Faith, Leadership, and Service: The Moral Compass for Navigating Complexity in Social Impact

Leadership in social impact work is tested not only by regulations and strategy but by moral and relational complexity.

Faith-based principles, particularly those emphasizing service, can guide leaders through crises. Robert Greenleaf’s concept of “servant leadership” asserts that authority emerges from nurturing, protecting, and empowering others rather than from positional power.

In practice, a leader navigating a contested board decision may face pressure to prioritise ego or personal alliances. By applying a servant-leadership lens, they focus on safeguarding staff, maintaining community trust, and aligning decisions with organisational purpose. Scripture reinforces this ethos: “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant” (Matthew 20:26). This principle translates into everyday governance: listening actively, mediating disputes fairly, and prioritising mission over personal gain.

Examples abound in nonprofit management. During funding shortfalls, a servant leader may choose to protect staff salaries rather than discretionary perks. In programme design, they may incorporate community voices into decision-making processes. These choices demonstrate that ethical leadership is not abstract; it is manifested in concrete acts that uphold dignity, trust, and sustainability.

Learning: Complexity is inevitable in social impact work. Leaders guided by service, humility, and ethical conviction can navigate turbulence without compromising purpose, strengthening both organisational resilience and community well-being.

-Lele

Governance Is More Than Structures: Fiduciary Duty, Leadership Clarity, and the Heart of Accountability

Good governance is often mistaken for compliance — ticking boxes on legal requirements or producing documentation for audits.

Yet effective governance is a lived practice, grounded in fiduciary responsibility, clarity, and relational trust. South African law codifies these duties in Section 76 of the Companies Act, requiring directors to act with care, skill, diligence, and good faith. But most governance failures arise not from ignorance of the law but from poor execution: ambiguous roles, opaque decision-making, and interpersonal conflict.

Consider a nonprofit addressing water and sanitation in informal settlements. If board authority overlaps with management responsibilities, staff may receive conflicting instructions. Donors may hesitate to fund initiatives, and beneficiaries may experience service gaps. Comparative research shows that the strongest organisations adopt hybrid accountability models — combining legal compliance with relational trust, transparency, and inclusion. These models ensure that legal frameworks are applied in ways that are adaptive, responsive, and mission-aligned.

Practical strategies are instructive:

  • Clear charters and role definitions delineate responsibilities, preventing confusion between boards and management.
  • Communication protocols and regular reporting embed transparency into daily operations.
  • Board training on fiduciary duties ensures directors understand not just legal obligations but ethical stewardship.
  • Feedback mechanisms from staff and stakeholders provide continuous insight into operational realities.

An analogy clarifies this further: governance is like an orchestra. Legal structures provide the score, but trust, coordination, and leadership create harmony. If musicians (staff) are ignored or instructions are unclear, the music falters, regardless of how well the score is written.

Learning: Governance is not self-perpetuating; it must be earned and practised continually. Organisations that actively cultivate transparency, humility, and inclusion ensure that legal structures translate into meaningful accountability and impact.

-Lele

Nina Manzi and the Power of Collective Assets: Safeguarding Community-Based Achievement

Community development often risks being defined by deficits — what a community lacks rather than what it already possesses.

Nina Manzi NPC challenges this narrative, exemplifying the transformative potential of asset-based community development. By identifying and leveraging community strengths, residents, artists, and stakeholders co-create sustainable projects rooted in dignity, resilience, and shared purpose.

Yet this approach raises important questions: How can collective achievements be protected from internal conflict? How can marginalised voices meaningfully participate in governance? South African nonprofit law recognises directors registered with the CIPC as the only legally empowered representatives of an NPC. Excluding them from decisions can render actions invalid, as seen in Lynn & Main Inc v Naidoo (2006). But legality alone is insufficient. True stewardship requires inclusivity, particularly of voices that are often marginalised — such as those experiencing homelessness, women in informal settlements, or youth groups — in membership structures or advisory boards.

Practical examples illustrate this principle. Imagine a Nina Manzi-led community arts festival. While a core board oversees budgeting, programming, and artist selection, incorporating input from participating artists and local residents ensures the festival reflects the community’s priorities. Conflicts among leaders — whether personal, ideological, or generational — must not eclipse the shared gains. Governance tools such as charters, dispute-resolution mechanisms, and transparent reporting protect both organisational legitimacy and communal trust.

Internationally, parallels exist. In Brazil, community-driven cultural initiatives in favelas succeed when residents, artists, and NGOs co-manage spaces, demonstrating that shared ownership leads to long-term sustainability. Conversely, initiatives that ignore local voices often fail, despite substantial funding.

Takeaway: Community assets are fragile yet invaluable. Protecting them requires inclusive governance, transparent leadership, and shared stewardship. Only by embedding these principles can organisations like Nina Manzi ensure that collective achievements empower the very communities they serve.

Safeguarding Community-Based Achievements

Nina Manzi NPC exemplifies the transformative potential of asset-based community development. This approach focuses on leveraging community strengths rather than highlighting deficits. When residents, artists, and stakeholders collaborate, they co-create sustainable projects rooted in dignity and resilience.

Legally, South African nonprofit law recognises directors registered with the CIPC as the only empowered representatives of an NPC. Excluding these directors from governance decisions can render actions invalid, as illustrated in Lynn & Main Inc v Naidoo (2006). Beyond legality, governance must reflect inclusivity. For Nina Manzi, this could mean incorporating marginalised voices, such as those experiencing homelessness, into membership structures or advisory boards.

