[DEBATE] : (Fwd) Peter Alexander on Wolpe
pbond at mail.ngo.za
Sat Aug 19 08:36:10 BST 2006
(Peter's stimulating inaugural professorial lecture on August 16 at U.of
Johannesburg... and he's happy to get feedback from the list and beyond...)
History, internationalism and intellectuals: the case of Harold Wolpe
I thought that something biographical might make this lecture more
accessible. The obvious choice might then have been South Africa’s most
famous sociologist, its first professor of sociology, but that was none
other than Hendrik Verwoerd, and I thought that, perhaps, it would be
better to leave him to someone else. My choice of Harold Wolpe was not
difficult. First, he is probably the country’s second most significant
sociologist. The historian Dan O’Meara asserts that his ‘work and
actions played a fundamental role in revolutionising the way that social
scientists and activists … understood … the workings of South African
society and the appropriate ways to change it.’ Secondly, I can
empathise with him rather well, both because he was an activist and
because he secured jobs in sociology without having any degrees in the
It is not my intention to present Harold’s biography, nor even a
balanced assessment of his work. Time is short and I have elected to
limit myself to three critical comments. My desire is to clamber on to
his shoulders in the hope that I might see more of our social world,
for, if Harold was not quite a giant, he was certainly ‘a tall man’. I
begin with a brief sketch of his life, then make my three points and,
finally, conclude by rooting my argument in contemporary soil. My thesis
will be that a critical assessment of Harold’s scholarship can lay a
solid foundation for seminal advances in sociology.
To start: a sketch
Harold was born in Johannesburg in 1926. The son of Lithuanian
immigrants, he attended Athlone Boys High in Bez Valley and, in 1944,
went to Wits University. After a year of natural science he transferred
to BA Social Science, i.e. social work. The latter included some
sociology, and also a course in statistics, which is where he met
AnnMarie. Whilst an undergraduate, he joined the communist party, whose
members included Ruth First and Joe Slovo, the latter becoming a close
and lifelong friend. Harold was also ‘befriended’ by Nelson Mandela (his
word), and was later the friend and lawyer of Walter Sisulu. After
graduation and a year as president of the students’ representative
council, Harold began work on an LLB, which he completed in 1952.
Being an attorney was something that paid the bills rather than a
vocation, but Harold was good at his job and one of the few lawyers who
took political cases. He was also involved in re-establishing the
communist party (the SACP), and helped purchase Lillieslief Farm in
Rivonia, which became the headquarters of Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK). After
the arrest of members of MK’s high command in 1963, Harold was also
captured, but, together with Arthur Goldreich, escaped from detention,
eventually managing to flee the country. Mandela said of this
achievement, which made headlines around the world: ‘It was an
embarassment to the government and a boost to our morale.’
In exile in London, Harold was joined by AnnMarie, who he had married in
1955, and their three children. He spent a year working for the
movement, another reading sociology books at the London School of
Economics, and a third teaching extra-mural students. He then held
sociology lectureships at Bradford University, North London Polytechnic,
where he was based from 1970 to 1974, and, finally, Essex University.
In 1991, following the unbanning of political organisations, he took a
position at the University of the Western Cape (UWC), where he became a
professor and director of the Education Policy Unit. Here he played an
important role in developing the government’s higher education policy.
He died from a heart attack in 1996, and O’Meara claimed that he ‘worked
himself to death.’
In terms of his publications, it is possible to discern three periods:
roughly 1970-78, 1978-88, and 1988-96. In the first, the major thrust of
his work emphasised economic determinants of social change and the
importance of class; in the second his focus was more on political
determinants and the nature of the state; and in the third he shifted
his attention to educational policy. In the second, he made sympathetic
use of Nicos Poulantzas, who he had criticised in the earlier period,
and one sympathetic critic was moved to comment that Harold came ‘close
to detaching political struggle from any anchorage in the forces and
relations of production.’ Whereas the polemical thrust of the first
period was directed mainly against liberal and orthodox SACP writers,
the second can be interpreted as, principally, a critique of left-wing
Marxists, who argued that the struggle against capitalism and apartheid
were inextricably linked. Harold’s third period, begun in exile, starts
with critiques of apartheid education, moves through policy papers, and
ends with criticism of the new government.
