37–38, 84–85, 121, 165, 204 Education and Training Act (1979) 38, 229 Education Laws Amendment Act (1988) 232 Extension of Security of Tenure Act (1977) 66 Extension of Security of Tenure Act (ESTA) (1997) 79, 95, 133 Illegal Squatters Act (1951) 38 Labour Relations Act (1995) 37, 85, 121, 165, 204, 219 Local Government Transition Act (LGTA) (1993) 152, 283 Local Government: Municipal Systems Act (2000) 158, 159, 161 Local Municipal Structures Act (1998) 159, 161 Masters and Servants Act (1873) 35 Municipal Property Rates Act (2004) 210, 214, 285 Native (Urban Areas) Act (1923) 33, 37 Native Administration Act (1927) 33 Native Affairs Act (1920) 33 Native Laws Amendment Act (1952) 37 Native Regulation Act (1911) 35 Native Service Contract Act (1932) 35 Native Trust and Land Act (1936) 33, 37 Natives Land Act (1913) Act 32–34, 48 Skills Development Act (1998) 240 South African Schools Act (1996) 175, 234 Subdivision of Agricultural Land Act (1970) 267 Trespass Act (1955) 38 Unemployment Insurance Act (2001) 37, 121 Wage Act (1957) 37 Water Services Act (1997) 157, 178
Workmen’s Compensation Act (1941) 38 Adult Basic Education and Training (ABET) 146, 175 African National Congress (ANC) 83, 89, 155, 160, 168, 233, 284 Agri-BEE 251, 264 agricultural colleges 247 Agricultural Sector Education and Training Authority (AgriSETA) 240, 248, 285–286 agricultural union(s) 135, 139, 161, 211,258 agriculture 3, 7, 18–19, 23, 27, 29, 33, 39, 42, 50, 52–54, 59, 61, 65, 67, 71, 73–74, 77–79, 83, 88, 95, 118, 120–121, 126–127, 135– 136, 153, 162, 170, 172, 195, 197, 199, 211, 213–214, 228, 230, 236, 238, 241–242, 245, 249–251, 253–255, 257, 262, 265, 267, 269, 271–272, 274, 276–277, 279, 281 capitalist 39, 42 commercial 3, 7, 23, 27, 42, 53–54, 59, 61, 77–79, 135, 171, 195, 279 subsistence 23, 88 AgriSA 148, 257, 258 agri-villages 197–198, 259 AIDS 93, 138, 148, 194 orphans 148 programmes 194 workshop 93 alcohol abuse 103, 105, 147–148, 204, 218 apartheid 4, 8, 16, 18, 42–44, 53, 56, 59, 62, 69–70, 149, 151, 229 bantustans (homelands) 12, 22, 41–42, 56, 62, 68–70 black economic empowerment (BEE) 196, 241, 251, 258, 264, 273–274 capitalism 18, 20, 22, 27 child abuse 143, 176 child grants 93, 128, 165, 274 child labour 12–13, 38, 122, 148 civil society organisations 133, 142, 144 Colesberg 64, 67, 155 commercial agriculture 3, 7, 23, 27, 53–54, 59, 61, 77–79, 170, 195, 279 commonage (land) 6, 10, 21, 49, 266, 268–269, 272, 274
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Conservative Party (CP) 232 Constitution 79, 108, 158–159, 174, 285
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Demarcation Board 160, 184 democracy 154, 161 Democratic Alliance (DA) 160, 241 Department of Agriculture (DoA) 93, 173, 199, 241, 247, 250, 258, 274, 277–278 Department of Housing (DoH) 174, 176, 227, 265, 278 Department of Land Affairs (DLA) 7, 256, 259, 266, 272 Department of Native Affairs 41 Department of Provincial and Local Government (DPLG) 183, 192 disaster management 164–165, 195, 209 district council (DC) 150–157, 167, 174, 183, 202, 284 district management areas (DMAs) 159, 284 domestic violence 143, 148, 203, 207 dop (alcohol) system 103 drought 33, 39, 50, 58, 121, 195, 266 drug abuse 106 Eastern Cape 23, 46, 49, 54, 57, 112, 120, 127, 140, 144, 147, 156, 164, 173, 185, 187, 268, 282 economic depression 39–40, 50, 148 economy 1, 3–5, 7, 15, 18, 20–22, 27–28, 30, 32, 38, 42, 49–50, 52, 59–60, 62, 65, 75–79, 89–90, 110, 114, 119, 162, 167, 169, 203, 214, 228, 242, 250, 262, 265, 268, 271, 275, 277, 279 agricultural 59, 228 black sharecropper 30 capitalist 18, 20, 42 colonial 22, 28 formal 1 mining 27 peasant 21–22 rural 52, 75, 90, 169, 271 sharecropping 30, 32 ecotourism 69, 170 education 1, 5, 9, 15, 24, 44, 59, 71, 73, 103, 106, 113–114, 118–119, 130–131, 143, 146,
