The writer of one of Tyler’s favorite books of the last decade on cops who won’t police, a marriage that shaped a nation, and the optimistic case for South Africa
Tyler considers Winnie and Nelson: Portrait of a Marriage one of the best books of the last decade, and its author Jonny Steinberg one of the most underrated writers and thinkers—in North America, at least. Steinberg’s particular genius lies in getting uncomfortably close to difficult truths through immersive research—spending 350 hours in police ride-alongs, years studying prison gangs and their century-old oral histories, following a Somali refugee’s journey across East Africa—and then rendering what he finds with a novelist’s emotional insight.
Tyler and Jonny discuss why South African police only feel comfortable responding to domestic violence calls, how to fix policing, the ghettoization of crime, how prison gangs regulate behavior through century-old rituals, how apartheid led to mass incarceration and how it manifested in prisons, why Nelson Mandela never really knew his wife Winnie and the many masks they each wore, what went wrong with the ANC, why the judiciary maintained its independence but not its quality, whether Tyler should buy land in Durban, the art scene in Johannesburg, how COVID gave statism a new lease on life, why the best South African novels may still be ahead, his forthcoming biography of Cecil Rhodes, why English families weren’t foolish to move to Rhodesia in the 1920s, where to take an ideal two-week trip around South Africa, and more.
Watch the full conversation
Recorded September 29th, 2025.
Read the full transcript
TYLER COWEN: Hello everyone, and welcome back to Conversations with Tyler. Today, I’m very excited to be talking with Jonny Steinberg. He has written what I think is one of the very best books of the last 10 years. It’s called Winnie and Nelson: Portrait of a Marriage. He is, in my view, one of the most underrated — in North America, at least — writers and thinkers. I like all of his books. Thin Blue and The Number are two others I would recommend. He was born in Johannesburg, South Africa. He has taught there. He was a professor at Oxford University. He now is teaching part-time at Yale. Jonny, welcome.
JONNY STEINBERG: Thanks, Tyler.
COWEN: Your work on the police in South Africa — if there are two policemen in a township in South Africa, how large is the crowd they can successfully confront and still manage to handle?
STEINBERG: It depends very much on the circumstances: where they are, the time of day. But if it’s a Saturday night, and there’re 10 or 20 people, and they’re young, those two cops don’t want to be there. They’ll make sure that they’re not.
COWEN: So they just don’t even show up and take the call.
STEINBERG: Yeah. When I was riding around with them, it was really amusing. They had an equivalent of a CompStat system, which told them where the hot spots were, which was where they had to police, and they’d make absolutely sure to do the opposite and not be in hot spots, because if there were only two of them, they were not sure that they could control people.
COWEN: So you spent about 350 hours riding around in South African police vans?
STEINBERG: Yeah, about that.
COWEN: This is what, 2004 to 2007?
STEINBERG: That’s right.
COWEN: What was the most surprising thing you learned?
STEINBERG: Well, exactly that the police try not to police because they are afraid of people, and they essentially gravitate to situations in which they’re comfortable. The only situation in which they’re comfortable is a situation in which they’ve been called, and that’s usually domestic violence because they walk into a scene because they’ve been asked to be there, and that gives them authority.
This is hardly a new thought, but what comes to me is that policing happens by consent or it doesn’t happen. They don’t enter crowds because those crowds don’t want them and don’t consent for them to be there, and so they’re not. And so, a relationship between police and a public is driven by whether a public wants them there.
COWEN: I know you did your field work some while ago, but do you have a sense of circa 2025 how willing people are to be policed in South Africa?
STEINBERG: It was a long time ago, but it’s probably gotten worse. 2007 was 13 years after the beginning of democracy. There was still a novelty that you could call the police at all, which, if you were Black, you couldn’t do under apartheid. Whatever shreds of legitimacy the police had in 2007 are much, much weaker now.
COWEN: And do you see any path for fixing this that’s on the horizon? Or it seems very distant?
STEINBERG: No, it can be fixed. I’m not sure that the constellation of political forces in charge now can do it, but it absolutely can be fixed. I don’t know if you want me to go into some of the details —
COWEN: What does that path look like? Tell us.
STEINBERG: Well, you start by choosing which crimes are the ones that you want to go after, and you target them, usually beginning with good detection. And to do good detection, you assemble a carefully hand-picked group of people into small, well-resourced, well-motivated groups. You don’t try and fix the whole thing at once. It’s absolutely enormous. You start with priorities, and you build good organizations around those priorities and you move from there.
COWEN: And do you think South Africa’s doing that now or failing?
STEINBERG: It has been failing catastrophically up until now. There’s an enormous crisis in policing right now. One of the leading commanders in the police accused the cabinet minister in charge of policing of being in hock with organized crime. There’s a big commission of inquiry; there’s a new minister. It may be one of those inflection points in which change is possible, but there hasn’t been much good in policing for the last 15 years.
COWEN: And the moral force that the policemen have when confronting a crowd — does that depend much on whether they’re White or Black or that’s just not very relevant? The main thing is that they’re police.
STEINBERG: It’s complicated. Generally Black. When there’s recruitment into the police, the educational requirements are minimal. You need a driver’s license and a secondary school education. And in a country with an expanded unemployment rate of 40 percent, literally tens of thousands of people apply. A tiny, tiny minority of those who apply get the job, and they now have a fairly decent salary. They have a life job; they’re going to get a pension. They’ve really, in the eyes of other people who’ve missed out, been catapulted unfairly into the middle class.