Practical examples abound. Imagine a community arts festival led by Nina Manzi. Decisions about budgeting, programming, and artist selection are informed by a core board but also incorporate feedback from participating artists and community members. This co-creation ensures relevance, accountability, and shared ownership. Conflicts among leaders — whether personal or ideological — must not overshadow collective gains. Tools such as charters, clear dispute-resolution processes, and transparent reporting protect both organisational legitimacy and communal trust.

Learning: Community assets are fragile and invaluable. Protecting them through inclusive governance and shared stewardship preserves achievements while empowering the very communities they serve.

-Lele

Trust, and Human Dignity: Employment Clarity as the Bedrock of Ethical Impact Work

In the social impact sector, passion is abundant. People join nonprofits, community initiatives, and development programmes not for wealth or status, but because they believe in something larger than themselves.

Yet passion, while powerful, is not enough. Goodwill cannot pay rent, sustain families, or shield staff from exploitation. To build organisations that truly serve communities, we must also build workplaces rooted in clarity, fairness, and security. At the heart of this is something often treated as administrative red tape: the employment contract.

Contracts are not just paperwork. They are instruments of dignity. They affirm to staff: you are recognised, your contributions matter, and we are committed to treating you fairly. When contracts are absent, the result is not just legal vulnerability for organisations — it is erosion of trust and dignity for employees.


The Legal Foundation: More Than Compliance

South African law is unambiguous about this duty. The Labour Relations Act (LRA) safeguards against unfair dismissal and retrenchment, requiring consultation, fair selection, and severance (Section 189). The Basic Conditions of Employment Act sets out minimum standards such as working hours, leave, and remuneration. Courts have repeatedly reinforced the principle that even without formal contracts, the existence of an employment relationship creates enforceable rights. In McInnes v Technikon Natal (2000), the court held that oral assurances and conduct could establish a binding employment relationship.

This legal framework reflects a deeper ethical truth: when organisations fail to provide written contracts, they fail to protect both staff and themselves. They leave workers uncertain of their rights and expose themselves to reputational and financial risk.

But the question goes beyond legality. What does it mean for an organisation to claim it upholds dignity and justice in communities if it cannot uphold the same principles for its staff?


When Clarity Is Missing: Real-World Consequences

Imagine a nonprofit employing community health workers during a vaccination drive in KwaZulu-Natal. Staff work long hours in unpredictable environments, often dealing with distressed families. Without formal contracts, confusion abounds: Who is responsible for transport costs? How much overtime counts as payable? What happens if a worker is injured? The absence of clarity creates fertile ground for frustration. Workers feel undervalued, supervisors struggle with inconsistent expectations, and morale dips. Ultimately, the campaign’s effectiveness is compromised.

This is not unique to South Africa. In Kenya, thousands of community health volunteers — who form the backbone of rural health services — went on strike in 2017, protesting years of unpaid stipends and lack of contracts. The disruption left entire regions without frontline health services. What began as a labour rights issue became a public health crisis.

Closer to home, South African NGOs have faced similar disputes. In some cases, staff retrenchments without proper consultation or severance sparked grievances that damaged the organisation’s reputation among donors and the public. These examples underline a critical principle: when staff are treated as expendable, communities eventually pay the price.


The Transformative Power of Contracts

The solution, however, is surprisingly straightforward. A simple, well-drafted contract can transform the workplace environment. Contracts should outline:

  • Roles and responsibilities — What exactly is expected of the employee?
  • Hours and remuneration — When and how will they be compensated?
  • Leave and benefits — What entitlements exist, and how can they be accessed?
  • Grievance procedures — Where can staff turn if issues arise?

Take the same vaccination campaign. With contracts in place, staff know they will be reimbursed for transport, receive protective equipment, and be supported in case of illness. Supervisors can manage performance fairly, based on agreed responsibilities. Donors, too, see the organisation as credible and professional. A document that might have been dismissed as administrative suddenly becomes a foundation for trust, accountability, and dignity.

An analogy may help here: contracts are to organisations what seatbelts are to cars. Many drivers believe they will never crash, but without seatbelts the risk of injury skyrockets. Contracts, like seatbelts, may seem unnecessary when everything runs smoothly — but when crises emerge, they prove indispensable.


Beyond Contracts: Building a Culture of Respect

While contracts are essential, they are only one part of the solution. Ethical employment requires a broader culture of clarity and respect. Practical measures include:

  • Clear onboarding processes that familiarise staff with rights, policies, and expectations.
  • Regular performance dialogues that create space for feedback, recognition, and growth.
  • Transparent communication channels where staff can raise issues without fear of retaliation.
  • Training for managers on labour rights and conflict resolution, reducing the risk of misunderstandings escalating into disputes.

Some organisations go further, embedding staff dignity into governance. For example, the Treatment Action Campaign in South Africa built strong internal democratic structures, ensuring that members and staff had a voice in shaping strategy. This not only protected employment relationships but also aligned the organisation’s internal culture with its external mission.


The Bigger Picture: Integrity in Impact Work

Employment clarity is not a bureaucratic chore. It is a litmus test of integrity. If a nonprofit preaches justice, fairness, or dignity but fails to treat its staff with the same values, its message rings hollow. Communities are perceptive; they notice when organisations fail their own people. Funders, too, increasingly demand evidence of sound employment practices as part of due diligence.

