Trevor Manuel became South Africa's first black finance minister in 1996, a time when the economy threatened to spiral into a debt trap. It took five years before Manuel could present his first 'good news' Budget in Parliament. He described that Budget as a tale of 'irrevocable and powerful transformation', a tale of 'patience and obstinacy ... of determination and hope ... Of choice, not fate.' He could have been telling the tale of his own life. Born into a working-class family on the Cape Flats, his family's story embodied the fate that befell thousands of people classified coloured under apartheid. Homes lived in and lost under the cruel Group Areas Act, a mother who struggled to bring up her children on a garment worker's wages, clashes with gangsters who roamed the streets of the Flats, a truncated education. Manuel stared down fate - and internecine Western Cape politics - to become one of the most prominent anti-apartheid leaders in the internal resistance movement of the 1980s. He confronted apartheid's police and prisons with a boldness that sometimes bordered on recklessness. After Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990, Manuel rose quickly through the ranks of the African National Congress becoming a member of Mandela's first cabinet. When Mandela appointed him minister of finance in 1996, business leaders sneered at his lack of qualifications and experience. When he drove through a tough macroeconomic plan in a post-apartheid South Africa, some of his own constituency turned on him. 'Obstinate and patient', he saw out the worst until the economy began to turn. Under his stewardship, South Africa entered its longest growth period ever. By 2007, he was the world's longest serving minister of finance and, across the world, the most respected African finance minister.

A new history of South Africa that examines today's post-apartheid society through the lens of its earlier history

This fascinating three-thousand-year history of the census traces the making of the modern survey and explores its political power in the age of big data and surveillance. In April 2020, the United States will embark on what has been called "the largest peacetime mobilization in American history": the decennial population census. It is part of a tradition of counting people that goes back at least three millennia and now spans the globe. In The Sum of the People, data scientist Andrew Whitby traces the remarkable history of the census, from ancient China and the Roman Empire, through revolutionary America and Nazi-occupied Europe, to the steps of the Supreme Court. Marvels of democracy, instruments of exclusion, and, at worst, tools of tyranny and genocide, censuses have always profoundly shaped the societies we've built. Today, as we struggle to resist the creep of mass surveillance, the traditional census -- direct and transparent -- may offer the seeds of an alternative.

The Call of Islam, in many ways, was my youth. The year 1984, when the organization was founded, was also my matric year. Some of the first recruits for the organization came from my very own matric class; others were then recruited from my fellow first-year students at the University of Cape Town. Besides me, the other three founding members of the Call of Islam were Ebrahim Rasool, Shamiel Manie, and Farid Esack. Rasool was not just a fellow founding member; we grew up together, and our parents served on the same mosque committee. Esack was my principal from the As Salaam College in KwaZulu Natal, where I studied Islam in 1983. Manie and I were fellow members of the Muslim Student Association that gave us our grounding in seeing Islam broader than just religious rituals. Our circle before the founding of the Call of Islam met in the back rooms of our different family homes and when Esack hosted our get-togethers in his apartment. So we shared space, we shared money, and we even shared each others clothes. It was no coincidence that our first rally should be at Primrose Park mosque, Masjidus Sabireen, as Primrose Park (in the Western Cape, South Africa) is where Rasool and I lived. We grew up in that mosque, and we knew all its successive imams and, of course, the mosque committee. Later, our first headquarters (for many years) would be the outbuildings of my parents home in Primrose Park, where we held our executive meetings, conducted our adult classes, and even made our banners. Allie Parker, our reliable and indulgent printer, had his printing works in a neighboring suburb in Greenhaven. It was therefore tempting to write a story of the Call of Islam, which is a personal account.

A collection of distinguished essays by some of today’s best nonfiction writers and journalists From a Swedish hotel made of ice to the enigma of UFOs, from a tragedy on Lake Minnetonka to the gold mine of cyberpornography, The Princeton Reader brings together more than 90 favorite essays by 75 distinguished writers. This collection of nonfiction pieces by journalists who have held the Ferris/McGraw/Robbins professorships at Princeton University offers a feast of ideas, emotions, and experiences—political and personal, light-hearted and comic, serious and controversial—for anyone to dip into, contemplate, and enjoy. The volume includes a plethora of topics from the environment, terrorism, education, sports, politics, and music to profiles of memorable figures and riveting stories of survival. These important essays reflect the high-quality work found in today's major newspapers, magazines, broadcast media, and websites. The book's contributors include such outstanding writers as Ken Armstrong of the Seattle Times; Jill Abramson, Jim Dwyer, and Walt Bogdanich of the New York Times; Evan Thomas of Newsweek; Joel Achenbach and Marc Fisher of the Washington Post; Nancy Gibbs of Time; and Jane Mayer, John McPhee, John Seabrook, and Alex Ross of the New Yorker. The perfect collection for anyone who enjoys compelling narratives, The Princeton Reader contains a depth and breadth of nonfiction that will inspire, provoke, and endure.