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169–171, 173, 175, 177, 204, 215–216, 226, 228–237, 239, 272, 285 efflux control 41 electricity 46, 115, 118, 122, 128, 151–152, 156, 164, 175, 177–178, 182, 190–191, 193–194, 196, 204, 206, 208, 216, 230, 261, 283–284 employment 2–3, 5, 11–12, 30, 35–36, 38, 40–41, 45, 47, 50–51, 53, 55, 57–60, 62–64, 66–67, 74, 77–78, 82, 88–89, 94, 96, 98, 115, 119, 122–125, 127–129, 166, 178– 179, 199, 213, 216–217, 228, 230–231, 236–237, 261, 264–265, 269, 271, 276, 278–279, 282 eviction(s) 31, 33, 38, 40, 47, 65, 68, 70, 79–82, 84–89, 145, 155, 195, 199, 201, 280 exploitation 20, 43, 120 Farmers’ Associations 153, 246–247 farmers’ unions 7, 148–149, 153–155, 163, 188, 210, 256–257, 272, 278 Fauresmith 67, 252 food security 211, 213, 265 fraud 84 Free Basic Electricity (FBE) 165, 204, 206, 227 Free State 5, 13–14, 28, 30, 32–34, 37, 49–50, 57, 64–67, 92, 94, 100–101, 123, 130, 139– 140, 142–146, 150–152, 154, 161–162, 175–178, 185, 187–188, 192–193, 198, 203, 210, 217–219, 240, 243, 257, 260, 262, 268, 283–284 globalisation 7, 77–78, 89, 93, 248, 279, 281 Growth, Employment and Redistribution (GEAR) 76–78 HIV/AIDS 71, 104–105, 143, 146, 203–205, 244, 264 awareness 146, 204 prevention 104 training 244 homelands (Bantustans) 12, 22, 41–42, 56, 59, 62, 68–70 Hopetown 67 housing 12, 24,44, 46, 82, 85, 87–90, 94, 96, 117–118, 122, 128–129, 132, 138, 148, 151–152, 156, 164, 166–167, 169, 171,
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173–174, 177, 179, 190, 193–194, 198, 202, 204–205, 215–223, 255, 261, 272, 276–278, 285 human rights 7, 28, 133, 142, 149 hut taxes 27
Landless Peoples Movement (LPM) 84, 264 Limpopo 128, 149, 173, 192, 273 literacy 1, 95, 137, 139, 156, 243–245 local economic development (LED) 124, 172 Luckhoff 67
illiteracy 96, 103, 130 immigration 74, 119 influx control 15, 33, 37, 40–41, 43, 56, 58–59, 62 initiation schools 43 Integrated Development Plan (IDP) 159–160, 182, 188–189, 192–199, 201, 217, 220, 281, 285 Integrated Sustainable Rural Development Programme (ISDRP) 70–71, 73, 277
mechanisation 11, 20, 31, 39, 50, 53–57, 59, 62, 65, 96, 128 migrant labour system 12, 33, 63 migration 1, 3, 6, 11–13, 59, 63, 65, 68, 70–71, 111, 113–116, 118, 126, 128–131, 203, 209, 215, 217, 228, 231, 265–266, 275–276 farm worker 55, 275 rural-urban 3, 6, 59, 118 mining 19–22, 27, 41, 61, 63, 151 Mpumalanga 140, 192 municipal commonage see commonage land land 6, 10, 49, 262 municipal rates
Jagersfontein 67 Khoisan 23, 25–28 KwaZulu-Natal 68, 210 labour 5, 17, 19–21, 23, 26, 28–31, 37–42, 54, 57– 58, 60, 66, 69–70, 87, 109, 121, 127, 148, 166–167, 218–219, 228, 251, 280–282 bureaux 37, 41 contractors 5 legislation 37, 66, 121, 127, 148, 166–167, 218–219, 280–281 tenancy 30, 39–41, 57, 251, 282 unfree 19, 23, 29, 38, 42, 58, 109, 228 Ladybrand 67, 98 Land Redistribution for Agricultural Development (LRAD) 256, 272 land redistribution 3, 6, 73, 93, 170, 259, 280, 285 land reform 3, 7, 9–10, 16, 26, 76, 79, 84–86, 93, 124, 172, 189, 192, 199, 201, 217, 250, 253–255, 257, 259–260, 262, 266, 268–269, 277, 281 land tax 153, 166 land tenure 2–3, 6–7, 65, 70, 76, 95, 128–129, 132, 158, 162, 166–167, 178, 218–219, 253, 276, 279, 280–281 claims 129, 219 legislation 7, 65, 95, 128, 132, 218, 253, 276, 280 rights 125
