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Mail & Guardian
12 hours ago
- Politics
- Mail & Guardian
In South Africa, when expectations collapse the poor revolt against the downtrodden foreigners
'A rapidly widening gap between rising expectations and declining gratifications' heightens xenophobic reactions such as those of Operation Dudula. Photo: Hanna Brunlof (file) I want to explore the underlying logic of social revolts, not through the lens of history, but in light of South Africa's unfolding reality. In doing so, I draw on a theory advanced by James C Davies in Davies argued that revolutions do not erupt at the point of total despair, but at the point where hopes were once raised, only to be sharply reversed. That is, when people experience material and social improvement and begin to believe in a better future, only to watch it stall or decline, their anger becomes combustible. People do not revolt when they are hungry; they revolt when they are disappointed. Is this not South Africa today? We often forget how much South Africa has tried. The post-apartheid project promised not merely political freedom but social transformation. Millions gained access to housing, electricity, and education. Expectations surged. Black professionals entered middle-class suburbs. New universities opened their doors. A black president governed from the Union Buildings. But somewhere in the past 15 years, the curve bent the wrong way. Service delivery collapsed. Power cuts became the norm. Schools decayed, hospitals were under-equipped, and local government became synonymous with dysfunction. Corruption became casual, and state capture industrialised. For many, especially the youth, hope turned into a cruel joke. When the state retreats from its responsibilities, society reorganises itself often along dangerous lines. Into the void stepped the Government hospitals and clinics have become Let us be clear: targeting the poor because they are foreign is not a solution. But we must also be honest about what fuels these sentiments. It is not hatred of Africans. It is fear of losing what little remains, fear that democracy has stopped delivering. Davies warned us: revolts are not always rational. They Davies argued that revolts require more than the agitation of the poor. They demand the disillusionment of the middle class and the discomfort of those inside the state apparatus. South Africa's middle class, once viewed as democracy's success story, is now anxious. The Professionals grumble about medical aid premiums they can no longer afford. School fees continue to rise above inflation. Mortgages are already stretched thin. The possibility of future interest rate hikes adds to their anxiety. Even emigration, once an escape valve, is now difficult because the global economy is struggling. The cost of living is more expensive in other countries, which are less welcoming to migrants. There is a growing sense of being trapped: too educated to qualify as desperate, too exposed to shrug off decline. In January, more than 1800 junior doctors Davies warned that the state may not fall because the poor are angry. It may fall because those who once defended it stop believing it can be fixed. The cost-of-living crisis is not just an economic issue; it is a political warning shot. When the middle class feels it has more to lose than gain from the current order, history suggests that discontent is no longer a rumble but a drumbeat. In 2024, South Africans voted in an unprecedented way. The ANC The question that haunts most is this: if elections do not restore faith, what will? Davies would caution us: if the gap between expectation and reality widens, and if elections fail to bridge that gap, revolt is not a matter of if, but when. South Africa still has time. It is not yet in flames. But smoke is visible. The discontent is real. The warnings are present, in blocked roads, in looted trucks, in To restore faith, the state must punish corruption and deliver services. It must address migration through policy and consistent enforcement. It must invest in poor communities beyond slogans. It must make visible the gains of democracy, especially for those who have stopped feeling them. As Davies wrote, revolts begin in the mind long before they reach the streets. As has been seen throughout history, people will join revolutions when their expectations are frustrated, deliberately or through mistakes or miscalculations. May South Africa not be remembered as the country that inspired democratic hope, only to abandon it through neglect, inequality, and silence. Action is urgent, so that history remembers South Africa not for its failure to respond to deepening discontent, but for choosing accountability, justice, and renewal over disorder and decline. Tinashe Sithole is a post doctoral research fellow at the SARChI Chair African Diplomacy and Foreign Policy at the University of Johannesburg.
Bloomberg
18-06-2025
- Business
- Bloomberg
DEI Backlash Turns Recruiting Event Into Litmus Test
An annual event for Black professionals takes on a new political undercurrent Working Capital is now Management & Work. It's a simpler name for a newsletter about complex trends in leadership, company culture and the art of career building. And we have more changes in store, including an upcoming series of in-depth conversations about leadership with influential names in business and beyond. So stay tuned. And if you're not yet signed up, do so here. This week, we bring you a dispatch from Las Vegas, where Equality reporter Simone Foxman traveled to a perennially popular venue for corporate recruiting with a timely new question in mind.
