The Republic of South Africa is a country of 4.3 million whites, 2.4 million coloreds, 700,000 Asians and 18.6 million blacks. Non-whites comprise 71 per cent of the population. We're debating about a country in which over 3/4 of the population is disenfranchised--no vote; economically enslaved, through subsistence wages and abject poverty; and physically removed, restricted to wastelands far from the rich economy of the country. This subjugation is militarily enforced as we saw in the Sharpeville experience military repression of 1960 and Soweto more recently in 1976. And this experience is rationalized through an ideology of virulent racism. Blacks have no vote, are subject to immediate removal, are not permitted to gather, work as non-permanent migrants, cannot hold property in 4/5 of their native land, work for subsistence wages and have uncommonly high levels of poverty and malnutrition in a developed country. They must carry passbooks at all times and must obtain government permission to change jobs. Is this something other than slavery?
Now, Harvard is one of the most prestigious universities. I would say, in the world. And I'm confident that a clear message from Harvard--indeed a clear and succinct message from President Bok will have a tremendous impact on corporate policy, on our government's policy toward the Republic of South Africa and on the worldwide climate of opinion. I'd like to encourage the Harvard Corporation to make an unambiguous public statement in opposition to the South African regime, to make no more investments in companies that hold South African investments, to support or to initiate shareholder resolutions about corporate withdrawal from South Africa, to publicize these actions, to form coalitions with other institutions carrying out similar policies. And to ultimately adopt a policy of strategic, timely, divestiture of stock if corporations do not respond to pressure. Thank you.
OSCAR HANDLIN:
Mr. President, I confess at the outset that I know very little about South Africa. The one time I was invited to lecture there, the government of that country chose for reasons of its own to deny me a visa, so that I never had the experience that perhaps some others have had in direct observation of what transpires there. But I have observed for the last dozen years or so the persistent efforts, sometimes successful, to drag the University into political positions which it is not competent to make, given its structure and purposes, and which, in each case, led to consequences that were diametrically opposed to the intentions of those who urged them.
Which reminds me of an account I like to reread from time to time by James Logan, who was William Penn's secretary in the course of their voyage to America. The crossing was long--three months. Penn was a personage of distinction by this time and often edified the company with pious discourse stressing, as he usually did, the virtues of non-resistance and brotherly love. Came a pirate. And the crew cleared the decks. Logan, who was an enthusiastic young man, began pushing munitions around and readied, with others, the ship for action. Fortunately, the pirate proved not to be a pirate and the guns were then stowed away. But Logan had noticed that in this whole affair Penn had quietly withdrawn to his cabin and didn't emerge until after it was over. The outcome was a long disagreement which affected Pennsylvania politics for many years, with the younger man, Logan, demanding consistency. Either non-resistance was appropriate, in which case Penn should have attempted to dissuade the captain from firing upon the pirate, or it was not, in which case he should have lent a hand. Penn was older and wiser and he had a different understanding of the situation. Penn had a mission. That mission was not to conciliate pirates or to yield to them or to fight with them. That mission was to get to America. And a proven, calculating man knew that the best way to get to America at that point was to get out of the way.
This university also has a mission. The same mission it had in 1879, 1779, and 1679. That mission is not to perfect an imperfect world. It is to pursue and advance learning. Mr. President, I need the income from $20 million dollars. When I say "need," I don't mean would like to have or wish or could use, I mean need. To keep the roof of Widener from falling in, to preserve irreplaceable collections, to maintain an instrument of learning incomparable in the world. You get the money and I'll spend it. And I'll spend it in such a fashion that will justify the attainment of it.
It's a hard world in which we live, one which only marginally responds to our own wishes. Those who stretch too far will overreach themselves and tumble into frustration. Those alone can get something done who confine themselves to that for which they are trained--that which is their function. I have no assurance that the kind of humane values that a citizen of the 1930s, which I count myself, will long endure. But our predecessors began to teach in the wilderness. Our successors someday may again have to teach in the wilderness. And there may come a time when people will not have it clearly in mind which Cambridge is which, but they will still recognize the name as they do Santa Catherina or Alexandria or Monte Casino or Saint Golun, not for the empires of which they were a part, not even for the systems of belief they sustained--but for the learning they managed to preserve.
JOSEPH NYE:
I find it rather interesting to come back to Harvard to hear this discussion having spent two years in the government trying to effect change in the South African government and realizing what a resistant body it was. In my first reaction--as I listened to the debate--was that it was a somewhat improbable debate. Wasn't it a case of academic hubris, of thinking that in this case the effects of some intellectuals sitting in one part of the world was going to strongly affect events in another part of the world. But as I thought further about it. I came to the conclusion that though there may be a sense of improbability about the debate in some ways, essentially there is a good reason for focusing on South Africa. I agree with the first two premises in the open letter which has been circulated. But I think one should perhaps ask the question of what effects we have from two different points of view.