Social impact cannot thrive on goodwill alone. Contracts are part of the infrastructure of trust. They create stability for staff, reduce organisational risk, and build credibility with partners. Most importantly, they affirm the humanity of those who dedicate their energy to social change.


The heart of social impact work lies in dignity — not only the dignity we aim to restore in communities, but the dignity we must uphold within our organisations. Written contracts, far from being administrative burdens, are powerful tools of recognition and trust. They protect employees, strengthen organisations, and safeguard the integrity of the sector itself.

The real question is not whether organisations can afford to issue contracts. It is whether they can afford not to.

Learning: Social impact requires more than good intentions. Contracts protect dignity, enable trust, and ensure that organisations can serve our communities with integrity.

-Lele

The Invisible Weight of Implementation: Why Ground-Level Voices Must Shape Organisational Decisions

In the world of development and social impact, strategy and implementation often feel like parallel universes.

Policies, frameworks, and budgets are produced in boardrooms, while in communities the realities of daily life unfold — complex, messy, and often resistant to neat solutions. The paradox is striking: those most responsible for making strategies succeed — programme staff, community liaisons, field managers — are frequently excluded from the very decisions that determine their success.

This disconnect is not just an ethical oversight. It has legal, operational, and human consequences. The South African Companies Act, for instance, requires directors to exercise care, skill, and diligence. But what does diligence mean if not engaging with the people closest to the work? In Fisher v Langeberg Municipality (2006), the court held that decisions made without consulting affected stakeholders can be challenged. The law echoes what practitioners already know: governance without implementation voices is governance half-done.


The Distance Between Strategy and Reality

Take, for example, a first-of-its-kind WASH enterprise development programme in South Africa. The executive may design a curriculum aligned with international standards and arrange for business training. On paper, it is impeccable. Yet when field staff attempt to roll it out, they encounter problems: language barrier with international facilitators, participants’ unreliable access to virtual resources, the effect of climate and agricultural cycles on WASH, or workshop materials mismatched with local context. The programme stumbles not because the strategy lacked logic, but because it lacked lived insight.

This is not unique to WASH or enterprise development. In education, and health, similar stories repeat. A well-funded water project in the Eastern Cape once installed boreholes in villages but neglected to consult women — those primarily responsible for collecting water. The pumps were placed far from daily routes, reducing usage and frustrating the very community they sought to help. By contrast, in Bangladesh, BRAC’s community health programmes thrived precisely because they embedded local women as “shasthya shebikas” (health volunteers), ensuring strategies adapted continuously to ground realities.

What emerges is a clear lesson: implementation teams are not simply executors of strategy — they are knowledge bearers. To ignore them is to build plans on sand.


The Legal and Ethical Dimensions

South African governance law implicitly acknowledges this reality. Section 76 of the Companies Act holds directors personally liable for reckless or negligent decisions. But can a decision truly be “informed” without operational consultation? Case law suggests not.

Globally, this principle is mirrored. In India, the Supreme Court struck down policies that excluded local panchayat councils from development planning, recognising the constitutional principle of subsidiarity — that decisions should be taken as close as possible to those affected. In Kenya, the 2010 Constitution explicitly requires public participation in local governance, embedding the same ethos into law. These legal frameworks reinforce a universal truth: excluding ground-level voices is not just impractical; it is often unlawful.


Practical Encounters: When Voices Are Ignored

  1. Humanitarian Aid in Haiti (2010): Following the earthquake, international NGOs deployed massive resources but failed to adequately consult local communities. Shelters were built in locations vulnerable to flooding, and food distribution bypassed local networks, undermining trust. Studies later showed that programmes with the highest impact were those run by grassroots organisations who knew the terrain.
  2. South African School Nutrition Programme: Designed to provide meals to vulnerable learners, it initially stumbled because delivery schedules clashed with school timetables and local supplier capacity was underestimated. It was only after consultation with school principals and kitchen staff that the programme stabilised.
  3. HIV/AIDS Response in Uganda: International funders once insisted on abstinence-focused programming. Local health workers, however, observed that such programmes ignored cultural realities and did not reduce infection rates. When local NGOs pushed for comprehensive sex education and community-driven messaging, outcomes improved dramatically.

These examples raise a critical question: Why do organisations continue to repeat this pattern of exclusion when evidence consistently shows the costs?


From Compliance to Culture: Embedding Ground-Level Voices

Solutions do exist, and they extend beyond compliance. Legal frameworks provide the baseline, but culture determines practice. Organisations can move towards inclusivity by institutionalising mechanisms that bring field perspectives into governance.

  • Regular consultation sessions: Programme staff should feed into board discussions quarterly, not as guests but as essential stakeholders.
  • Participatory decision-making: Communities themselves can be involved through advisory councils or membership models. For instance, Shack Dwellers International integrates residents into governance, making them co-architects of housing solutions.
  • Rotational board immersion: Imagine if every director spent one week per year shadowing field staff. The insights gained could recalibrate priorities in profound ways.
  • Feedback loops: Implementation challenges should not remain buried in reports. Dashboards or town-hall meetings can make them visible to leadership in real time.

An apt analogy here is that of an orchestra. A conductor (the board) may hold the score, but without the musicians (field staff), the music cannot exist. And crucially, the musicians often have practical insight into acoustics, timing, and expression that the conductor cannot perceive from the podium. A symphony only works when both are in conversation.