The key work of the first period is undoubtedly his seminal ‘Capitalism
and Cheap Labour Power’, published in 1972. O’Meara may be correct when
he writes that this was ‘probably the most influential and widely-cited
theoretical text ever written on South Africa.’ Its impact should be
understood within the context of a ‘photocopying culture’, in which
tatty British seminar papers were widely circulated among student
activists. ‘1968’, which in South Africa lasted well into the 1970s,
produced a generation of radicalised students thirsting for new ideas,
and Harold’s article fitted the times; especially so after the 1973
strikes in Durban, which, in a very practical way, underlined the
importance of class struggle. The principal achievement of the second
period was Harold’s only book, Race, Class and the Apartheid State. This
makes a significant contribution to our understanding of the state, and
should be required reading for post-graduate political sociology
students. For me, the most interesting output from the third period are
Harold’s final papers, partly because thay provide an inkling of where
he was moving politically.
I turn, now, to my three comments.
The primary problematic for radical sociologists - and this was true for
Harold – consists of developing an understanding of how societies
change. In addressing this challenge they must, necessarily, consider
the relationship between sociology and history. E. H. Carr, an historian
interested in generalisation, concluded: ‘The more sociological history
becomes and the more historical sociology becomes, the better for both.’
In contrast to this blending approach, Harold was keen to keep history
at arm’s length. His sociology was a largely theoretical undertaking
that made use of history, but saw it as a distinct activity. In 1985 he
published a short article, which Michael Burawoy calls his ‘praxis
statement’, in which he contrasted structural analysis with studies of
consciousness, associating the former with his own work, that is
sociology, and the latter with history. This approach is consistent with
the cheap labour article and also, though less obviously, with his book.
I would like to propose a third position. Whilst ‘blending’ should be
encouraged, it does not disaggregate the different time frames within
which change occurs. At one extreme, we have great epochal transitions,
and, at the other, individual actions. There is, I think, a case for a
division of labour between historical sociologists and historians
working from one end of this continuum. However, there are also
overlaps, and these are especially important for researchers interested
in political change (including Harold, and also myself). Let me mention
two matters here. First, there is ‘contingency’, meaning, in practice,
that a structuralist argument is insufficient to explain a particular
phenomenon. This might be interpreted as a chance occurance requiring a
specific, historical explanation, or it could provide a basis for some
new generalisation. Secondly, there is ‘balance of forces’, an
assessment of which is critical for the development of strategy and
tactics. Such assessments can be highly complex, since they not only
involve weighing different factors - some structural, some linked with
agency - but also an appreciation of changes in the weights of those
factors. So, then, I am suggesting that, in grappling with certain key
issues, the sociologist needs to bring structure and agency together,
and must, in a certain sense, become an historian.
Back to Harold. My proposition is that, in developing a theoretical
position that downplayed the significance of history – that is, the
interaction between structure and agency (and, indeed, between economic
structure and other varaibles in his first period, and between the state
and others in the second) – Harold’s analysis was weakened, resulting in
conclusions that were inadequate.
I want to substantiate this critique by drawing on some of my own
research. The first example relates to another of his first period
writings, his 1976 article on the ‘white working class’. In my view this
provided a powerful response to those writers who separated workers into
two classes along racial lines. Starting from an orthodox Marxist
position he argued for a singular working class that included black and
white workers. However, he excluded white miners, whose primary role as
supervisors meant they should be regarded as members of the ‘new middle
classs’. So far, so good. But there was a problem. This was reflected in
Harold’s unwillingness to ‘spell out the South African class structure’,
arguing that concrete class analysis was still required. The difficulty
was, it seems to me, that an explanation of racial division within the
working class was necessary, as was shown by blacks and whites striking
separately. A possible way of handling the dilemma would have been to
introduce E. P. Thompson’s notion of ‘class experience’, a concept that
provided a link between class structure, on the one hand, and class
culture and consciousness on the other. That is, an input from social
history would have assisted in resolving a theoretical problem.
My second example comes from the ‘cheap labour’ article. His analysis
here rested on two claims. First, he says that, in the early decades of
the twentieth century, South African capitalism prospered because the
cost of reproducing mining labour was subsidised by subsistence farming.
Secondly, by the 1930s, capitalism had undermined this rural economy, so
that it became necessary to buttress the system using the new forms of
domination associated with post-1948 apartheid rule.
Here, I have two observations, one relating to each of his two claims.