One reason we might focus our attention here and violate the presumption, with which I agree in President Bok's letter that the University should not be another political pressure group, but should only deviate from that in exceptional circumstances. One reason for possible deviation from that presumption would be that there were extremely large effects in this case, but that's clearly not true, in fact the causal chains that link things happening in Cambridge, Mass., with things happening in South Africa are extremely thin. The other reason one might be concerned with South Africa and violate the presumption of political inactivity would be because of the enormity of events at the other end of the very thin causal chain, and the particular distastefulness in how that affects our job as a community of scholars dedicated to teaching. And there I think there is a cause for concern. It strikes me that the system of organized racial discrimination in South Africa on a governmental basis is totally antithetical to the values of a liberal University. The fact that citizens cannot escape that ascribed position which is reinforced by power strikes me as the opposite of the individualism we seek for and the individual endeavors that we're engaged in.
So in that sense, although the causal chains are extremely thin--indeed, my first reaction upon returning from Washington is that they were too thin to be worthy of the attention of this body, my second thought is that, in fact, there is a direct connection of something that is central to our endeavors in teaching, and that we teach by what we do, as well as by what we say. And if we showed no concern in a circumstance where there was even a thin causal chain to events and values which are antithetical to those we hold, we would in fact not be doing an effective job of teaching. With that said, however, I think we have to pay a bit more attention to what we teach, and I notice in the letter circulated by my colleagues, the open letter, that what we should be doing is following a strategy to advance the cause of withdrawal. I wonder about that. It seems to me that the cause is not withdrawal, the cause is to help black South Africans escape from the situation they're in, and the fact that withdrawal is a way to do that is a debatable point at least. I think you could make the argument that, in fact, there are other ways to do it more effectively. If we look at the case for pure withdrawal, I think we should ask ourselves are we doing pure withdrawal to help South Africans or to have a sense of purity ourselves? If it's the latter, it's an odd thing to do as teachers. Pontius Pilate with clean hands has never been an inspired moral teacher. So surely it must be to have an effect on the opportunities and lives of black South Africans.
But I think if we are looking in that direction, then complete withdrawal or divestiture is in fact not the most effective strategy. Indeed, I think you could argue that the strategy the Corporation is following is in fact more moral than its alternatives. When we teach morality in international politics in Government 40--which Professor Hoffmann and I share, and in which we disagree--we tell students that they have to look at the intentions. And I think we all share the same intentions, as I indicated in my agreement about the premises. But then we also have to look next at the effects. Which means giving a realistic appraisal of what the causal chains are, and how best to use them.
And the third thing we have to look at is competing moral claims. If those causal chains are extremely thin, and the effects very small, then competing claims (for example, next generations of education here at Harvard), is something that has also to be weighed in the balance. When I look, then, at the courses that are open before us. I think the course of complete withdrawal looks the most pure and the most moral, at a first glance. But I would not want to teach my students that that is, in fact, the most moral course, because I don't think it has the most effect on the opportunities for black South Africans. If you look, instead, at a mixed strategy, you can. I think, have a more effective situation.
Let me describe a third strategy, which I encountered in discussing this with a friend at the Business School, which I haven't heard represented here yet, which is the argument that we should have a laissez-faire position. Lay off. Essentially, investment and economic change are producing the opportunities for blacks to move up in their positions, and also the kind of basic turmoil which would undercut the system. It strikes me that doesn't make quite enough sense in the following way: it's almost a crude Marxian argument, the political superstructure will follow the economic substructure; it ignores the effects of political symbolism. That there's more than just economic change which causes social change.
And that symbolic acts do matter. But the difference, then, is not should we do nothing, but how should we use the symbolism, (small as it is), which Harvard University possesses. It seems to me the complete withdrawal approach is to wrap it up into one ball and shoot it at once. And I think that will be quickly forgotten, and quickly ignored, in South Africa.
If we're looking, instead, at the question of how do you try to affect opportunities for black South Africans, (whether it be moving up to foreman a bit earlier and challenging the racial system in occupation, or whether it be on facilities and so forth), and if you're looking for effects on white South Africans of the younger generation; how do you continually try to de-legitimize the system in their eyes? And if you're looking for effects on American corporations, so that they continually realize there is this problem with which they must deal--to which they must pay attention--then withdrawal is not the most effective strategy. You can have a dual strategy, of essentially maintaining your positions in voting shareholder resolutions to encourage opportunities for black South Africans, and also a strategy of divestment only in cases where there is particularly egregious behavior. In other words, when a corporation refuses to live by these kinds of principles, it's a more restrictive view of the presumption that Professor Hoffmann offered. And it seems to me in those circumstances you will have a more effective position over a long term than you will to have a once-for-all use of your symbolism, and a loss of your continuing influence. I think in either case we have to realize, though, that the effects are going to be very small. And that the reasons why we continue this, is because of the way it does affect our own role here as a community of liberal scholars involved in teaching and research.
I guess the thing that strikes me is that it would be a mistake for us to allow the Harvard community--the students we teach to think that, somehow, the problem here is between the resistance of a group of conservatives who want to pay no attention to this, and the open-mindedness and humanitarianness of another group who say, "let's make a strong gesture." There is, in fact, a middle position of people who feel both, who feel that they