Towards Sustainable Development Practice

Excluding ground-level voices not only undermines programme success but also corrodes organisational trust and credibility. Staff who feel unheard are less motivated; communities treated as passive recipients disengage. On the other hand, inclusive decision-making fosters commitment, innovation, and sustainability.

Development success, then, is not about perfect strategies but about adaptable systems that integrate lived realities. Boards must ask themselves:

  • Who is missing from this decision?
  • What might implementation staff or community members see that we cannot?
  • How do we embed their insight not as an afterthought but as part of our governance DNA?

The answers to these questions could transform development work from fragile interventions to enduring change.


The invisible weight of implementation rests on those who must turn plans into practice. To exclude them from decision-making is to risk irrelevance, inefficiency, and even illegality. Strategy alone is theory; reality lives in the field. The task before us is not simply to acknowledge operational voices but to systematically embed them into governance, ensuring that organisations act with both vision and humility.

The real measure of development success is not how well strategies are written but how deeply they resonate with — and are shaped by — the people tasked with bringing them to life.

– Lele

‘What is a Woman?’

Directed by Justin Folk

Documentary

‘If transgenderism has reduced womanhood to its superficial characteristics, allowing anyone to don it like a Sunday hat, at least part of the reason is that our culture has spent decades divorcing sex distinctions from gender roles.’ – Leor Sapir, City Journal

I had been looking to see ‘What is a Woman‘ for a long while before I finally did. I knew of the film because I am a regular listener of the podcast hosted by the documentary’s creator, Matt Walsh. Not only had there been a thrilling buildup to the documentary’s release, there had also been robust reviews both for and against the film following its release. Writers had either been labelling the film and those involved in its creation as ‘transphobic’, ‘bigoted’, and ‘genocidal’. Or hailing ‘What is a Woman‘ as a must-watch offering of truth and tenacity.

I could hardly take my eyes of the screen throughout my viewing of the documentary. Walsh takes the viewer on a journey that is both gripping and farcical. In his critique of transgender theory and activism, Walsh’s vast range of interviewees includes doctors, psychologists, women’s march protest-goers, gender and sociology professors, university students, Maasai tribesmen, and the average thinker on the street.

Among many factors, what makes the film compelling is the manner in which some of Walsh’s interlocutors are bizarrely stumped by the clearest of questions. I opt for the word ‘clear’ intentionally. Unlike Walsh, I am reluctant to describe the questions (particularly the titular question) as merely ‘simple’. The word ‘simple’ denotes that the question is easily understood or presents no difficulty. The assertion that ‘what is a woman?’ is a ‘simple’ question is brilliantly and consistently disproved by the documentary itself. In transgender discourse, the question has in fact become complicated one.

To this end, the film is an exceptional example of ‘clarifying terms’ and ‘sharpening contradictions’. Defining words and establishing meaning is the best place to draw the battle lines in a culture war. That is why ‘What is a Woman?‘ is a film worth watching for those interested in contending for truth in the age of transgender ideology.

– Lele M

S v Legality

Photo by Tara Winstead on Pexels.com

This account will contend that the rule of law in South Africa is more than a relic of colonialism. The thrust of this argument is that post-colonial constitutions intentionally and necessarily reconceptualize the role of the rule of law. As such, the post-colonial rule of law assumes a different character and effect than that which it had under colonial rule.

In substantiation, I will first consider the rule of law during apartheid South Africa. This consideration will reveal that the rule of law was compromised under parliamentary sovereignty. Then, to demonstrate the difference of the post-colonial perspective on the rule of law, I will assess South Africa’s effort to reconceptualize the legal principle in the post-apartheid dispensation. This portion of the essay will contrast liberal post-apartheid constitutionalism and transformative constitutionalism. In doing so, I will hold that the former is more persuasive and appropriate in the South African context and democratic constitutionalism.

Legality in the Colony

During apartheid, the legislature enjoyed supremacy above the executive and judiciary. Parliament, as the sovereign legal authority, could create and abolish any law concerning any issue. Legislation passed by parliament could not be invalidated by the courts. The judiciary simply did not have the jurisdiction to challenge legislation. This allowed the racially discriminatory apartheid laws to go unchecked because the legislature governed with absolute discretion. In this way, the governance structure of the apartheid regime severely compromised the principle of the rule of law. Consequently, parliamentary sovereignty grossly undermined justice.      

On the other hand, constitutionalism attempts to avert arbitrary government such as exercised by the apartheid regime. Constitutionalism proposes government by the constitution. Thus, constitutionalism, as an instrument to curb arbitrary government, aligns with the inner morality of law[1]. According to this understanding, laws must be (inter alia) publicly promulgated, clear, and equally enforced.

Additionally, the function of democracy in constitutionalism is key. Democracy legitimises constitutional rule because the legislature is constituted by democratically elected representatives of the voting populace. The duly elected parliament represents the diverse interests, experiences, and ambitions of a variety of constituencies. As such, the laws passed by an elected legislature are a reflection (albeit imperfect) of the needs, values and will of the people. Therefore, constitutionalism in a democratic framework not only facilitates but also protects the notion of popular self-government.

Democratic constitutionalism then, relies heavily on the rule of law. This ‘rule’ refers to the principle that no person or institution is above the law. In a democracy, this principle is paramount.