Mail & Guardian
13-06-2025
- Business
- Mail & Guardian
The law is not neutral — it serves power or it serves the people
The recent court challenge by corporate law firms against the Legal Sector Code is more than a legal dispute, it represents a profound political and institutional crisis. It calls on all members of the legal fraternity, across every sector, to respond with clarity, conviction and courage. The law does not exist in a vacuum, untouched by our country's history, and neither should we. At the core of this legal challenge is a disturbing message that the inclusion of black people in key parts of the legal sector is bad for business. The use of law to defend elite power is nothing new — it has long been a tool for preserving exclusion in South Africa. From the legal justifications of apartheid to post-apartheid tactics of delay and obstruction, the legal profession has often stood guard over the gates of privilege. It is therefore unsurprising — though no less alarming — that this claim is now being made under oath, in a country where the majority is black. If this moment does not compel us to speak out, then perhaps we are complicit in the unequal future being forged in our name. As in every contested space, power does not yield without a contestation — it fortifies itself. The government's black economic empowerment code for the legal sector reveals that, three decades into democracy, these corporate law firms have not been able to self-regulate in a way that meaningfully includes black professionals at the highest levels. These same firms are adept at identifying black talent on university campuses, sitting on transformation committees, publishing polished equity reports and championing mentorship initiatives. Yet, when real accountability is required and they are asked to disrupt entrenched patterns of opportunity, democratise access to work for smaller firms or transparently report on transformation progress, they recoil, and compliance is then framed as a threat to their freedom to trade. This is not a principled stand; it is a calculated defence of privilege. It exposes a profession more committed to the appearance of transformation than to its substance. While these corporate law firms tie transformation in red tape and legal technicalities, we must remember that the Constitution is not neutral. It is a charter for total social transformation and it commits South Africa to a future rooted in social justice, human dignity, equality and freedom for all. It rejects all forms of racism and sexism and it demands that we all play a role in building an inclusive society. We must abandon the romantic notion that the Constitution will do the work on its own. As a transformative charter, it demands action — not from some anonymous public, but from the very institutions and professions that now invoke it to escape accountability. Section 22 of the Constitution protects the right to choose one's profession and it was never meant to entrench monopoly power. Yet, in the hands of some corporate firms, it is being used to stall transformation and delegitimise a fair redistribution of opportunity. When a fraternity sees the very Constitution born of struggle being used to shield privilege, the bitter irony must not go uncontested because corporate law firms are not exempt from confronting the dissonance between constitutional ideals and the lived realities of South African society. The rule of law must never be weaponised to preserve an unjust social order. If these firms truly valued legal integrity and constitutional governance, they would have embraced transformation long ago. They've had more than 30 years and have consistently chosen not to. Similarly, had they attended to meaningful transformation, government intervention would not be necessary. Similarly, Kathleen Dlepu, former chairperson of the Legal Practice Council, asked: 'What if the voices of resistance to the Legal Sector Code aren't just coming from the usual suspects? What if, behind the legal jargon and procedural masks, we find the fingerprints of those who once pledged allegiance to transformation, not as outsiders, but from within?' Her words force uncomfortable questions: Who signed these court papers? Which senior counsel is willing to lend their name to this gatekeeping? Which junior counsel, allegedly the future, is being showcased as window dressing while undermining black advancement? These questions matter because law is never neutral. It either serves power or it serves the people and the South African story requires that the law is used for the good of the people. The entire legal fraternity bears a social responsibility to take a clear and public stance on what is unfolding. The disproportionate stranglehold on transformation maintained by firms that built their power during the darkest chapters of this country's history must be called into question. We cannot look to institutions that profited from the systemic exclusion of black people to lead us into a just future especially when their messages, no matter who delivers them, ultimately undermine the legitimacy of black practitioners. Transformation is not a favour; it is a constitutional imperative that rests on all stakeholders. This is a moment for clarity — not compromise. The legal profession cannot continue to obscure its failings behind rhetoric. It cannot claim nobility while actively defending structural exclusion and those of us who believe in the Constitution's vision must be willing to call this out for what it is — a crisis of legitimacy. Beneath the veneer of constitutional argument lies a longstanding truth — the powers that control corporate law in South Africa hold the view that transformation in the legal profession is, and has always been, treated as optional. Similarly, this is a moment to acknowledge that entry into elite corporate law circles has often required silence about the racial inequalities that continue to shape our profession. People died for this democracy. Scores of people willingly and unwillingly gave up their singular human experiences in the name of the idea that, one day, this country would not require the well-being and prosperity of black people as a sacrifice for a firm to remain in business. We cannot let those sacrifices happen in vain. Bwanika Lwanga is a corporate and commercial attorney and a columnist with an interest in African regional trade, spatial justice and social justice issues. Abongile Nkamisa is a lawyer and legal researcher interested in corporate accountability, access to information and law to advance social justice.