Natal 30, 57, 112, 120, 127, 140, 231 National African Farmers’ Union (NAFU) 257–258 National Party (NP) 33, 41, 56, 60, 83, 134–135, 142, 151–152, 155, 229, 231, 233, 237 non-governmental organisation (NGO) 6, 86, 107–108, 133, 135, 142–147, 161, 216, 226, 242, 246, 271, 279–281 non-profit organisation (NPO) 142, 283 North West Province 49, 143, 178, 192, 195, 282, 285 Northern Cape 13, 66, 92, 94, 130, 145–146, 150–155, 157, 164, 174, 176, 178, 185, 187–188, 191–192, 203, 217–218, 240, 243, 261, 268, 282 nutrition 204, 271 pass laws 2, 15, 27–28, 36–37, 40–41, 43, 62 paternalism 3, 15, 34–35, 44, 47–48, 52, 91, 93–96, 98–99, 134, 162 peasantry 15, 19, 21, 26, 32, 34, 52 pensions 128, 165, 204, 274 Philippolis 67, 101, 103, 106 Philipstown 67 Plaatje, Sol 30, 33, 35, 44, 48 poll taxes 22
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poverty 1, 5, 21, 23, 49–51, 69–70, 72, 79, 91, 119–120, 124, 130, 172, 199, 213, 250, 260, 263–267, 274–275, 279 PRA (participatory rural appraisal) techniques 101, 106–107 profit-sharing 2, 98, 169, 170, 278 Provincial Growth and Development Strategy (PGDS) 168–169, 172 racism 18–19 reserves 22, 27 retrenchments 65, 111, 122, 126–128 rights 28 Ritchie 67 Rural Development Framework of 1997 166, 281 Rural Foundation 133–142, 144, 146, 148–149, 164, 181, 202, 225, 238–240, 277, 279 sanitation 1, 118, 132, 145, 148, 151–152, 156– 158, 160, 164, 183, 185, 187, 190, 199, 204, 206, 208, 220, 227, 232, 261, 284 Sectoral Education and Training Authority (SETA) 240–241, 249 segregation 4, 18, 33 service delivery 2, 4, 8–9, 13, 61, 70, 107–108, 132–133, 135, 141–146, 148, 150, 162, 164–167, 174, 176, 179–184, 186–188, 190–199, 202–203, 205, 207–209, 225, 227, 235, 276 sewerage 194 see also sanitation share equity schemes 16, 259–260, 278 sharecropping 2, 30–33, 52, 86, 168–170, 251, 259, 278 slavery 19, 21, 25, 28 South African Agricultural Union (SAAU) 60, 135, 230, 238 squatting 21, 24, 26, 29, 37, 40 stokvels (savings clubs) 274 subsidies 284
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Sustainable Livelihoods in Agriculture Grant (SLAG) 78 tenure rights 73, 84 tot system 138 tourism 69, 151, 173, 192, 196 trade union(s) 4, 17–19, 75, 93, 95, 108, 121, 133, 154, 160 training 156, 228, 232 Transitional Local Councils (TLCs) 150–158, 164, 166–167, 174, 176, 187, 210, 284 transport 44, 94 Transvaal 30, 49, 50, 57 trekboers 23, 49 tuberculosis (TB) 106, 264 unemployment insurance 56, 132 unemployment 52, 68, 72, 123–124, 127–128, 160, 168, 199, 220, 263, 266, 274, 279 unfree labour system 29, 38, 42, 58 unionisation 5, 121, 123 United Nations 213 urbanisation 27, 41–42, 52–53, 59, 60–62, 68, 71–73, 111, 128, 131–132, 160, 169, 173, 197–198, 207, 217, 255, 262–264, 275–277, 279 vagrancy (landlopery) 29, 36 violence against women 103 wage labour 20, 40 waste management 158, 160 water 1, 46, 94, 117–118, 122, 128, 132, 151–152, 158–159, 164, 182, 184–185, 190, 193– 196, 199, 204–206, 208, 213, 216, 220, 230, 232, 243, 261, 267, 283–284 Western Cape 16, 23, 98, 100, 103–104, 106, 135, 138, 140, 142, 149–150, 164, 168–171, 174, 185, 187, 211, 218–219, 221, 240, 243, 265–266, 268, 282