Post-apartheid Constitutionalism

The rule of law in terms of the post-apartheid constitutions is more than a legacy of colonialism. In this, I agree with Upendra Baxi[2]. Colonialism is part of the history of the rule of law in former colonies and thus influences post-colonial constitutions. However, it is also more complex than that. Post-apartheid constitutions are responsive documents. They are unapologetically written as tools for the achievement of a desired end. This end is typically informed by several factors, including the country’s socio-political history as a colony, its current reality, its vision for the future, and place among the global community of nations.

In South Africa the rule of law is a crucial founding tenet of the Republic. It is provided for in the very first section of the Constitution – s1(c). The authors of the Constitution placed the rule of law among important founding values including human dignity s1(a), non-racialism s1(b), and constitutional supremacy s1(c). The provision entrenching the rule of law appears immediately alongside constitutional sovereignty. It is no coincidence that the principle of legality enjoys a prominent position. Not only does this indicate the lawmakers’ esteemed view of the principle of the rule of law and its centrality in characterising the Republic. It also communicates a clear intention to bind South Africa to this principle fundamentally.

The primacy of the rule of law in the Constitution is perspicuous and uncontroversial. The rule of law as adumbrated in the Constitution is part of the very definition of South Africa. For this reason, understanding the prevailing judicial perception of the rule of law is paramount. It informs the application and operation of the principle of the rule of law in post-apartheid South African courts. Here, the main contending conceptions of the rule of law in South Africa are transformative constitutionalism, and liberal post-apartheid constitutionalism.

Considering the Postcolonial Conflict

The rule of law as envisaged by the drafters of the Constitution differs radically from that of the preceding founding national documents (of 1909, 1961, 1983) in conception and application. The rule of law under Apartheid was used to meet the political ends of the totalitarian regime. The sovereign legislature of the time weaponised the rule of law by passing overtly racist legislation. This discriminatory legislation was potent because the judiciary was 1) not able to challenge policy and declare legislation invalid, and 2) able to use the rule of law as a makeshift shield to avoid deliberating on the substance and validity of apartheid legislation. Rather than conscientiously adjudicatory, the role of the judiciary was administrative. Judges were discouraged from independent adjudication. Under parliamentary sovereignty, the court could not declare laws to be invalid. All laws validly passed by parliament were enforceable. Thus, judges were able to cite the principle of the rule of law in adjudication to uphold and enforce apartheid legislation.

A full procedural revolution is described as involving the rejection and removal of an established government and the successful establishment of a new order. This traditional conception of a revolution requires the use of extra-constitutional means to revolt against the establishment. In this way, a ‘legal revolution’ is a contradiction in terms. As a founding provision of the Republic in the Constitution, the rule of law is not extra-constitutional. Inherently, it is not revolutionary arsenal. The rule of law alone as contemplated in the Constitution does not facilitate revolt and cannot revolutionise South Africa.

Moreover, this is preferrable. Not only is the rule of law, as a legal principle, technically unable to revolutionise South Africa. It is also best that it cannot, and indeed does not, overthrow the South African order. South Africa [needs] reform rather than revolution. The country is a young post-colonial democracy and is susceptible to the pitfalls similarly faced by countries which emerge as democratic post-colonies. The challenges faced by India’s post-colonial constitutionality and cited by Baxi are but one example. Judicial constraints are crucial in post-colonies. To avoid the abuse of power in an already vulnerable society, South Africa’s approach to the principle of legality ought to rely more on time-tested structures and processes rather than intervention. Thus, the prudence of liberal-conservative post-apartheid constitutionalism is more appropriate.

Post-apartheid constitutionalism requires prudence, not despite South Africa’s history but because of it. We ought to be prudent and ‘constrained’ particularly considering previous abuses of the law and judicial power in South Africa. The ‘constrained vision’[3] contemplated by economist and social theorist Dr Thomas Sowell refers broadly to a view of the world which is guided by the principle of prudence, and belief in checks and balances.

The constrained vision is reflected in South Africa’s legal culture as liberal-conservative post-apartheid constitutionalism. This liberal-conservative view is often misconstrued as ineffective, archaic, and inflexible. This is an inaccurate representation of liberal-conservatism. The liberal-conservative constitutionalist is not opposed to change, or conscientious adjudication.

Instead, the liberal-conservative constitutionalist is guided by the principles of precedence and prescription. He believes, as Burke did, that “the individual is foolish, the species is wise.” As such, the liberal-conservative constitutionalist adheres to custom, convention, and continuity. He understands that permanence and change are equally crucial to the development of South Africa’s postcolonial constitutional democracy. Thus, both permanence and change must be acknowledged and reconciled in a vibrant society[4].

The ‘unconstrained vision’[5] is reflected in South Africa as transformative constitutionalism. Although transformative constitutionalism is characteristically amorphous, it is broadly predicated on the vision espoused in the epilogue of the Interim Constitution[6]. This vision imagines a new South African society based on substantive equality. Transformative constitutionalism, then, is an outcomes-based approach. It is concerned with transformation which has been described by former Chief Justice Pius Langa as “a social and economic revolution”. This consequentialist application of the Constitution fundamentally seeks ‘transformative’ ends and substantive equality[7] – also referred to as ‘equality of outcome’.