Firstly, the development of a cheap labour system, which I want to
distinguish from the mere employment of oscillating migrant labour, was
more ‘contingent’ than he assumes. For the system to work, strict rules
limiting permanent settlement on the mines were required, but when these
were introduced, in 1908, it was at the behest of the police, and
against the initial opposition of the Chamber of Mines. Here
‘contingency’ might have been useful as an argument, though the bans
were not contingent in the sense of a chance happening, but rather a
result of a desire to maintain order around the mines. That is, they
were politically rather than economically motivated, not something that
could have been incorporated within Harold’s frame of analysis.
Secondly, an explanation for the move from segregation to apartheid must
be very much more complicated than that he presented. My own account
highlights two factors. The first was that Jan Smuts’s labour policies
produced unrest among black workers and opposition from white workers,
and that, taken together, these undercut his support among white voters.
This, again, is a contingent explanation, and again it is one resting
upon a largely-political dynamic. The second was that, in contrast to
Harold’s assessment (though also that of other writers), capitalist
development was highly uneven, and that, even in manufacturing, there
was substantial dependence on migrant labour. This exacerbated divisons
within the ruling class, making it difficult, if not impossible, for
Smuts to resolve the crises that had developed. Again contingency was
important, though this time it was rooted in economic considerations
that Wolpe had not considered.
The implications of these points are considerable, for if the migrant
labour system and the coming of apartheid were both, to a significant
degree, contingent on political dynamics, then perhaps, too, it was
possible to delink white domination and cheap labour; that is, apartheid
could be ended without the overthrow of capitalism.
To be fair to Harold, in 1970s he could not possibly have incorporated
historical research that was not undertaken until much later. Moreover,
in good measure, my criticisms about politically-rooted contingency are
ones that could have been incorporated within the analysis advanced in
his book (which was published in 1988). Focusing on the state, this
argued bluntly: ‘the capitalist economy and the system of white
domination stand in a contingent relationship.’ This opened up the
possibility, at some point in the future, of apartheid being dismanted
whilst preserving capitalism intact (albeit in a weakened form).
However, because the book shifted so sharply in the direction of
political structures, problems remained. So, he would, I suspect, have
had difficulty integrating the economic aspects of my analysis of
apartheid’s genesis. Interestingly, perhaps, the periodisation that the
book presents is one that starts in 1948.
More significantly, the book retains Harold’s continuing interest in
theory at the expense of history, producing blindspots in relation to
agency. Whilst not as pronounced as in his first-period writings, this
flaw is implicated in the problematic nature of the book’s conclusion:
there are two reasons why a negotiated settlement with the regime seems
not possible [he presumably means ‘not possible’ in the near future].
The first relates to the narrow limits of the possible demands of the
liberation movement as set out in the Freedom Charter. The second
relates to … the possibility [that] negotiation would be undermined by
its continued control of the army and security forces.
I will return to this prognosis, which was clearly wrong (though no
commentators I know got it right). Here it will suffice to note that, as
an account of balance of forces it is primitive, and that it hinges on a
very restricted and idealistic notion of agency, the demands of the
Freedom Charter. Only eight months after the book’s completion in
February 1987, and prior to its publication, Harold was a participant,
with Thabo Mbeki, in the first of a series meetings that would pave the
way to a negotiated settlement. Harold himself had become an agent of
change. He would have had to revise his analysis, and maybe, in time,
his separation between sociological theory and historical practice. But,
by the end of 1987, he had more pressing and interesting concerns.
Now my second comment: Internationalism
My case here is much easier to make. Intellectually, Harold was a
nationalist. His entire body of work, so far as I am aware, focused on
South Africa. Occasionally there are references to, for instance, Latin
America, but these are used in support of a theoretical proposition
rather than a component of new analysis. International influences are
present at an abstract level, where theory is not examined critically in
the light of its own historical context. From the early 1970s, Immanuel
Wallerstein was making important theoretical break-thoughs in the study
of social structures, doing so through an understanding of the
world-system. Back in 1956, that most imaginative of sociologists, C.
Wright Mills, was proclaiming: ‘the history that now affects every man
[sic] is world history.’ And, of course, these assessments hark right
back to Karl Marx’s 1848 call for ‘workers of the world’ to unite. This
kind of international framing is simply not present in Harold’s work,
and this is its most significant shortcoming.
