SOUTH AFRICA: A creaking bureaucracy and rows over the use of Afrikaans have made for slow work for South Africa's Education Minister, writes Declan Walsh in Cape Town
It's hard to get a word in with Prof Kader Asmal. Perched behind his desk and puffing on cigarettes, he evaluates the achievements of post-apartheid South Africa at mile-a-minute speed. There is the liberal constitution, water and housing for millions, mass electrification, and racial reconciliation in one of the world's most divided countries.
"Progress is extraordinary," he enthuses, pausing to reach for the ashtray.
A dinner with some black students the night before provides an example. "You see this self-consciousness among blacks; a degree of self-possession I've never seen before. It's all the fruits of freedom, man."
In a country of shocking inequalities those fruits taste sweeter to some more than others, but Asmal remains as indefatigable as ever. At 69, he relishes debate as much now as when he founded the British and Irish anti-apartheid movements over 30 years ago. There is one difference - then he was a lecturer at Trinity College, Dublin; today he is South Africa's Minister for Education.
Armed with a sharp and irreverent intellect, Asmal peppers his arguments with references from Kundera to Berlusconi to Seán Lemass, with the odd swear word tossed in. But behind the non-stop political patter lies a solid reputation for action. As Nelson Mandela's water minister from 1994 to 1999, Asmal delivered drinking water to almost four million people in sprawling townships and remote villages; author Allister Sparks called him the "star" of that historic first cabinet. His present portfolio is even more critical. Schools are the crucible of the next generation, and the battleground for some of the hardest-fought ideological battles.
Pride about the so-called rainbow nation practically oozes from his pores. A stream of African, coloured and white officials scurrying through his office is testament to this diversity. But outside is Cape Town, a stunning city of sweeping ocean drives, gleaming sports cars and stubbornly enduring segregation.
Five years ago Asmal quipped there were "more mixed couples in Dublin than in Cape Town". Little has changed, he says. "Going into a restaurant in this town depresses me. There are only whites." Even in Johannesburg, blacks and whites tend to sit at separate tables.
Later he says: "When our great celebrations take place - freedom day, heritage day, women's day - the whites don't take part. They go shopping."
The African National Congress government, led by President Thabo Mbeki, faces its third electoral test on April 14th. It won't be much of a contest. Faced with a small and splintered opposition, the ANC, regarded by most blacks as the party of liberation, is virtually guaranteed victory. But even if it is more popularity plebiscite than contested poll, that doesn't mean voters are entirely happy.
Despite its impressive economic reforms, South Africa remains one of the world's most unequal societies. A decade after apartheid, 40 per cent of workers are unemployed, more than five million are infected with HIV, and the yawning chasm between rich and poor rivals only that of Brazil. One reason few township blacks come to Cape Town's glossy precincts is that they cannot afford the bus fare into town, let alone a cappuccino on its terraces. "We are pushing hard. But I don't believe that in 10 years you can overcome the awesome legacy of separation," he says.
However, much-publicised reports of violent crime reports are exaggerated, he adds. "I mean, Mrs Thatcher's son lives here. If crime was a problem they would be decamping to Outer Mongolia or somewhere like that."
A week after our interview, two bullets hit the Minister's car as he drove through Durban with his niece, probably stray bullets from a shooting. A police spokesman described it as a case of "wrong place, wrong time".
Despite model reconciliation efforts, racial tensions continue to simmer across South Africa. Three weeks ago a white farmer allegedly fed a black worker to a den of lions - gory evidence that some whites have "not yet grappled" with the new realities, he says.
"Rural areas still bear the resemblance of feudalism. South Africans have a habit of not saying, 'Please do this quickly'. They say, 'Now Now! Quick quick!' It's extraordinary, a residue of that master-servant relationship."
Quick results have been harder to achieve in education than at water. Striking teachers, a creaking bureaucracy and arguments over the use of the Afrikaans language have slowed progress. But there are successes, such as growing literacy and steady deracialisation. He admits to an "obsession" with science and maths, subjects previously denied to black students, and history: "Before it was the story of hunters talking. Now the lion must write the story."
He proudly retains his Irish links. Last June an honorary degree at NUI Galway was conferred on him; he still gets The Irish Times Saturday edition. His 25-year Irish experience helped inform the new South Africa, he says. To codify relations between the 11 official languages in the new constitution, Asmal inserted a phrase from the Irish constitution: "parity of esteem". For Asmal, ANC membership is "more important than being a minister". But underneath its apparently impregnable electoral advantage, the ANC has a sensitive underbelly. Two issues stand out, and Asmal toes the party line on both. President Mbeki's much-criticised handling of the HIV/AIDS crisis has been "correct", he says, as has his softly-softly approach to President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe.
This seems ridiculous. Mugabe tortures his opponents, has practically closed down the independent press, and rigged the last elections. Aren't these the very abuses that drove Asmal to help found the Irish Council of Civil Liberties with Mary Robinson in 1976? The question appears to vex.
"Seriously," he says, patting his hand impatiently on his desk. "I'm not anybody's lapdog, but megaphone diplomacy and stentorian demands have no effect. Short of sanctions or military intervention, you need good offices. And for that you need access."
Five years ago he was diagnosed with bone marrow cancer, but now the doctors tell him he is fine. "It's a mystery to me," he shrugs. "I should be either dead or under intensive treatment." Last week the ANC published its candidate list for the coming election, seen as an indicator of the party hierarchy. Asmal was listed fourth, ahead of the well-regarded Finance Minister Trevor Manuel.
The new president will be sworn in on April 27th, exactly a decade after apartheid ended. With his barbed wit and dogged commitment to party and country, Asmal is likely to be standing close by his side.