New York Times
13-06-2025
- Business
- New York Times
A Celebration With Big ‘Jamaican-Nigerian Energy'
When Ayokunle Olufemi Apampa first joined the Goldman Sachs office in Salt Lake City in 2011, there were about 20 Black professionals in the entire building, he said. He and a few colleagues led efforts to build a community of Black professionals in the city, which included recruiting summer interns. Nia-Imani Adyira Mitchell, who joined a summer program at Goldman Sachs in 2017, was one of those interns. Before the internship started, a few members of the Black Network, an employee resource group at the office, held a welcome barbecue during the Memorial Day weekend. There, Mr. Apampa, who goes by Kunle, and Ms. Mitchell first locked eyes while he was flipping burgers behind the grill. He gave her a wave. 'Maybe he was checking me out,' Ms. Mitchell, 29, recalled thinking. 'I did notice her,' Mr. Apampa, 35, said. 'And I did also notice that people were trying to get her attention.' Throughout the summer, they saw each other during events organized by Black professionals in the city. But when her internship ended, she returned to New York, where she completed her final year at the University at Buffalo and received a bachelor's degree in business administration. They kept in touch professionally over the years, and in the summer of 2019, Mr. Apampa moved to Jersey City, N.J., for three months before settling in Brooklyn. Ms. Mitchell was living with her family in New Windsor, in Orange County, N.Y. Mr. Apampa, who is from Lagos, Nigeria, and earned a bachelor's degree in chemical engineering from the Illinois Institute of Technology, had transferred from Goldman Sachs's Salt Lake City office to the New York office. When he texted Ms. Mitchell about his move, he also intended to ask her out on a date. 'I really liked Nia's approach to life,' Mr. Apampa said. 'I was hitting her up to really try to figure out, like, what's up?' Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Yahoo
08-06-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
The $150 Million Bet That Could Rewrite Black Canada's Future
What if the solution to systemic racism isn't about waiting for a seat at the table—but building your own table and refusing to ask permission? That's exactly what 150 Black professionals decided in 2020 when they launched something unprecedented: a charity that doesn't just ask for change—it finances it. Trust us, you've never seen a Black charity like this before. Part investment engine, part resistance strategy, the Black Opportunity Fund (BOF) is a community-led Canadian charity with one mission: building sustainable wealth in Black communities. And here's where it gets interesting. At a time when Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) programs are being quietly shelved and anti-Black sentiment is growing louder, BOF is doing the opposite: it's doubling down. Their latest move? Launching BOF Capital—a first-of-its-kind investment arm designed to inject equity (the kind that buys homes and scales businesses) back into Black communities. The numbers are bold: a $100 million growth fund for Black entrepreneurs, and a $50 million housing fund to close the racial wealth gap through homeownership. I caught up with Craig Wellington, BOF's CEO, for an interview, and he's no stranger to challenging systems. At 19, fresh from Jamaica, he sued Ontario's largest shopping mall for racial harassment—and won, changing provincial law. That early victory taught him that sometimes, not knowing the odds is what makes you bold enough to win. Craig Wellington, CEO of Black Opportunity Fund BB: What drove you to move forward with this bold investment when others are retreating? This has always been part of BOF's plan—setting up an investment entity focused on creating wealth in Black communities. We're not looking for band-aid solutions. We need transformative approaches that address systemic issues, not just symptoms. During the pandemic, Black communities were hit harder than any other group. We started with emergency grants, then built a loan program for Black businesses declined by Canadian banks, then moved to capacity building. Now we're at equity investments—but we're also launching a $50 million housing fund. Black people in Canada have the lowest homeownership rate of any racial group. Without home equity, you can't invest in businesses, education, or health—or leave wealth to future generations. That's why the racial wealth gap keeps compounding. This is just the latest chapter in our whole-community approach to Black economic empowerment. BB: So, thestats are really stark; Black-led businesses received less than 1% of venture funding in Canada in 2023. Can you walk us through what this funding gap actually looks like on the ground for Black entrepreneurs trying to scale their businesses? Black entrepreneurs have always had to bootstrap because access to capital just isn't the same. We can't rely on the 'bank of mom and dad' or leverage home equity the way others can, so we start out undercapitalized. Even when there was a post-George Floyd spike in investment, it was short-lived. Funding for Black-led businesses dropped 73% the next year, then another 50% after that. Last year saw the lowest investment in Black-founded businesses in a decade. The reality is, outcomes for Black Canadians in business, health, and education are worse than before, because investments have only addressed symptoms—not the systemic barriers that keep us locked out. That's why we're focused on strategic, sustainable solutions that actually close the gap. BB: With anti-DEI and 'anti-woke' backlash rising in the U.S., do you