And so, there’s an anger around Black police, that in the country of mass unemployment, they’ve gotten ahead just by chance, just by throwing the dice. And so, there’s a sense that you’re being policed by people who are trying to get out of the ghetto and have succeeded and shouldn’t have. So that creates this class resentment towards Black police.
COWEN: So you think it might be even harder for Black police?
STEINBERG: I think it’s hard for both. But those are the particular resentments that Black police carry.
COWEN: Female cops versus male cops — do you think there’s a noticeable difference?
STEINBERG: Yeah, in domestic violence, there’s a huge difference. I see how differently female and male cops police a domestic violence scene. The really sad thing about policing in South Africa is, very few ordinary people know what the law is, and it’s made up by police in the moment, and they have a lot of leeway because they’ve been called onto the scene. And what a woman does and a man does is, in my experience, usually very, very different. They’ve different imaginations of what a family should be, different types of empathy. Yeah, it can make a world of difference.
COWEN: And on average, who do you think does the better job, the male cop or the female cop?
STEINBERG: It depends so much on the situation. It depends on the male and the female cop. It depends who the perpetrator was. I don’t think you can generalize. I think scenes surprise you. I was always surprised by what happened at the scene.
COWEN: How trustworthy are the police themselves?
STEINBERG: Less and less so. It’s become fairly common practice in South African police that if you’re going to see to a crime scene, see to a crime, you get paid. It’s become fairly endemic in the South African police.
COWEN: And you’re paid by whom?
STEINBERG: Paid by the people who want you to investigate the crime. For instance, police arrive on a scene — it could even be domestic violence — and police could say, “Well, whether we stay depends on whether you make it lucrative for us.”
COWEN: Is it ever like some parts of Mexico where you’re more afraid of the police themselves than of the criminals? I mean the police then are the criminals.
STEINBERG: I think that’s rare. I think that in a poor ghetto on a Friday and a Saturday night, the police are very violent. They move in paramilitary formations. They throw young men on the streets into vans, but generally they will not seriously hurt or kill somebody in a situation like that. So yeah, I’d say people are not more afraid of the police than of criminals, but they’re very, very wary of the police.
COWEN: How dangerous is it to work as police in South Africa if they’re not going to a lot of the crimes and the troubled situations? Is it, in some ways, a safe job? Or is it still very dangerous?
STEINBERG: I don’t know what the numbers are now, but the per capita rate of murder of police when I was working on this stuff 15 years ago was considerably lower than a 25-year-old Black man in a ghetto who was not a police officer. So, they were safer than the people they were policing.
COWEN: And during the transition from apartheid, what mistakes do you think were made with policing and police forces? What would you have done differently, with the benefit of hindsight?
STEINBERG: Well, there was a four- or five-year hiatus in which the new government did not trust the existing police, but also had a constitutional agreement not to get rid of them. There was a long pause, and oddly, in that pause, some fairly good work was done.
When South Africa’s second democratically elected president came to power, Thabo Mbeki, he immediately began using the police to police his own party. He put his own police commissioner in place. A number of his opponents and enemies were being policed by a function that was made to be a state function, not a party function. And that saw a rapid decline because once police are seen as a politician’s vehicle, it becomes very difficult to make its bureaucratic integrity.
COWEN: Now, if I’m in Cape Town, at least many parts of that seem relatively safe. What have they done differently or why has that evolved differently?
STEINBERG: Well, I think because probably in Cape Town, you were in middle-class bourgeois spaces, which are privately policed. They’re not —
COWEN: You mean private security forces?
STEINBERG: Yes. They’re not nearly as safe as the streets of New York City or London or Paris. But on the other side of the mountain is Khayelitsha, which is a township of, I think now, over a million people. And the murder rate there is literally exponentially higher than in the parts of Cape Town you and I wander through.
COWEN: It’s a puzzle for me, as an economist, in many areas — not just Cape Town — why the criminals don’t make greater effort to move into the safer neighborhoods and commit crimes there. Is it because they stand out too much, or they’re culturally not attuned to that possibility, or they simply would be detained right away? What stops the mobility across the borders?
STEINBERG: Well, there’s a lot of mobility across the borders. Property crime rates are pretty high in middle-class Cape Town, but the vast majority of violent crimes are between young men who know one another. Predatory crimes sometimes result in murder, but it’s a small minority of them. So yes, middle class people are much, much more victimized by crime than their counterparts where you and I live, but not murder.
COWEN: And the property crime would be something like breaking into a home to take a television, look for jewelry? Or is it different?
STEINBERG: Stealing a car. The scary ones are the face-to-face ones, being robbed at gunpoint, and that ebbs and flows depending on how well middle-class areas are policed.
COWEN: Now, in your book, The Number, you studied prison gangs in South Africa. How do those gangs regulate the behavior of their members?
STEINBERG: Through a combination of pretty scary violence and a very, very elaborate set of rituals, which are based on a rich old oral history. To be initiated into one of South Africa’s prison gangs is to be told a story of a figure who is both mythical and based on a real historical figure, called Nongoloza who was a bandit at the very beginning of the industrialization of South Africa.
His story of banditry, which is told as one of crime’s anti-colonial resistance, becomes a set of laws for a gang. And the disputes between him and his colleagues in their time — primarily over whether gangsters can have sex with one another — mirror the divisions of gangs today. It’s an extraordinary ritualized world, but it’s also a fascinating way of storytelling because you have law and ritual embedded in narrative. And so, to enforce law is to tell a story.
COWEN: That seems culturally richer than American gangs. Maybe I’m wrong there, but do you have the sense that the South African gangs have deeper stories or institutions?