As a general criticism, other writers have not, to the best of my
knowledge, focused attention on this matter. There have been two partial
exceptions. The first is Robin Cohen, who noted that ‘Wolpe misses the
point that up to 1973 nearly 80 per cent of the African mine workers
were from outside South Africa.’ His figure needs some qualification,
since, before 1943, the majority came from within the country. However,
this nuance strengthens the contention that the mines were addressing
their labour problems by recruiting externally, so that, in terms of
maintaining a supply of cheap labour, apartheid was not as critical as
Harold assumed. Then there was Mahmood Mamdani’s argument that it was
necessary to understand the form of political domination that operated
in South Africa, and that this could be advanced through a comparison
with colonialism elsewhere in Africa.
With respect to the weakness in Harold’s 1988 prognosis, already quoted,
part of the problem lies with an absence of international dimensions.
These might have included the growing inability of the South African
economy to compete internationally, especially with other newly
industrialised countries; the impact of solidarity, and, eventually,
pressure on the regime from western allies; and, on the other side,
pressure on the ANC from a weakened and détente-oriented USSR.
Attempting to distinguish between local and international dynamics
requires a comparative approach to history and sociology. There have
been many revealing studies using South Africa, or some aspect of South
Africa, as a comparator, but I would like to give four brief examples
taken from my own work.
First, through a comparison of South African and US labour movements
during the second world war, I realised that I had overlooked a key
factor affecting worker militancy in the former. This was the impact of
generational difference, with new female and black workers far more
likely to strike than the well-established white men, whose unions had
accepted the priorities of Smuts’s government. The role of generation in
shaping history is an issue worthy of further attention.
Secondly, following from a comparsion of black and white miners in
Alabama and Transvaal, it was possible to advance an argument about the
siginficance of the US Civil War and Anglo-South African War in shaping
Thirdly, together with a collaborator, I investigated pass laws in South
Africa and China. The analysis highlighted the fact that the racialised
form of the laws in this country was a key factor in unifing black
opposition to apartheid across class lines. It also helped explain rapid
economic growth in China.
Finally, recent work on coal miners in South Africa and India has shown
that, by the 1930s, daily pay in India was about half that received by
South Africa’s workers. The concept of ‘cheap labour’ which involves a
comparison with white South African labour, is parochial, and, in my
view, it should now be disgarded.
When Wallerstein visited South Africa in 1996 he noted ‘a certain
parocialism and South African exceptionalism.’ I have no reason to think
he was wrong, and this is what one might expect given the intensity of
struggle in the country, and, perhaps, also the impact of academic
boycotts. However, it is unfortunate that Harold, the country’s leading
sociologist, had not bucked the trend. Had he lived he may well have
done so. Internationalising our analyses in such a way that we do not
lose the comparative advantages gained from drawing on local experience
is, perhaps, the biggest challenge facing South African sociology today.
So, to my final comment: Intellectuals
In his praxis statement, Harold argued:
the priorities defined at the political level became also the priorities
of social research. But, and this is the fundamental point which cannot
be overemphasised, not as conclusions but as starting points for
It is this ‘fundamental point’ that makes Harold so admirable. He was
relevant, rigorous and courageous, and his bravery was not just about
challenging the apartheid state, it was also, and more impressively, a
willingness, where necessary, to stand up to his own comrades. He was
the kind of gutsy, engaged intellectual that many of us would like to
be, but few accomplish.
But what does one make of his first principle, the need for agendas to
be politically determined? It will be recalled that earlier I noted that
Harold contrasted structure and consciousness, associating the former
with theoretical research and the latter with history. He also presented
the study of consciousness in another way, one that underlined his
rather dismissive approach to history. ‘To a considerable degree,’ he
argued, ‘the national liberation movements through their organisations
and through the activities of other organsations are well aware of what
we might call the level of consciousness.’ That is, researchers should
limit themselves in two ways: avoid theory that is not politcally
driven, and do not touch ‘consciousness’ (which is usually more concrete
and hence controversial).
The problem with this approach is most apparent if we return, once more,
to the conclusion in Harold’s book: a negotiated settlement ‘seems not
possible’. This conclusion rested in large part on his sense of the
liberation movement’s ‘bottom line’, which he detailed as ‘the
dismantling of the giant corporations’, ‘radical redistribution’ of
land, and ‘massive redistribution of resources in education, welfare,
housing, health and so forth.’ Clearly he got it wrong and, doubtless, a
range of factors was at work, but a key one relates to his ‘praxis’. If
one regards ‘the organisations’ as the solution, rather than a potential
problem, why analyse them, especially if, a priori, you have ruled out
any need to study consciousness? The book contained a compelling
methodological argument against ‘analytical closures’ that existed in
the writings of others, but Harold himself had an analytical closure, a
very damaging one, he was unwilling to analyse his own party.
