What cultural and religious resources are available for the (re)construction of civil society, assuming that civil society is necessary to the transformation of South Africa as a whole? More specifically, what is to be expected from religion in this regard, given the ambiguous role of religion in shaping South Africa’s distant and recent past?

This chapter explores these questions from the perspective of a limited exposure to some aspects of the work place. It takes its cue from the two fundamental characteristics of civil society à la Habermas—its public nature and its relationship to power (Cochrane, p. 7). This implies firstly, that the discourse about the reconstruction of civil society by definition has to be a public discourse, that is, accessible and understandable to participants. Secondly, it has to recognize and deal with the aspect of power or interests that are inevitably involved in such a discourse.

No public talk about interests is possible without raising the issue of values. Citizenship depends on how well the public discourse about values is conducted. Because this discourse can so easily be privatized or highjacked by interests, the issue of accessibility becomes crucial. Coleman (1997: quoted by Cochrane p. 12) is therefore correct when he argues that citizenship must be theorized in terms of "everyday and tangibly accessible life" in which "values such as trust, openness, responsibility, love and solidarity . . . replace the cynicism of the narrow ideals of a manipulative or passive citizenship sponsored by the state or elite experts".

What follows below, is an attempt to pursue some aspects of the public discourse now needed in South Africa. It is based on experience gained in developing common values in various South African companies and organizations. The final section returns to the question of what contribution religion can and should make in this regard.

Coleman makes the important point that theorizing about citizenship needs to be conducted in terms of ‘everyday and tangibly accessible life’. His remark raises two important points—the space where such a discourse should take place and the subjects who need to be involved. One of the reasons for religion’s ironic loss of influence in the post-apartheid era is the inability to keep these distinctions clearly in focus. Successful participation in the discourse on South Africa’s enfolding democracy depends on distinguishing between the different interests involved and the way in which they are made operative. Asking whose values are at stake here, is another way of asking who the subject(s) in this discourse are.

Most audible or visible are those in power, be they government, official bodies of the church or, in the case of business, management. Because of their dominant position, the voices of other exponents often are not heard—the poor, women, the ‘ordinary’ person in the street, marginalized individuals or groups. But for the establishment and implementation of any value system, these exponents are of critical importance. In companies, it is the employees (and often at lower levels) that in final instance determine the ‘corporate culture’ of the company—whatever culture management would like to impose. Wise managers know this and involve the whole of the work force in any process of change.

Besides different exponents, different audiences are involved in the value discourse. The effectiveness of the discourse depends heavily on understanding and addressing the needs of a specific audience. David Tracy’s (1981:1-46) distinction of at least three audiences or ‘publics’ as far as theological discourse is concerned, has proved to be a useful analytical tool and it would be interesting to test whether this distinction also works for other religious traditions.

The first public is the academic public. Through the ages, theology has found a place at the university—however controversial and precarious. At the moment, this location is again under siege and religious traditions respond differently to the threat of exclusion from academe. Without debating the issue, there can be little doubt that the academic study of religion has an important contribution to make to the discourse on values. In the critical environment of the university, theology is exposed or ‘made public’ in a specific way. The publication of research, the defence of theses and the scrutiny by peers form part of the academic ethos and the tradition of academic freedom. For a sustained discourse on values the contribution of this sector is of critical importance. Although often obscured in academic language and protected by elitist traditions, academe is in essence a public space, open to public scrutiny. One of the main reasons why discourse in this context is not living up to expectations is that there is confusion or conflation with the second audience. This results in a discourse that is not effective in the university context, but which represents the interests of the second public.

The second public is constituted by the believing community. Its discourse has the character of an in-house conversation. It assumes the existence of a common basis, the sharing of the same basic values. It is a discourse aimed at strengthening and building the own community. Indirectly, it also has a public dimension, in the sense that it prepares believers for life in the ‘outside world’, where the close support of their own community is not available. This discourse is important for maintaining the personal and collective identity of the group and the understanding of their role and place in the world. It is equally important for the establishment of personal values.

The third public finds itself in the unprotected space of the market place—the public sphere. Here no common ground can be assumed beforehand, no privileged position can be claimed for whatever group or privilege. This is the critical public in any social transformation. If civil society is not securely established on the basis of an alternative value system, if changes are not internalized in the form of clear and coherent ethos, if its procedures and practices do not conform to this ethos, there is in fact no transformation.

It would seem that the South African transformation is unable to complete this process and to take it to its consequences in the public sphere, thereby endangering the operation as a whole.