STEINBERG: I haven’t come across anything quite like it elsewhere in the world. In South Africa, you could walk into any prison anywhere in the country, and one of the gangs derived from these stories — they’re called the 26s, the 27s, and 28s — will control the prison, and they’ll be telling the same story. That story hasn’t changed all that much in a century. So, it’s extraordinary, the extent to which it’s been passed from generation to generation. And it has not lost its texture; it hasn’t lost its basic narrative line. Those prison gangs are probably the oldest institutions in South Africa.
COWEN: And those gangs — they have courts and trials, right? What are those like?
STEINBERG: Again, they’re enormously ritualized. So, the gangs speak a language, which is purposed to make these organizations functional, including judicial functions. A judge in a gang will essentially retell the story of Nongoloza in order to try the accused. You’re literally, metaphorically placing yourself in another time and another place, out in the open in the late 19th century, and deciding whether you’ve lived by Nongoloza’s rules. There’s a strange combination of fairy tale, procedural process, and violence.
COWEN: Do you have a sense of where all this comes from?
STEINBERG: In the first place, it comes from the mass incarceration of the early working class of Johannesburg. There was a point in the early 20th century where 70 percent, 80 percent of working-class Black people who entered the city would go into the jails at some point. And the real historical Nongoloza’s original gang was out in the open. It was subdued; he was arrested and went into jail. Strangely, much of the early working class went into jail with him. So, there’s a parallel movement between the founder and an entire class of people.
The extent to which incarceration became an everyday experience for most people was extraordinary. It was one of the defining features of early modern South Africa. It stands out in relation to the rest of Africa, certainly.
COWEN: And what is it exactly that they’re going to jail for?
STEINBERG: Well, back in those early days, it was having the wrong stamp in your book or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that really intensified during the high apartheid period. By the late 1960s, something like three-quarters of a million people were being taken off the streets every year for having the wrong stamp in their book or not having their book at all. It was racial minority regimes’ policing of Black movements, which put the majority of those people in prison.
COWEN: And that just becomes practically impossible at some point, right?
STEINBERG: Well, the apartheid government was terrified by what it was doing. It never realized it would have to use so much coercion. And by the late ’60s, early ’70s, there was a very, very strange sense of unreality in South Africa’s ruling elite. It knew that the system had a shelf life. It could not last forever. There wasn’t really the courage or the imagination to think of something else. And so, the system kept spinning with everybody knowing it had to come to an end sometime, and it went on much, much too long.
COWEN: And is Rhodesia imprisoning working-class people at a comparable rate? Or that’s a very different story?
STEINBERG: It’s the one other southern African country which is imprisoning a huge amount of people, not the same percentage as South Africa, but also a very strong bureaucratic state imprisoning a lot of people to police a new proletariat.
COWEN: And in the prisons, how did apartheid work? There’re separate sections for White and Black prisoners?
STEINBERG: Yes.
COWEN: And the guards are Black for the Black sections and White for the White sections, or what?
STEINBERG: It changes through history. In the beginning, it’s only White warders for Black prisoners. But by the 1970s, 1980s, there aren’t nearly enough people to staff the apartheid state. And by then, the majority of civil servants are Black, but there’s a color bar. There’s a limit to how far their careers can advance. And so, you have the basic functionaries of the state — from police to prison, warders to nurses — being Black in a White-governed state.
COWEN: And are the guards in league with the gangs? In essence, they find that’s the easiest way to keep order, is to make deals with the gangs and let the gangs rule?
STEINBERG: Sometimes. But generally, canonically, it was a deeply, deeply hostile relationship. And that hostility was fueled by the occasional act of ritual violence that gangsters inflicted on a White warder. And when that happened, the relationship would break down, and there would be a ritual of general violence inflicted on the entire prison population. The entire prison population would be herded into a courtyard. Not only warders, but depending on where the prison was, the White farmers in the area would all collect with baseball bats and literally break bones.
COWEN: And who would run the prison economies? Would it be the gangs or the guards?
STEINBERG: Well, until the late 1980s, there was barely a prison economy. They were tightly sealed. But as apartheid began falling apart, so did the prisons. And by the late 1980s, early ’90s, warders were one of the main conduits in the drug economy, passing merchandise in and out of the prison. Things changed very rapidly, very quickly.
COWEN: I suppose I have this as a more general question about apartheid, but prisons in particular — what if someone had a skin color that at least visually did not very well match the legal status of their race? They would be put into which kind of prison, and how would they fare?
STEINBERG: Well, it depends what it said in their passbook, in their identity documents. There was a huge debate in early apartheid South Africa about how to racially classify people. Generally, the judicial wanted it to be by ancestry, but that became very tricky because there was much more mixing than the apartheid government could be comfortable with.
Finally, what was used was the common sense of White working-class people. In 1950, the government decided that it was going to finally racially categorize every single person in the country. A posse of White working-class people who had really only become White working-class in the last generation through a project of racial uplift — and therefore knew how they were not Black — were sent out to define who everybody was.
There were certainly no scientific classifications or even any particularly rigid classifications. It was relying on intuition. “We know that you are not White by the way you carry yourself, by where you live, by who your friends are, by what you wear.” So, in a sense, the cultural victory was punctuated by this process of racially defining everybody. You could appeal against it. And it’s through the appeals that we see this process happening because those are written down and transcribed.
COWEN: And the group known as Coloureds or the Malays — how were they classified in the prison system?
STEINBERG: Well, the prison that I did most of my research in was predominantly Coloured people because the majority Coloured population is in the Western Cape, and that’s where the prison was. They were classified as Coloureds. That was one of the official apartheid categories.