I need to clarify my position here, for I am not arguing against
sociologists developing agendas on the basis of movment priorities. On
the contrary, if one wants to practice research in the interests of the
poor and exploited this must be done. But there are certain conditions.
First, we should not mistake organisations for classes and mass
movements, even though they may be related. In Harold’s case, ‘the
organisations’ were separated from the masses by illegality and exile,
the SACP was relatively small (not a mass party), and the ANC was a
multi-class organisation containing diverse interests. Secondly,
intellectuals should be left to formulate their own research questions,
though this might be done in consultation with movement leaders and
activists. This may produce some useless research, but it is the only
guarentee of developing theories in which the ‘sociological imagination’
can be applied to a changing world that exists beyond the priorities of
the movement. Thirdly, researchers should be prepared to study agency
and consciousness, not only for their inherent value, but also because
this can point a way to new theory. Marx, for instance, came to an
understanding of class through direct experience of workers’ organisations.
After 1988, Harold continued to focus his research on a polical
priority, education. Now, however, there was a difference from his
praxis position. For the first time he became involved in empirical
research, giving him contact with the people he had championed from
afar, and forcing him to grapple with thorny problems and political
obstacles. In his two final articles, both published in 1995, one senses
some frustration. In the first, on institutional transformation, he
concludes by arguing: ‘[the] critical and radical thrust of the
university [specifically UWC] should be implemented through a strong
intellectual development which does not only serve an instrumental role
– [an] Institute of Social Theory … is one example.’ He clearly wanted
to move beyond his policy work to play a more critical role as an
intellectual. In the second, an analysis of the Reconstruction and
Development Programme (RDP), he is more trenchant. He argues that the
programme, rather than articulating a vision for ‘incremental changes’
that produce a ‘revolution in the social order’, takes, as its starting
point, ‘a consensual model of society …that permits starkly different
and contradictory goals to be accommodated’. He says that the RDP White
Paper ‘represents a very significant compromise to the neo-liberal,
“trickle down” economic policy preferences of the old regime’, and
concludes with a quote from two other analysts, who suggest that, for
the poorest 60-70 per cent, the RDP ‘will deliver little or nothing for
many years to come.’
Of course we cannot know how Harold would have developed his thinking.
But would he have supported the GEAR policy that was introduced only two
months after his death? I doubt this very much. Would he have identified
himself with the SACP and COSATU against the government? I think so. I
feel, too, that he might have sympathised with the following assessment
advanced by his old friend, the Rivonia trialist and principal author of
the Freedom Charter, Rusty Bernstein: ‘It [the ANC] has impoverished the
soil in which ideas leaning towards socialist solutions once flourished,
and allowed the weed of “free market” ideology to take hold.’ What we
can say with confidence is that whatever our criticisms of Harold, we
are very much the weaker for the loss of his towering intellect. Oh,
that we now had him and his Institute of Social Theory to help us
undertand our contemporary world!
Lastly, then, something about that world, and how it might affect our
Our ideas are shaped by the time and place of our existence. For Harold,
the key factors were, I think:
1. His location in exile, with his disconnection of sociology and
history reflecting his separation from South Africa.
2. His over-riding commitment to a struggle that was, necessarily,
national, and thus to theory and methodolgy that were geographically
3. His identification of liberation organisations as the main agent of
change, producing a praxis that was insufficiently critical.
Ours is a different world. First, we are not working under the
constraints of exile and tyranny, and detachment from lived experience
no longer makes any sense practically or theoretically. Secondly, with
the ending of apartheid, South Africa has become far more integrated
into the world economy and global culture. Comparative research has
become more important and relatively easier to practise. And, thirdly,
the main liberation organisation has become a governing party, and
radical researchers must look elsewhere to locate agents of progessive
I would like to expand on the second of these points. Globalisation has,
I have argue elsewhere, entered a new phase. Firstly, growing inequality
is apparent almost everywhere. In South Africa, with increased
unemployment, more than 50% of the labour force now survives on less
than R500 per month. Meanwhile, the head of Shoprite Checkers, Whitey
Basson, receives about R5 million a month. Secondly, the US economy is
experiencing a long-term decline, and is becoming increasingly dependent
on loans from other countries. Its political hegemony is being
undermined and we can expect growing instability. Thirdly, the
combination of inequality and wars has produced counter-hegemonic
politicisation on a mass scale (notably in Latin America). This has
increasingly gained an international dimension (key events being Seattle
and the unprecedented international protests against the invasion of
Iraq in 2003).