Positions the history and inner workings of the Natal Indian Congress (NIC) against the canvas of the major political developments in South Africa during the 1970s and 1980s up to the first democratic elections in 1994 Following a hiatus in the 1960s, the Natal Indian Congress (NIC) in South Africa was revived in 1971. In fascinating detail, Ashwin Desai and Goolam Vahed bring the inner workings of the NIC to life against the canvas of major political developments in South Africa during the 1970s and 1980s, and up to the first democratic elections in 1994. The NIC was relaunched during the rise of the Black Consciousness Movement, which attracted a following among Indian university students, and whose invocation of Indians as Black led to a major debate about ethnic organisations such as the NIC. This debate persisted in the 1980s with the rise of the United Democratic Front and its commitment to non-racialism. The NIC was central to other major debates of the period, most significantly the lines drawn between boycotting and participating in government-created structures such as the Tri-Cameral Parliament. Despite threats of banning and incarceration, the NIC kept attracting recruits who encouraged the development of community organisations, such as students radicalised by the 1980s education boycotts and civic protests. Colour, Class and Community, The Natal Indian Congress, 1971—1994 details how some members of the NIC played dual roles, as members of a legal organisation and as allies of the African National Congress’ underground armed struggle. Drawing on varied sources, including oral interviews, newspaper reports, and minutes of organisational meetings, this in-depth study tells a largely untold history, challenging existing narratives around Indian ‘cabalism’, and bringing the African and Indian political story into present debates about race, class and nation.

The African National Congress is light years beyond the liberation movement of old. It remains a juggernaut, but its control and dominance are no longer watertight. The ANC lives the contradictions of weaknesses, cracks and factions while retaining its colossal status. As a party-movement it draws on its liberation credentials, and extracts immense power from its deep anchorage in South Africa’s people. It is immersed in electoral politics that marks the state of its overwhelming power cyclically. As government the ANC is the object of protest, but not protest designed to bring the ruling party to its knees. The ANC is in command of the state, yet fails to definitively counter the deficits that make South Africa’s democracy seem so diluted. Its incredulous and thus far trusting supporters condemn but only rarely punish deployees who do not ‘pass through the eye of the needle’. The ANC and the Regeneration of Political Power unpacks these contradictions. It focuses on four faces of the ANC’s political power – the organisation, the people, political parties and elections, and policy and government – and explores how the ANC has acted since 1994 to continuously regenerate its power. By 2011-12 the power configurations around the ANC were converging to a conjuncture holding vexing uncertainties. This book presents insights into how South African politics – in many ways synonymous with the politics of the ANC – is likely to unfold in years and possibly decades to come.

The most important historical and journalistic portrait to date of a nation whose destiny will determine the fate of a continent. A brutally honest exposé, After Mandela provides a sobering portrait of a country caught between a democratic future and a political meltdown. Recent works have focused primarily on Nelson Mandela’s transcendent story. But Douglas Foster, a leading South Africa authority with early, unprecedented access to President Zuma and to the next generation in the Mandela family, traces the nation’s entire post-apartheid arc, from its celebrated beginnings under “Madiba” to Thabo Mbeki’s tumultuous rule to the ferocious battle between Mbeki and Jacob Zuma. Foster tells this story not only from the point of view of the emerging black elite but also, drawing on hundreds of rare interviews over a six-year period, from the perspectives of ordinary citizens, including an HIV-infected teenager living outside Johannesburg and a homeless orphan in Cape Town. This is the long-awaited, revisionist account of a country whose recent history has been not just neglected but largely ignored by the West.

South Africa is still the major-player in African diplomacy, its military resources far outstripping those of other nations on the continent. It also has traditionally taken the lead role in Africa's united negotiations with other power blocs. Yet the recent consensus has been that South Africa's diplomacy over the last decades has been a disappointing failure - from appearing to back the controversial Mugabe regime to accusations that it is failing to utilize its position to encourage Chinese investment. John Siko has had insider access to the corridors of power in South Africa, and, with access to the major political players, charts the inability of South Africa to develop a coherent policy over the last four decades. In particular, he reveals the tight grip Mbeki has over foreign policy, to the detriment of SA's standing in the world, and argues South Africa's isolationist style of policy making has not changed enough after Mandela's election in 1994.

The ANC in exile : early years --A government in waiting : exile in the 1980s --Parliament : legislator or lame duck? --People's parliament --The role of the judiciary in a failing state --Corruption in a failing state --The role of civil society in a failing state --Realignment and the failing state.