COWEN: So, they have their own set of cells that are set off from the others?
STEINBERG: Oh, no, no. They and Black people were mixed. It was White people who couldn’t mix with anybody else.
COWEN: And once apartheid fell, how is it that the prisons change in all these regards? Are the prisons themselves desegregated?
STEINBERG: Yes, they are. And you get White people appearing in this maximum-security prison that I was researching for the first time in South African history. They’d be very few and far between. There’d be one White guy in a cell of 50 people, and they stood out, and they had to acculturate very quickly. They became members of a gang. They would work out some sort of modus vivendi. They were quite exotic figures in this environment.
COWEN: Overall, did that go okay or was there a lot of violence?
STEINBERG: There is a lot of violence in South African prisons.
COWEN: Sure, but relative to normal status quo.
STEINBERG: I can only say what I saw, and I never watched a White person come in for the first time and have to negotiate things from scratch. I met White people who had been there for a while and had managed to negotiate a presence. I don’t think they’re necessarily subjected to particularly more violence than anybody else.
COWEN: My favorite book of yours again is Winnie and Nelson, which has won a number of awards. A few questions about that. So, they’re this very charismatic couple. Obviously, they become world-historical famous. For how long were they even together as a pair?
STEINBERG: Very, very briefly. They met in early 1957. They married in ’58. By 1960, Mandela was no longer living at home. He was underground. He was on the run. By 1962, he was in prison. So, they were really only living together under the same roof for two years.
COWEN: And how well do you feel they knew each other?
STEINBERG: Well, that’s an interesting question because Nelson Mandela was very, very in love with his wife, very besotted with his wife. He was 38, she was 20 when they met. She was beautiful. He was a notorious philanderer. He was married with three children when they met. He really was besotted with her. I don’t think that he ever truly came to know her. And when he was in prison, you can see it in his letters. It’s quite remarkable to watch. She more and more becomes the center of meaning in his life, his sense of foundation, his sense of self as everything else is falling away.
And he begins to love her more and more, and even to coronate her more and more so that she doesn’t forget him. His letters grow more romantic, more intense, more emotional. But the person he’s so deeply in love with is really a fiction. She’s living a life on the outside. And you see this very troubling line between fantasy and reality. A man becoming deeply, deeply involved with a woman who is more and more a figment of his imagination.
COWEN: Do you think you learned anything about marriage more generally from writing this book?
STEINBERG: [laughs] One of the sets of documents that I came across in writing the book were the transcripts of their meetings in the last 10 years of his imprisonment. The authorities bugged all of his meetings. They knew they were being bugged, but nonetheless, they were very, very candid with each other. And you very unusually see a marriage in real time and what people are saying to each other. And when I read those lines, 10 different marriages that I know passed through my head: the bickering, the lying, the nasty things that people do to one another, the cruelties. It all seemed very familiar.
COWEN: How is it you think she managed his career from a distance, so to speak?
STEINBERG: Well, she was a really interesting woman. She arrived in Johannesburg, 20 years old in the 1950s, where there was no reason to expect a woman to want a place in public life, particularly not in the prime of public life. And she was absolutely convinced that there was no position she should not occupy because she was a woman. She wanted a place in politics; she wanted to exercise power. But she understood intuitively that in that time and place, the way to do that was through a man. And she went after the most powerful rising political activists available.
I don’t think it was quite as cynical as that. She loved him, but she absolutely wanted to exercise power, and that was a way to do it. Once she became Mrs. Mandela, I think she had an enormously aristocratic sense of politics and of entitlement and legitimacy. She understood herself to be South Africa’s leader by virtue of being married to him, and understood his and her reputations as her projects to endeavor to keep going. And she did so brilliantly. She was unbelievably savvy. She understood the power of image like nobody else did, and at times saved them both from oblivion.
COWEN: This is maybe a delicate question, but from a number of things I read, including your book, I get the impression that Winnie’s just flat out a bad person. If you look at the late 1980s, she’s involved in kidnappings. She endorses necklacing. It’s one thing to be with some other men when your husband is in prison, but she seems to have an excessive number of affairs. She’s a borderline communist. What’s the defense of her, so to speak? Or is she just a bad person who did some important good things?
STEINBERG: Well, I think if you’re a biographer, you can’t really . . . It’s a bad starting point to think of somebody as a flat-out, bad person. I don’t think you’re going to write a good book for them if that’s your starting point.
COWEN: But I’m a reader, right? You can be the biographer and have the complex view, but I’m the reader.
STEINBERG: She did some chilling and scary stuff. The irony is that she was meant to be the great representative of the oppressed, but the people that she hurt were poor, young, Black, and defenseless. She was capable of terrible violence.
But as a biographer, I’m also interested in the fact that she was capable of deep sympathy and love and commitment. My puzzle was to put that all together in one psyche and one human being, and I think that in the end, I saw these amazing antinomies in her, not as contradictions, but as part of one psychic architecture.
COWEN: Young Winnie and older Winnie — do you think it’s a big difference in terms of moral behavior? Or she’s more or less the same quality person throughout?
STEINBERG: That’s a difficult one. There are lots of underlying continuities. One way to begin is with her family. She was one of 11 children. She had unbelievably ambitious parents who are not scared to tell their children that “We’re going to pick winners among you, and we don’t care about the losers.” So, she understood from very early in life that the stakes were very, very high. She got into her father’s head and made sure that she occupied a prime, prime place there in order to be a favorite child.