Yet another variable, besides the actors and the audience, is the style in which the discourse is conducted. The discourse of critical analysis, of second-order reflection and of rational argument naturally belongs to the first public. The discourse of proclamation, of witnessing, of prophecy and of counselling is typical of the second public. The third public likewise requires its own style, but, as we will see, this is poorly developed in most cases.

In order to put the issue in perspective, it could be useful to look at another transition that took place in the same period of time.

The South African transition to an inclusive democracy is of course not the only example in recent times – many similar transitions have taken place in various parts of the world. The re-unification of the two Germany offers some interesting insights. Despite fundamental differences between the two events, there are certain points of similarity that may help to put the South African case in sharper focus. Two of these are of special significance:

On the one hand the re-unification of Germany illustrates quite dramatically the loss of values that follows when the form in which these values are presented is no longer functional. On the other hand, the comparison makes clear how substantial South African advantage is in terms of the inclusiveness of the process and the levels of participation.

More needs to be said about each of these factors.

The reunification of the Bundesrepublik Deutschland (BRD) and the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR) also meant the re-unification of the two parts of the Evangelische Kirche Deutschland (EKD) and of the Catholic Church in the two states. Theologically speaking, the church was one all through the 40 years of the DDR’s existence, but in practice they functioned as separate entities. The re-unification highlighted in a dramatic way the weakening of the church in the DDR. Although the pace of secularization also picked up in the BRD, the shift away from the church in the former DDR is nothing but startling (cf. Pollack 1996:604-615 and the accompanying tables). In 1950, 77 percent of the population were baptized, in 1993 25 percent. In 1950 the ratio between people leaving the church and those joining it was 4,9:1, in 1993 in was 7,0:1. These external indicators seem to correlate with a decline in the strength of personal religious convictions. What is happening on a national scale, is corroborated by what happened for instance in a state like Berlin-Brandenburg, where membership of the EKD has dropped by 50 percent (Huber 1997:4), and in certain suburbs of the former East Berlin (Marzahn, Hellersdorf), it is as low as 4 percent (Huber 1995:6).

According to Pollack (1996:596), the social backbone of Protestantism was broken by a series of restructuring measures pushed through by the political leadership of DDR. These included the elimination of the influence of the propertied and educated classes, teachers, the collectivization of agriculture, state industry and control of unions. "Die politisch betriebene Mobilisierung der Gesellschaft führte zu einem umfassenden Traditions-und Kulturabbruch, der die Kirchen in ihrem Mark traf" (1996:596).

The concerted effort to restrict the influence of the church was therefore apparently hugely successful – after 40 years of DDR rule, the need for a liaison with the church has for all practical purposes disappeared. Contrary to expectations, there was also no growth in alternative religions after the Wende. According to Pollack (1996:608), many East Germans were so alienated from Christianity that all forms of religious ideas or forms of expression were viewed with suspicion. Meulemann (1996: 235) comes to the conclusion: "Die meisten Menschen in der DDR konnten ohne Kirche und auch ohne ausserkirchliche Formen der Religiosität . . . leben, aber nicht ohne positive religiöse Überzeugungen". In his view, religion was replaced by "Scientism", that is, the belief that science and technology will not only improve the quality of life, but also holds the answer to life’s questions. Thus the basis for political dominance was created. Meulemann (1996:239) therefore concludes: "Die DDR hat sich mit der erzwungenen Säkularisierung etabliert, aber keinen Wertwandel durchgemacht."

What is of specific importance for our topic is that religiosity in the research quoted above is defined in terms of the second public, that is, in terms of affiliation/disaffiliation of the believing community. No attempt is made to formulate the significance of religious values in terms of the third public. And this despite Meulemann’s claim that citizens of the DDR could live without the institution of the church or without alternative forms of religiosity, but not without positive religious convictions or values. This provides an important clue for the argument regarding the modes of religious discourse in the debate about values that will be discussed below.

The German reunification is of relevance for the South African situation for quite a different reason. This concerns the way in which the transition came about. The immense impact of the fall of the Berlin wall is due not only to the speed of these events and the fact that they were totally unexpected, but also because Berlin, since the days of the Cold War was an international symbol of the struggle between ‘East’ and ‘West’. Berlin was (by choice or default) always larger than life and the artificiality of its existence is becoming even clearer now than the battle lines have shifted elsewhere.

