One of the stories I grew up hearing in the African National Congress and later at university is that Israel is an apartheid state and, therefore, all South Africans had a duty to stand in solidarity with the oppressed people of Palestine. In ANC circles such acts of solidarity are often occasioned by a suggestion that Israel does not have a claim to the Holy Land, that Palestinian people have a monopoly between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River.

One morning I decided to make a trip to Israel and the West Bank in order to see for myself what the real issues were in the region. This I did in service of our historical debt to the support that the international community offered black South Africans during apartheid.

It was during this trip that I reflected on many similarities between us Africans and Jewish people. Coincidentally, this was at a time when Afrikaners in our country were working hard to create an impression that land reform and affirmative action constitute reverse racism — whatever that means.

By implication, victims of racism in South Africa are guilty of oppression when we seek justice. Jews who were dispossessed historically similarly also stand trial for claiming the same ancestral land that was taken from them. One cannot imagine the trauma that this causes to Jewish people who have never been accepted as human the world over except in the land of their forefathers, Israel.

My trip to the region made me realise one thing: That there is no meaningful comparison between apartheid South Africa and the State of Israel. I grew up during an era in South Africa when there was structured, state-imposed control of black lives.

The apartheid regime created inhumane conditions that were exclusive to black people. Colonialism and apartheid deliberately made poverty, bad education, landlessness, and cheap labour part of what it meant to be black. Under apartheid, our legal status was that of an inferior people.

South Africa was divided into two distinct worlds: One white and wealthy, the other black and poor. The mines, factories, and farms all depended on black workers forced into wage labour through government legislation. Blacks lived in townships and slums, and whites lived in comfortable suburbs. Blacks earned subsistence wages and whites were their masters.

The black maid took care of white children in white suburbs, but only saw her own children once or twice a year. The black security worker guarded the rich white areas for white comfort, but had to travel back to violent townships after each shift. This was apartheid and everything it represented for South Africans and what happens in Israel is nowhere near this experience.

However, this is not the reason I find myself writing this article.

On Tuesday 26 March I received a phone call from an old friend informing me that a motion would be tabled at the University of Cape Town to boycott Israeli universities. I imagine he was informing me, knowing my stance on Israel, but also because that university is embroidered on my heart as an alumnus.

The whole conversation about academic boycotts would be hilarious if it was not tragic. First, universities are centres of knowledge production and shoulder a responsibility to remain non-partisan in the ways in which they go about their business.

In fact, if there is any strong case against Israel, continued relations between South African and Israeli universities is what we need for academics to influence academics on the other side. In fact, academic boycotts achieve one thing and one thing only, they circumvent the dialogue that the people locked in the conflict need in order to resolve the conflict and for the Palestinian self-determination to be obtained speedily.

Second, academic boycotts are an onslaught on academic freedom and make it impossible for universities to exist outside of politics. The UCT that I celebrate would never pride itself with severing relations with the very institutions from which a possible solution should emanate.

As opposed to tampering with academic freedom, UCT should produce academic work that mobilises Israeli universities to play a more pointed and meaningful role. The one thing that we must appreciate is that Israeli universities and scholars are not responsible for whatever we may deem problematic with the Israeli government.

I imagine it would be just as shocking if UCT were to be punished for the many wrong things that happen in this country. In fact, many Israeli academics that I have interacted with are fervent critics of policy decisions that the Israeli government pursues. Instead of boycotting their universities — the only space where they wield influence — we must strengthen relations so that they can contribute towards the peaceful resolution of the conflict.

Third, many Arabs — both Israeli and Palestinian — look to Israeli universities for education. The stronger and more connected these universities are, the more they are able to stand these students in good stead. The worst punishment you can administer to students is to deny them an opportunity to study in globally connected universities.

Already there were many students from Israel and Palestine when I was a student there. This is another way we can exchange our viewpoints, academic and otherwise, with the other side.

I wish the university council well during this period and pray that God grants them the wisdom to handle these discussions with maximum care. DM

Tshediso Mangope is an alumnus at the University of Cape Town

The undersigned share the same views:

Bafana Modise — Former WestCol Krugersdorp President 2014

Lesiba Bapela — Former Wits SRC

Nkululeko Nkosi — LLB graduate from Wits and an Activist

Thabiso Makhele — Social Activist

Klaas Mokgomole — Former Wits SRC and Wits 11

Norman Mashegoane — Former Wits SRC

Yolanda Makhasi — Former UKZ SRC and Social Activist

Khanyisa Pinini — Former President UCT

Motaung Thokozile — Student Activist UCT

Letsoalo Magau — Student activist UCT

Prusente Yamkela — Student Activist UCT

Mmamalema Malepa — Former SRC UCT