And she lived her life that way. She had very, very weak boundaries. She would need to be very intensely involved with somebody, to colonize their heads, to be inside them all the time. And that stretched throughout her life. Unfortunately, it meant that she made for a very weak prisoner when she was being tortured because she allowed the man torturing her deep into her head, deep into her psyche.
At one point, many years later, 15 years after she’d been tortured by him, he suddenly came up in an interview where she said, “He made me, I’m his child. I experienced his hatred at such close quarters that I began to hate him back.” And she presents that hatred as the fuel of her political activism. I don’t think that was in her at the beginning, but I do think that happened to her because of who she’d been at the beginning, if that makes sense.
COWEN: When it comes to Nelson, what do you think were the masks, and how did you get under those masks as you kept on writing the book?
STEINBERG: There were just a formidable number of masks. Nelson’s genius was to read the times and to present himself as a character he felt the times needed. In the mid 1950s, when he was a Black lawyer, which self-represented something very powerful, he would dress in very expensive, tailored suits. He would drive a fancy car. He would have a beautiful young wife, and he understood that to be a Black man in the height of apartheid transmitting that image was politically powerful, that it had substance.
When his organization was banned, he immediately changed the mask and really molded himself on Fidel Castro. He grew his hair; he wore trench coats. He was a military man. When he went on trial in ’64, he recast himself as a martyr.
The most important and greatest mask he wore was in the 1990s to bring democracy to South Africa. He himself personally at that time, felt that deep, deep raging anger at what had happened to him. He felt that his life had been destroyed and was a tragedy. He was very sad, but he felt that if he brought that into politics as the leader of Black South Africa, he would lead his people to war.
So, the mask he wore was really the opposite of what he felt, as an avuncular old man. He felt that to bring the country from the brink of civil war to a peaceful coexistence, he would have to present himself in the most unthreatening form that he knew. And he projected joy and cheerfulness when personally he was feeling anything but. The capacity to wear that mask, that professionalism, that vocational certainty and to do it so well with very few hitches was quite remarkable.
COWEN: What did you rediscover about South Africa writing this book?
STEINBERG: I discovered how, essentially, South Africa didn’t really heal from the civil war that it fought in the 1980s. I thought that I knew about that, but delving into the minutiae of Winnie’s life in the late 1980s and the extreme violence which was surrounding her and in which she was involved, I understood that those wounds had never really quite healed, partly because of what didn’t happen next. It was a very sadly formative time in South African history. There are some societies that recover very quickly from extreme moments and others that don’t, and South Africa never quite did.
COWEN: It surprised me in India how much in recent times, there’s been a move away from the heritage of Gandhi and simply assuming everything connected with Gandhi must be good. To what extent is something like that going on in South Africa with the Mandelas, either or both of them?
STEINBERG: It’s very much happening. Many educated middle-class young Black people have really quite decisively turned their back on Nelson Mandela. He’s associated with 30 years of ANC rule, which have not gone especially well. Young people legitimately ask what sort of deal he made in the early 1990s and whether it was the right one and whether it worked. He’s very, very much out of fashion among young people. Winnie also, but perhaps less so.
There’s a middle-class populist constituency for radical politics in South Africa, and they take her as a lodestar. They take her as a proponent of a violent revolution that ought to have happened that never did. I don’t think that there are a huge amount of people, but they’re vocal and there are a fair number of them.
COWEN: What did go wrong with the ANC?
STEINBERG: I think the ANC governed reasonably well for 15 years. They were very lucky that they caught a commodity supercycle. They benefited greatly from China’s rise. And in the first 15 years of democracy, literally everybody did better. The bottom two deciles of South African society were earning about twice as much as they did at the end of apartheid. And the ANC managed that wave reasonably well, built a reasonably sunk state.
What happened in 2007, 2008 is that there was something of a revolution inside the ANC. The thwarted, frustrated provincial middle-class essentially took over the organization and the state, and their politics was pretty nihilistic. They were very, very racially brittle people. They didn’t believe that anybody else was capable of building a future in such a difficult country. And they began fleecing the states through their position in power and in the bureaucracy. It was tragic to see.
COWEN: As I’m sure you know, there’s been plenty of discourse in the United States over the last year about Afrikaner farmers, claims about how many are being murdered or having their land taken. Set us straight on what you think is really going on.
STEINBERG: Well, white Afrikaner farmers are not being murdered in huge numbers, but what is happening is . . . The vast majority of people who are murdered in South Africa are young, black and unemployed, and it’s incontestable. That is statistically shown again and again. The majority of the violence is in the ghettos, but it spills out in a very meaningful way into the suburbs and into the middle classes.
Middle-class South Africans experience a degree of crime and a degree of violence which their counterparts in the developed world do not. And that is very scary. It’s particularly scary when through all the years of the 20th century, the suburbs and the middle classes were largely protected from violence. So, to be a white farmer in South Africa is to face a degree of threats of violence which is scary, but the idea that they are victimized, that there’s a genocide is absolutely insane.
COWEN: One hears from a distance that the judiciary is the part of South African government that has held up the best over all these troubles. Do you agree with that? And if so, why?
STEINBERG: The judiciary’s independence has held up, but its quality has not held up. It certainly has not caved and done the executive’s bidding, and you ask why. That is probably because of a very deep and old legal tradition going back to the apartheid years and before, a legal culture which insisted on independence from the apartheid state and which made the apartheid government’s life very difficult.
That’s great, and it’s been a treasure, but the quality of judiciary, as with every other public institution in South Africa, is much weaker than it was 10 years ago. And that is a result of that revolution I was talking about in 2007–08, of inside the ruling party, a very different group of people coming to power.