Notably, the post-apartheid legal order must be based on persuasion, rather than coercion. To this end, South Africa’s post-apartheid legal culture has gradually become a culture of judicial justification. A culture of judicial justification refers to the notion that legitimate leadership and governance is assessed through the merit of the case argued in defence of its pronouncements. On the other hand, the culture of judicial authority during the apartheid era legitimated leadership through fear entrenched by the force of its command.

This compelling shift to judicial justification is most compatible with liberal-conservative constitutionalism rather than transformative constitutionalism. The liberal-conservative constitutionalist perceives the need for prudent restraints on power and human passions, regardless of good intentions. As such, he is beholden to a stricter standard of justification which maintains “a healthy tension between the claims of authority and the claims of liberty[8].”

On the other hand, transformative constitutionalism presents the counter-majoritarian dilemma. This dilemma refers to a tension caused by the influence which unelected judges have on the effect of legislation passed by a duly elected legislature. The dilemma is concerned with the extent to which judges play a role in ‘making law’. Although adjudication presents a legitimate and necessary opportunity to develop law and policy. The counter-majoritarian dilemma sees a potential redundancy in the democratic election of lawmakers where judges are also allowed the discretion to prescribe certain policy outcomes according to the interests of certain groups.

As mentioned earlier, transformative constitutionalism is a judicial approach which is primarily concerned with specific (transformative) outcomes of legislation. The ‘transformative’ and even ‘revolutionary’ adjudication contemplated by this view stands to undermine the democratic process as a legitimate expression of the will of the people. As Sowell argues, even judges are not immune to the influence of power and therefore cannot legitimately act as “surrogate decision-makers” in a society where the popular vote already elects representatives to make policy decisions. This exposes the potentially perilous nature of transformative constitutionalism in South Africa’s judiciary.

Instead, a liberal-conservative approach relies heavily on democratic constitutionalism in the legislature rather than transformative constitutionalism in the judiciary. It recognises that the two cannot coexist comfortably for long before grave tensions arise. This prudent approach does not only protect democracy by preferring constraints on judicial power. It is also concordant with the separation of powers, and the principle of the rule of law.

– Lele M

Bibliography

Baxi, Upendra. ‘Post-colonial Legality: A Postscript from India’. Warwick: Verfassung und Recht in Ubersee VRU 45, 2012.

Edwards, Pamela. ‘Permanence and Progression: The Statesman’s Science: History, Nature, and Law in the Political Thought of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004.

Kirk, Russell. ‘The Politics of Prudence’. Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2014.

Langa, Pius. ‘Transformative Constitutionalism’. Stellenbosch: 17 Stellenbosch L. Rev 351, 2006.

Sowell, Thomas. ‘A Conflict of Visions: Ideological Origins of Political Struggles’. New York: W. Morrow, 1987.


[1] Developed by Lon Fuller

[2] U Baxi ‘Chapter 28: Postcolonial legality’ in H Schwarz and S Ray (eds) A companion to postcolonial studies

[3] The constrained (tragic) vision relies on the belief that human nature is essentially unchanging and that man is naturally inherently self-interested, regardless of the best intentions. Those with a constrained vision prefer the systematic processes of the rule of law and experience of tradition. Compromise is essential because there are no ideal solutions, only trade-offs.

[4] Pamela Edwards in ‘Permanence and Progression’

[5] The unconstrained (utopian) vision relies on the belief that human nature is essentially good. Those with an unconstrained vision distrust decentralized processes and are impatient with large institutions and systemic processes that constrain human action. They believe there is an ideal solution to every problem, and that compromise is never acceptable.

[6] “a historic bridge between the past of a deeply divided society characterised by strife, conflict, untold suffering and injustice, and a future founded on the recognition of human rights, democracy and peaceful co-existence and development opportunities for all South Africans, irrespective of colour, race, class, belief or sex”.

[7] Pius Langa in ‘Transformative Constitutionalism’

[8] Russell Kirk in ‘Politics of Prudence’

Chapter V | The Shadow of the Ring


The city moved differently after the café fire. News reports called it “another accident,” but people whispered of omens. Even the pigeons seemed to circle slower, their wings uneasy with the heat of some invisible flame.



Noluntu walked through the streets as though wading through the residue of her own past. Each corner hummed with faint memory—the laughter of comrades, the sermons of street preachers, the soft murmur of her mother’s voice calling her Nkanyezi, my little star. But the name meant something different now. She could feel her light returning, though dim and uncertain.

Asher had vanished after the fire. No calls, no messages, only the faint smell of sandalwood that lingered in her apartment for days after. She wanted to dismiss him as fantasy, but the note he’d written still glowed faintly in the dark: You’re remembering.



In her sleep, fragments of her uncle’s funeral replayed in reverse—the men with gold rings, their eyes sharp as blades, chanting in a language older than isiZulu. One word echoed in her mind: Zedekiah. She found it the next morning in her book’s margins, written in ink that shimmered like oil.

Zedekiah—the priest-king, last of the holy line before captivity. Was it a name? A title? Or a warning?

That afternoon, she visited her parents’ old comrade, MaLebo, a retired revolutionary who lived in an RDP house on the outskirts of Soweto. The walls were lined with portraits of the struggle: fists raised, faces defiant. But the spirit had faded from them, like colour washed from old cloth.

“Your mother was a prophetess,” MaLebo told her between sips of rooibos. “She said your blood was older than the ANC, older than the Party, older than even the tribes. She said your line was the line of Levi—the priesthood of Israel. But we didn’t listen. We thought she was speaking in riddles.”