see that sentiment threatening your work here in Canada? How is it impacting BOF's mission right now? Backlash always follows progress. Whenever there are real steps toward equity, you see pushback—like after the #MeToo movement, or now with DEI. People treat equity like it's a pie: if someone else gets more, they get less. But equity actually grows opportunity for everyone. What's happening in the U.S. isn't new—it's just louder now. It's easier to spot who's truly committed. Companies doubling down on equity are our real partners. Those pulling back were never mission-aligned; they were just checking boxes. At BOF Capital, we're not about box-ticking. We're offering market-rate investments that drive both returns and real social impact. For us, equity isn't a trend. It's a smart, sustainable business decision. BB: You've structured BOF capital with the two distinct funds, one being for business investment and the other for home ownership. Why was it crucial to address both entrepreneurship and housing wealth simultaneously in your strategy? If we're serious about real economic empowerment for Black communities, we can't just focus on entrepreneurship—we have to tackle the root causes of the capital gap, and that starts with homeownership. I mentioned earlier that Black Canadians have the lowest homeownership rate in the country. That's not by accident. Systemic barriers have kept us from building equity for generations—look at Africville, or the fact that the Black-white homeownership gap in the U.S. hasn't budged since 1968. Without home equity, Black entrepreneurs can't access the capital others use to start or grow businesses. That's why we're creating pathways to build wealth through business ownership and homeownership, attacking the problem from both sides. BB: The Ourboro Opportunity Fund focuses on a shared equity down-payment assistance model to increase Black homeownership. Can you explain how shared equity works and why this approach is powerful for closing the racial wealth gap? Shared equity is about breaking down the biggest barrier to homeownership: the down payment. Many Black Canadians can afford to carry a mortgage, because often their rent payments are just as high or higher than what a mortgage would be. The problem is, they can't get over that initial hurdle of the big down payment. Our program steps in to co-invest with them, helping cover the down payment so they can buy their first home. We share in the home's equity, and when the homeowner sells, refinances, or buys us out, our share goes back into the fund to help the next family. It's a cycle—building wealth for Black families now, and for generations to come. BB: With 145,000 Black-owned businesses across Canada, how will BOF Capital identify and prioritize which ventures to support? What criteria will determine which entrepreneurs receive backing from the Growth Fund? We're focused on growth-stage Black-led businesses—ventures that have proven themselves, have steady revenue, and need capital to scale. About 75% of our Growth Fund will go directly to these businesses. The remaining 25% will support earlier-stage companies through investments in Black-led venture capital funds. Our goal is impact: by prioritizing businesses ready to grow, we can help them reach the next level and create real economic change. At the same time, our partnerships with Black-led VCs and the support ecosystem from BOF charity means we're building a pipeline—helping entrepreneurs move from grants and capacity building to early-stage funding, and eventually to growth investment. BB: Beyond capital, you're also promising mentorship and market access. What does that comprehensive support system look like? And how does it differ from traditional venture funding approaches? For us, it's about true wraparound support. BOF Capital doesn't just invest money—we open doors. That means connecting entrepreneurs to valuable networks, offering business and strategy advice, and helping them access new markets and investors. Money alone isn't enough; real growth comes from mentorship, guidance, and market access. That's what sets us apart from traditional venture funding—we're partners in every sense, not just cheque writers. BB: BOF is described as an initiative by and for the Black diaspora. How important was it to ensure that BOF capital remained community-controlled, rather than seeking funding from traditional institutional investors who might have different priorities? From day one, BOF has insisted on Black leadership and excellence at every level—our board, our team, our investment committee. Too often, Black organizations are told to lower the bar. We're doing the opposite: setting new standards and proving what's possible when we lead ourselves. There's no precedent for a Black-led charity launching an investment vehicle like this in Canada—or even the U.S. or U.K. We're building this ship, sailing it, and steering it as a community. That's how we ensure real, sustainable change. BB: How will you measure whether this initiative has truly created the generational change or the sustainable change that you're aiming for in Black communities? Success for BOF Capital is about real, measurable impact. We'll track how many Black families achieve homeownership and build equity, and how many businesses scale and create jobs thanks to our investment. We'll measure returns that flow back into BOF the charity, fueling work in education, health, justice, and more. If we see families building generational wealth, businesses thriving, and a pipeline of new funds growing this movement, we'll know we're driving sustainable, long-term change. That's the legacy we're aiming for.