COWEN: What does the optimistic case for South Africa look like? Because you’ve said some fairly pessimistic things, yet from my point of view, the one time I went, things were doing a bit better than I was expecting. Admittedly, I went to Cape Town, but I thought, well, there’d be electricity shortages all the time. There weren’t. There seems to be some capacity for renewal and self-improvement in the system, or is that just my delusion?
STEINBERG: No, it’s not your delusion at all. I’m replying to your questions, and maybe that’s what makes me sound more pessimistic than I am. But I think that what South Africa has — which is quite remarkable given what’s happened to it over the last 15, 20 years — is it has a very solid political center which is very hard to dislodge, and a pretty sane liberal-minded political center. It’s guaranteed 25 percent, 30 percent of the vote every election and is expanding. That gives a fairly solid rational basis to govern the country well into the future.
A lot of the stuff that fell apart between 2010 and 2020 can be rebuilt, basic stuff like logistics and electricity and the basic plumbing of the country. It’s being very slow to rebuild, but it can be rebuilt. Whether it can do more than that, whether it can actually flourish depends on something much more ambitious. And that includes rebuilding a civil service which is really, really on its knees and whose personnel are animated by a very destructive ideology. And for the politics for that sort of renewal to be in place — we are not there now. And that may take some time, if it ever happens.
So, I’m not despairing. I think that some modest improvement is possible and probable, but it is modest until something more fundamental changes.
COWEN: Should I buy land there? Let’s say I were a person of means.
STEINBERG: [laughs] It depends where. You could certainly buy land in Cape Town. Its value will probably increase. Yeah, it’s a big country. It depends where you’re going to be.
COWEN: I asked GPT what happened with land prices in Durban. Now, some while ago, people used to tell me Durban was a fantastic place. I’ve never been there. And over a few decades, it seems land prices have fallen 20 percent, 25 percent, which is unusual in this world, right? Land has become a lot more valuable. It’s one of the largest cities. What exactly went wrong with Durban?
STEINBERG: It’s also one of the cities that I don’t know best, Tyler, but I think that the main issue is absolutely shocking local-government management, and that is a symptom of the corruption of the ruling party. Local governments in Johannesburg and in Durban and in one or two other major cities have been ruined, and the result is that the basic infrastructure of the place is deteriorating over time. The result is that commerce flees that. The cost of doing business escalates. So yeah, a great deal of South Africa’s problems are about the nitty-gritty of governance at local and regional levels.
COWEN: How has the struggle against HIV AIDS gone?
STEINBERG: It’s gone remarkably well if you consider that 25 years ago, 20 years ago, something like 25 percent of the population was HIV positive. Anti-retroviral treatment, which at the time nobody was sure whether South African health service could administer, they did administer. Several million people went onto treatment. That was a sign of state capacity that really could work despite the fact that we had a president who is an AIDS denialist. So that was an extraordinary achievement.
COWEN: Do you think there’s any chance of a Zimbabwe-like scenario for South Africa? Or that is unimaginable to you?
STEINBERG: It’s not unimaginable. It is much more unlikely. What Zimbabwe didn’t have was 30 percent of the electorate always voting for the center. It’s probably South Africa’s saving grace. To try and do in South Africa what was done in Zimbabwe would be very, very hard. There would be concerted resistance from across the society. It would be very, very hard.
COWEN: If we think about the South African economy, my sense is there’s ongoing de-industrialization. Mining at times does very well. It may have a very bright future with all this investment in hardware. Agriculture may have a very bright future as we’re seeing, say, in Brazil. And if the economic future of South Africa is many more exports of agricultural products and mining outputs, do you worry that’s bad for income inequality? Or am I not identifying the issue correctly?
STEINBERG: No, I think that you’re right. I think that agriculture has been a great success over the last 30 years and can be much, much more successful. Mining has been a bit of a disaster because it’s been very badly managed by public policy, but there is potentially — with different politics — a great future in that.
Could it produce more inequality? South Africa’s great, great problem is human capital and its incapacity to build an education system which is going to make the majority of the population employable in more than unskilled labor. That is probably the blockage to a more equal country.
COWEN: Do you think Johannesburg is still artistically robust? People tell me it is, that for an art scene, it’s hard to do much better. It’s fascinating.
STEINBERG: Yeah, it’s amazingly so. Music, fine art, theater — yeah, it’s probably more robust than it’s ever been.
COWEN: So, let’s say I go there, and I want to take in these art scenes. What’s the way that I do that that is more or less physically safe? Because I do want to go there and do that.
STEINBERG: Well, there’s a sample of different stuff that you need to take in. One would be to go to Soweto and to its jazz scene, and you don’t need to do too much to keep yourself safe. You go on an organized tour. There are many, many tour guides who would take you to see jazz. If you know local people, you go with local people. Another is the music scene just north of downtown Johannesburg, around Braamfontein. Again, you can get an Uber and go to your venue, and listen to your music, and go home without too much fear.
COWEN: But if this is like some parts of Brazil — and I’m not saying it is — but I would be afraid even to walk out of the private car into the door of the club, that there’d be a reasonable chance I’d be mugged even in that 30-second interval. You’re saying it’s not like that?
STEINBERG: Yeah, it’s not like that. I do that all the time without fear. Everybody I know does that all the time without fear.
COWEN: And to see visual arts, what do I do there?
STEINBERG: The visual arts are not as strong at the moment. There are a couple of renowned galleries that you could go to. There are also a couple of really interesting museums. There’s an apartheid museum. There’s a constitutional court museum. Both have really interesting collections. I would do that.