Alongside these changes there has been a decline in the post-modernist
theorisation that, within sociology, probably provided the dominant
paradigm in the later decades of the last century. It was recently
demonstrated that sometime in the late 1990s the concept simply dropped
out of use, and, as Alex Callinicos argues: ‘the debate has moved on,
less because of some decisive theoretical refutation … than because the
worldwide rebellion against globalization has changed the intellectual
Within this debate, we in South Africa have the opportunity to make a
significant contribution. This is an ambitious claim but in my view it
is time to be ambitious. Mostly, we will fall short of our objectives or
get things wrong, but, unless we in the South strive to be heard, the
social sciences will continue to be dominated by people with ideas
shaped by proximity to the world’s rich. Waning US hegemony will impact
on the confidence of its intellectuals, and we, like our counterparts in
India can Brazil, can be influence the way people think, not only here,
but internationally too.
The main requirements for this are, I believe, threefold. First, we
should relate theory to lived experience here in South Africa. Secondly,
we should extend our theorisation by means of international comparison.
And, thirdly, like Harold, we must be meticulous, courageous and
committed to social change.
Baie dankie, ngiyabonga, kealeboha, thank you.
Harold Wolpe: a select bibliography
Wolpe, H. 1970. ‘Some Problems Concerning Revolutionary Consciousness.’
Wolpe, H. 1970. ‘Industrialisation and Race in South Africa’. In S.
Zubaida (ed). Race and Racialism. London: Tavistock Press.
Wolpe, H. 1972. ‘Capitalism and Cheap Labour-Power: From Segregation to
Apartheid’. Economy and Society 4(1): 431. Reprinted in Beinart, W. & S.
Dubow. Segregation and Apartheid in Twentieth Century South Africa.
Wolpe, H. 1975. ‘The Theory of Internal Colonialism – The South African
Case’. In I. Oxaal, T. Barnett & D. Booth (eds). Beyond the Sociology of
Development. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Wolpe, H. 1976. ‘The “White Working Class” in South Africa’. Economy and
Asad, T. & H. Wolpe. 1976. ‘Concepts of Modes of Production’. Economy
and Society 5.
Legassick, M. & H. Wolpe. 1977. ‘The Bantustans and Capital Accumulation
in South Africa’. Review of African Political Economy 7.
Wolpe, H. 1978. ‘A Comment on ‘The Poverty of Neo-Marxism’. Journal of
Southern African Studies 4(2).
Wolpe, H. (ed). 1980. The Articulation of Modes of Production: Essays
from Economy and Society. London: Routledge.
Wolpe, H. 1985. ‘The Liberation Struggle and Research’. Review of the
African Political Economy 32.
Wolpe, H. 1985. ‘The Liberation Struggle and Research’. Review of
African Political Economy 32.
Wolpe, H. 1985. ‘Political Strategies and the Law in South Africa:
Analytical Considerations’. Journal of Southern African Studies 12(1).
Wolpe, H. 1986. ‘Class Concepts, Class Struggle and Race’. In J. Rex &
D. Mason (eds). Theories of Race and Ethnic Relations. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Wolpe, H. 1986. ‘National and Class Struggle in South Africa’. In
Africa’s Crisis. London: Institute for African Alternatives.
Wolpe, H. 1988. Race, Class and the Apartheid State. London: James Currey
Wolpe, H. 1988. ‘Race and Class in the National Struggle in South
Africa’. In M. van Diepen. (ed). The National Question in South Africa.
Wolpe, H. 1995. ‘The Debate on University Transformation in South
Africa: The Case of the University of the Western Cape’. Comparative
Education 31(2): 275-292.
Wolpe, H. 1995. ‘The Uneven Transition from Apartheid in South Africa’.
Wolpe, H. 1996. ‘Capitalism and Cheap Labour Power in South Africa: From
Segregation to Apartheid’. In Beinart W. & S. Dubow. Segregation and
Apartheid in Twentieth Century South Africa. London: Routledge.
I am grateful to Lauren Basson for her assistance in preparing this
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