Noluntu frowned. “Levi? But how could that be—”

MaLebo raised a hand. “Child, there are stories buried under every revolution. Yours is not to explain. Yours is to remember.”

As Noluntu left, the sky split with thunder. A storm rolled over the city like a rebuke, washing the pavements clean of their false holiness.


Liberty to Lie?

Critical discussions of liberty are typically concerned with the extent to which individual liberty ought to be preserved and protected.

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Such a consideration often hangs on the foundation of the principle of individual liberty. John Stuart Mill presents a persuasive account for individual liberty subject to the harm principle. In his argument Mill explores the liberty of expression to indicate when state interference to restrict individual liberty may be justifiable.

This piece will discuss Mill’s proposition that the exercise of state authority over individuals against their will may be warranted in the case of freedom of expression in accordance with the harm principle – using a recent South African case study. It will examine Mill’s position that state protection of individual liberty is contingent upon consequentialist utilitarian principles.

In doing so, Mill demonstrates that there are indeed instances where state interference with individual liberty can be justifiable; including in the case of legislation which outlaws fake news.

In the first instance, Mill does not base the principle of individual liberty on fundamental rights but rather on its instrumental value. Its value in achieving a desired end. Mill appeals to the utility of individual liberty as the basis for its extensive protection, unlike the Rawlsian appeal to natural rights. Individual liberty of expression, Mill posits, is worth extensive protection because it facilitates and maintains a public good.

The liberty to express diverse views allows for a competition between views for a clearer perception of the truth. It allows for the exchange of error for truth as well as a more cogent understanding of the truth. When a truth is held without engagement with counterviews it goes unchallenged and therefore never requires defense. It is held as true, not by the merit of its argument, but by virtue of being uncontested. It is ‘true’ by default.

Whereas, the expression of diverse views initiates discourse. Through this, opposing views are able to engage in a challenge for the truth or share the truth between themselves. Alternative views may share the truth between them, Mill postulates, as a dissenting view is often necessary to provide the remaining facets of the truth. This exercise of engagement between competing views is valuable for numerous reasons.

Firstly, it illuminates the truth by ensuring that any prevailing truth is be able to withstand challenge as to its veracity. It is no longer enough for a view to merely be expressed as truth. It ought also to defend itself according to the merits of its case in the face of counterarguments. Moreover, the freedom to express alternative views makes sets a standard for truth. An objective truth threshold.

A poignant analogy is that of the marketplace of ideas. Here, shoppers in the marketplace behave like those in a grocery marketplace where shoppers scrutinize goods often picking them up to assess the weight, colour, and overall quality of the goods prior to making a purchase. They evaluate and scrutinize each idea that attracts their interests at the marketplace of ideas before consciously deciding to adopt it as truth.

Ideas adopted in this way are less likely to be dislodged because they undergo a process of critical inspection and challenge against alternative views and prevail based on their merits. Also, the shopper is making a conscious decision to adopt the view which is most persuasive because the process requires active critical engagement.  

In this way, the the standard is twofold. The prevailing view must be persuasive on its own merit, and defensible against counterviews.

The liberty to express diverse opinions is a public good which is facilitated by free expression. Therefore, it satisfies both consequentialist and utilitarian principles because it is an instrument used to maintain a public good. The value of this public good, Mill posits, is such that it necessitates the invention of dissenting views when none exist.

There are, however, instances when the state may be justified to legally restrict free expression. These instances are those in which the harm principle applies. The harm principle provides simply that the only time the state may be justified to interfere with the individual liberty of expression is to ensure the safety of others who may otherwise come to harm.

This aligns with the pluralist view to which Mill subscribes. The harm principle is concerned with restricting individual liberty only in the case of protecting others from harm. Also understood as other-regarding actions. Self-regarding actions are in the private sphere of activity where state inference is not usually permissible.

Two issues immediately arise. First, the distinction between self- and other-regarding actions is not always clear. Secondly, although the harm principle is a necessary condition for legal restrictions on individual liberty, it is not adequate in itself as a condition to justify state interference. Harm does not provide a fool-proof criterion for when individual expression may be curtailed.

However, offense is not a harm that justifies prevention. Offense is not a harm protected by the harm principle. Instead, expression is evaluated based on its use or harm which derive from its truth and falsehood respectively.

Mill exposes that a claim of harmful expression is itself a subjective evaluation and a matter of opinion. Moreover, sometimes opposing views share the truth between them. We ought to always be reluctant to interfere with free individual expression. Dissenting views are often valuable as they provide the remaining facets of the truth. This is when contesting views share the truth between them.

This is distinguishable from a pluralist position which rejects the existence of a single dominant metanarrative. This discussion informs the exploration which follows. It considers the decision of the National Coronavirus Command Council (NCCC) to legislate against fake news.

In response to the COVID-19 global pandemic, South Africa’s NCCC (empowered by the Disaster Management Act 57 of 2002) gazetted regulations which effectively outlawed participating in the creation and transfer of fake news relating to the Coronavirus pandemic.

Namely, the COVID-19 virus; the COVID-19 infection status of any person; and any measure taken by the government in addressing the COVID-19. This enquiry will consider Mill’s view on this legislation in accordance with the harm principle in a contemporary context.

At first glance, Mill would say that even fake news about COVID-19 is valuable to the extent that it gives significance and clarity to the truth about COVID-19 and the Coronavirus pandemic. In a way, it illuminates why the truth is true.