COWEN: Why does William Kentridge still live in Johannesburg? Indeed, in his childhood home, I hear.
STEINBERG: I have absolutely no idea. [laughs] I just read what he writes and says about it, which is that he wants to live somewhere very interesting, somewhere fluid. I think I remember him once saying that in South Africa, you’ll stop your car at a traffic light, and you’re watching a small-scale civil war around you, and that’s interesting.
COWEN: And you’ve thought of moving back but decided not to?
STEINBERG: Yeah, I did actually move back briefly 10 years ago and left again. It wasn’t so much about the country as about a lot of personal matters.
COWEN: As a South African and, of course, a scholar of South Africa, do you feel there are things you at least might understand about Elon Musk that non-South Africans would miss?
STEINBERG: [laughs] It’s a puzzle to me. South Africans are very preoccupied with Elon Musk and Peter Thiel and their South African connection. I honestly don’t know. I do think that I’m more or less the same age as Musk. He grew up maybe 50 kilometers away from where I did.
There was something about 1980 South Africa, where everybody knew that the old order would not last very much longer, that a new order was on its way. And certainly, in my circles, that produced a kind of an excitement about first principle thinking, about having no shibboleths, about imagining the unimaginable. It’s quite possible that he took that with him. It was certainly enormously formative for me. Beyond that, I’m not sure.
COWEN: I don’t know Musk, but I’ve thought for a while that his desire to settle Mars is perhaps a uniquely South African impulse, the notion that people need somewhere they can escape to.
STEINBERG: I’m skeptical of those thoughts. I mean, there are a lot of them, a lot of similar thoughts. It seems too obvious to me. [laughs] I think that human beings are always more interesting than you imagine them when you actually sit down with them and talk to them.
COWEN: What do we learn about South Africa from how the country handled COVID?
STEINBERG: I watched the President Cyril Ramaphosa lock the country down using the military, and he’s a very, very eloquent and charming man and a very powerful speaker when he needs to be. I remember him addressing the army and telling them that they need to be kind, that they are the army and that they do have weapons. But this is about a health risk, not a security risk.
And yet, watching what happened next was devastating. It was a hard, hard lockdown. It lasted much, much, much longer than it ought have to. It worked fine for middle-class people. Poor people suffered enormously, both in the short term and in the long term. And you had the irony of a government that was once, long ago, a liberation movement, feeling overly paternalistic, much, much too statist, feeling that it needed anxiously to control a situation. And the result is that it hurt its own people gratuitously. So, it was sad to watch.
COWEN: And you think it was just error?
STEINBERG: I think in the beginning it was fear. I don’t think there was a single case in South Africa when the lockdown began. It was in the collective imagination that something really awful might happen, which has been part of South Africa’s collective imagination for a long, long time. So, I think initially it was fear.
And in the end, I think it was a group of people in Ramaphosa’s cabinet who had been itching for serious state intervention for a long time and saw the opportunity, not in a cynical way, but because that’s what they believed they should do. And so, you had a very raw, very blunt statist mentality given the lease of life that it wouldn’t have had outside of an epidemic.
COWEN: How is fiction writing going in South Africa these days? Are there people I should read?
STEINBERG: Well, I think some of the best fiction in South Africa was written after the end of apartheid. One book that stands out is by an Afrikaans writer, Marlene van Niekerk. I think the book in English has two titles, depending where it is. One is Agaat; the other is The Way of the Women. It takes place in the head of a dying woman who has motor neurone disease and cannot communicate or move. All she can do is make eye contact with her carer, who is a Coloured woman who has worked with the family all her life. And through this very intense, wordless interaction, a very complicated story about a country comes together. It’s an extraordinary book. I think it’s a work of genius.
COWEN: And you think those traditions are still alive and well? Or do you have a sense of that?
STEINBERG: Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if the best South African novels are in the future. The traditions are very much alive and well.
COWEN: And what accounts for that vitality? Is it the sense that the stakes are high? Because when I read South African fiction, which I know only a little, it never seems obsessed with trivialities, I would say.
STEINBERG: It is partly because the stakes are high. It’s also just a very long tradition now. This was a country of nationalisms, and nationalisms get very, very serious about their literary figures and about their literature. It’s in the country’s DNA to produce writers and for writers to be very serious in the world around them. It was part of the Afrikaner Nationalist Project. It was part of the Black Nationalist Project. It was an idea that to write is to be deeply serious; it’s a classic old trait of old nationalisms.
COWEN: And for you next — you’re writing a biography of Cecil Rhodes. Is that correct?
STEINBERG: Yeah, that’s right.
COWEN: Now, as I’m sure you know, there’s one that just came out by William Storey, The Colonialist.
STEINBERG: Yeah.
COWEN: What will you do that he doesn’t?
STEINBERG: Mine is considerably more intimate. I was initially intrigued by the commonplace that he was gay, and how a gay man — if he was gay — came to exercise the power he did, what the connections were between the very intimates and the very public. That was my starting point.
The subject matter shifted as I learned more and more about him. I thought the idea that he was gay became more and more complicated. His very idea of what a private life should be was deeply strange to me. It took a long time to get my head around it. But yes, I think it’s both a much more intimate book and also a grander book in the sense that I tried to understand the geopolitics at the time and the place that he found in it.
COWEN: Was he gay?
STEINBERG: I don’t think that he understood himself as gay. And I suspect that he never had sex with anybody, man or woman, although I don’t know. But I certainly think that looking at it as an outsider, he was in love with some of the young men around him, and that love was very important. It was formative, it was shaping.
COWEN: One reads that, at first, he did not want women to come to what became Rhodesia. Is that true?
STEINBERG: At the very, very beginning because the people he sent into Rhodesia were doubling. They were settlers, but they were soldiers. They were a military, and they were a prospective farming class. They doubled up, and he didn’t see a place for women in a force that may be an invading force, but he certainly wanted women soon afterwards. As soon as settlement became viable, he wanted women.
COWEN: And why is Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, settled so much later than South Africa? By Whites that is.
STEINBERG: Well, White people settled at the southern reaches of the Cape in the mid 17th century, largely because its rainfall patterns and climate were Mediterranean, and it didn’t have malaria. It didn’t have diseases that were going to kill White people. There was a northern march beginning at the beginning of the 18th century, and it finally got as far as current-day Zimbabwe towards the end of the 19th century. So, it was simply about a northern movement of White people in an attenuated way, not dissimilar to the western movement of White people in America.
COWEN: And the English families that moved there in the 1920s — are they just foolish or was it —
STEINBERG: You mean in the 1820s?
COWEN: No, the 1920s. A lot of English families moved there after World War I.
STEINBERG: To Zimbabwe, to Rhodesia?
COWEN: Yeah, whatever one wishes to call it.
STEINBERG: Yeah, yeah.
COWEN: Are they just foolish to think that can work?
STEINBERG: No, by the 1920s it was working. Rhodesia was, for the first time, a successful staple exporter. It was earning foreign currency. It had a pretty strong state by then. It had those sorts of institutions that White middle-class people could be nourished by. It was politically docile. I don’t think they were foolish at all. I think that they ended up living quite good lives.
COWEN: Are you optimistic about Botswana?
STEINBERG: Botswana is at an inflection point. It’s just had a change of government for the first time since 1966. It has been reliant on diamond revenue, and the diamond industry is in trouble. I think it’s going to take a political class to negotiate this period very deftly. I don’t know whether they will. It’s a difficult moment.
COWEN: Namibia — optimistic?
STEINBERG: I think Namibia, a bit like South Africa, goes on. It doesn’t grow very quickly. It doesn’t fall apart. It’s a hard place. There’s a lot of crime, a lot of unemployment. That’s probably South Africa’s future too. Not coming apart at the seams, but not flourishing.
COWEN: And for our listeners, let’s say someone wants to visit South Africa, and other than safari — put that aside — of course, everyone should do that, but what in your view, is something like an ideal two-week trip around South Africa? Where should someone go and why?
STEINBERG: Well, I’d go to Cape Town because it is, to my mind, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. You’ve been to Cape Town. What did you make of it?
COWEN: Yes, but only Cape Town. Fantastic. And I’m hoping to go back this March and take my sister and possibly my wife.
STEINBERG: Well, from Cape Town, I would drive eastwards along the coast for a long way, for as much as 2,000 kilometers, until you start moving up the east coast and towards the old Transkei. The coastline is absolutely spectacular all the way. It’s just an affront of natural beauty, mile after mile after mile. And if you get as far as the Transkei, you will also just, socially, see the densest rural zone of South Africa. You will see the history of the country. You will see that old apartheid zone that was meant to be its own quasi-sovereign state back in the old days and what it looks like.
COWEN: And that drive is relatively safe?
STEINBERG: Yeah, that drive is pretty safe.
COWEN: And where should I go then?
STEINBERG: How long did you say you have?
COWEN: Say two weeks. This is for all our listeners. I know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to go to Durban, too.
STEINBERG: It depends what you like. You could also drive west and north from Cape Town up the west coast, which is semi-desert and very beautiful. I would definitely go to Johannesburg. It is a lively, quite wild, very, very vibrant city, by far South Africa’s most vibrant city. If you like music, you must go there.
COWEN: And I should stay in the suburbs or in the center city? How do I do that?
STEINBERG: I think you should stay in the suburbs, but not too far out. Johannesburg is urban sprawl, and you don’t want to be in the midst of the sprawl. You want to be in one of the suburbs just to the north or the west of downtown, which makes you pretty central. You can pretty much go to wherever is interesting within a 20-, 25-minute Uber ride. That’s where I’d stay.
I definitely wouldn’t miss Johannesburg. I really, really wouldn’t miss anywhere in South Africa because I was afraid of crime. Crime is zoned. It is ghettoed. There are ways to move around quite safely if one doesn’t do anything stupid.
COWEN: Now, you mentioned the biography of Rhodes, but just to close, I will ask, what else do you think of yourself as doing over the next — I don’t know — 10, 15 years? You’re young, you’re very productive. What else?
STEINBERG: Well, I’ve finished a draft of the Rhodes book, and I am dabbling at the next book, and I’m not exactly sure what it’s going to be, but I’m rooting through archives in Johannesburg for the mid-apartheid period.
COWEN: So about Southern Africa in some way?
STEINBERG: Yes. The next one is definitely going to be about Southern Africa for sure, and probably historical.
COWEN: And you think you’ll write about Southern Africa for the rest of your life?
STEINBERG: Well, as you say, I’m young, and hopefully, the rest of my life will be a long time. So, who knows. I’m not somebody who plans into the future very long, and I hope that I can take myself by surprise. I hope that we can all do that.
COWEN: For listeners, I’ll recommend again Jonny’s book, Winnie and Nelson: Portrait of a Marriage, one of my favorite books of the last 10 years. Jonny Steinberg, thank you very much.
STEINBERG: Thanks, Tyler.