Secondly, the three categories of expression specified by the legislation are other-regarding actions. The regulations are concerned with the act of publishing a statement in any of the above three categories on social media and any medium with the intention to deceive another person. The provision required the intention by one person to deceive another about the COVID-19 virus. This is a prohibition of a specific other-regarding action. It is thus within the realm of justifiable interference. Depending, of course, on utilitarian consequentialist principles – to which I now turn.

As a utilitarian consequentialist, Mill would consider keenly the justifications offered by the NCCC for the legislation against fake news. The Council argues that viral misinformation and fake news pose ‘the biggest’ risk for the spread of the Coronavirus in South Africa.

The Council holds that a solid strategy is necessary with regard to the socio-political and economic discourse around the Coronavirus and the global pandemic. The publishing of fake news and deliberate misinformation about COVID-19, the NCCC says, will lead to the deaths of many.

The NCCC is submitting utilitarian grounds for the restriction of free individual expression. South Africa is considered a developing country. It also exists in the context of a global pandemic.

Moreover, the history of spatial planning in South Africa means that areas which are densely populated are usually also peri-urban areas which lack access to information. These high risk areas are townships which are populated by middle to low income earners who are lack resources to verify information, or lack exposure to credible news sources altogether.

It is vital that discourse around the COVID-19 pandemic be controlled and limited to information verified as factual. This socio-econo-political context means the harm that may come from the intentional deception and viral misinformation about COVID-19 in South Africa could be fatal on a significant scale.

False expression, in this instance, is harmful to a greater extent than it is valuable to the discourse around the COVID-19 virus. The overall adverse consequences of intentionally deceiving others about the highly infectious Coronavirus during a global pandemic far outweigh the overall benefit of the publication of such expression . Having considered the above, Mill would consider South Africa’s fake news legislation a legitimate temporary interference with individual free speech. It is justifiable in accordance with the harm principle.

The harm principle requires that state interference with individual liberty be in the interests of the safety of others, as well as adhere to utilitarian consequentialist principles. The South African case study above depicts a circumstance when it is indeed justifiable for government to pass laws against fake news. This restriction to the liberty of individual expression is warranted and is aligned with the harm principle.

Thus, Mill is likely to concur with the decision to legislate against false expression about the COVID-19 virus.


– Lele M

The Unconstrained Rainbow

Is the (radical) left likely to ever win an election?

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According to Thomas Sowell, in ‘A Conflict of Visions’, one of the two broad visions that underlie conflict in the world is the unconstrained vision. This vision sees human beings as capable of moral and social improvement.

Problems such as inequality and injustice are not permanent but can be overcome through reason, willpower, and transformative reform. Institutions and traditions are often seen as obstacles to progress. In South Africa, the popularity of the unconstrained vision is most evident in the growth and philosophy of political players such as the Economic Freedom Fighters, and Black First Land First.

How do the philosophies of these parties represent the unconstrained vision?

The unconstrained vision believes more in revolution than it does in reform. According to the unconstrained vision, current institutions and systems immanently problematic. They were designed that way. As a result, equal opportunity is not enough. Proponents of the unconstrained vision believe in such things as distributive justice – redistribution of wealth in the pursuit of ‘cosmic justice’ (Thomas Sowell).

The unconstrained vision sees the current sociopolitical and even economic systems as inherently flawed and proposes a solution which typically involves increased state capacity, state intervention, and state control of resources. As a result, the state in the unconstrained conception enjoys a more authoritarian role.

Why is leftist rhetoric attractive to South Africans?

Well, ideas on the far left of the economic spectrum tend to be utopian. South Africa has a population of over fifty million. As of 2016, the National Census reported 80.7% of people in South Africa were Black Africans, 8.7% were coloured, 8.1% were white, and 2.5 were Indian/Asian.

Meanwhile, the Marxist nature of the ideas on the South African left offer the vindication of naming and shaming the villain – the oppressor. The top five political parties according to the 2019 national election results were as follows. The African National Congress (ANC) enjoys first position at 57.5%, followed by the Democratic Alliance (DA) at 20.8%, the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) at 10.8%, the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) at 3.4%, and at number five is the Freedom Front Plus (FF+) at 2.4%.

Do South African’s necessarily find the unconstrained vision to be more persuasive?

Distinctively, the provincial election results of the Western Cape provide a contrasting picture. The DA takes the prime spot at 55.5%, the ANC comes in second at 28.6%, followed by the EFF at 4%, the GOOD party at 3%, and the African Christian Democratic Party (ACDP) also at 3%.

The Western Cape is of particular interest to me because (although it accounts for 11.3% of the national populace) the population demographics depict an interesting contrast to the national picture. The Western Cape is home to the largest population of coloured (47.5%), and white (16%) South Africans, across all provinces. Meanwhile, compared to the rest of the provinces, the same province is home to the lowest population of black Africans (35.7%) in South Africa.

Differences in language, religion, class, orphanhood, and education make these questions more complex and all the more worthy of attention. I’m curious to learn about and understand the peoples of this country. Who are they really? How do they live? What do they want?

I learned that every political question begins with a map, or a census. So let’s talk about it. What do all these figures mean? How, if at all, do they represent a contention of visions?

These are the questions I explore in the conversation which continues on the podcast. Join me there!

– Lele M