But it is not only the suddenness of the events that are causing problems for the re-unification process, but also its one-sidedness. Perceptions of the change differ radically in the former ‘West’ and the former ‘East Germany’. Many in the East experience the change as a takeover bid, as a re-colonization by the ideology of the market. Because of the virtual non-existence of private property and of private capital, the lack of managerial expertise and experience, the inability to compete in the global market, East German companies and institutions (including universities) became an easy target for those with capital and the necessary skills. The result is a deep resentment in the East that is compounded by a feeling of powerless to have any significant influence on the turn of events. The total lack of participation, the feeling that the East had nothing to contribute to the new state, is highlighted by the nature of the change. The reunification was not the bringing together of two entities, of two sovereign states, but the abrupt end of one and the incorporation of the ‘new’ provinces into the existing Bundesrepublik. The lack of continuity of East Germans with their own past is acute. Officially, that past does not exist. It is at most an aberration of the history of the Bundesrepublik, which represents the real German state. A new, joint constitution did not come into existence. The constitution of the BRD remained unchanged, except for making provision for the incorporation of the new provinces. The experience of alienation in the East takes many forms. On the other side, the perception of many West Germans is that their compatriots of the East are unskilled, unfit, unproductive and unable to fit into the new global economy, that the reunification is costing too much, that their standard of living and social security is threatened, that the East is unthankful for the sacrifices the West is making.

The lack of participation is compounded by the decision to treat the reunification as a legal process. The DDR is defined as an Unrechtstaat, a state that has no legal basis and whose government stands accused in legal terms. Parallel to this, the Gauck Commission (the German equivalent of the TRC) operates as a court and handles the abuse of human rights as a punishable legal offence.

What complicates matters further is that these issues are not brought into the open or worked through in any structured way. The impatience of the West with the East, the deep feeling of injustice and rejection in the East and the resentments, tensions and resistance to the new dispensation remains for a great deal under the surface. A concerted, systematic, inclusive process to develop shared values that will support the new dispensation has not started.

This is in contrast to the South African transition. In this one respect, South Africa has a major advantage. The new constitution is the result of a long process of consultation and participation. The Bill of Rights is the outcome of a similar process. The Government of National Unity as a transitional measure, the inclusive approach of the new government (recently demonstrated by the ANC’s attempt to keep Afrikaners involved in and committed to the process of change), the TRC Act and the way it was implemented, aimed at bringing the past into the open, mediating between victims and perpetrators and hopefully achieving reconciliation before resorting to legal measures, underline this advantage. A joint interview with Tutu and his German counterpart, Gauck, gives a good indication of the fundamentally different approach (Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazin 7/2/1997). South Africa therefore does have certain distinct advantages regarding the way in which the transition was prepared and the level of participation in the process.

Nonetheless, the disturbing fact of the German example is that once the formal religious structures and traditions were stripped of their privileges and their influence minimized in the public sphere, people discovered that they could do without formalized religion and without the discourse that accompanies it. What was still held intact by custom and tradition suddenly fell apart when the props keeping them up collapsed and the ineffectiveness of the discourse was exposed. This more than anything else caused the experience of a loss of values. Furthermore, once the opportunity was lost, it proved to be extremely difficult to reintroduce the value discourse in the public sphere. The consequences for the unfolding situation in South Africa, despite the obvious differences with the German situation, should be taken seriously—especially when attempting to rebuild civil society.

To return to the question raised at the end of the second section: What are the chances of a constructive discourse on democratic values in one of the most crucial domains of the public sphere—that of the work place? Let us remind ourselves again of Coleman’s warning that unless "values such as trust, openness, responsibility, love and solidarity" are given new content through an inclusive discourse by citizens themselves, there is little hope of overcoming the "cynicism of the narrow ideals of a manipulative or passive citizenship sponsored by the state or elite experts."

Practical experience in developing common values in the work place—in situations of extreme diversity—would seem to indicate that such an undertaking is not completely impossible. That religion can and does play a role in the process, is a further conclusion.

Against this background, we return to the South African situation and to the challenge to develop an effective way to talk about values in the public sphere. In contrast to the German situation, the South African situation has the additional problem that it also has to deal with various forms of diversity in the work place—racial diversity in the first place, but also diversities between management and employees, differences in corporate culture and diverging interests of companies, the community and the environment. A successful discourse should be able to deal with diversities of this kind effectively.

What follows is a report on one such experiment. In pursuing a suitable discourse for the third public, a deliberate attempt was made not to use frameworks usually associated with discourses of the first and second publics. It was for this reason that the theoretical framework developed, for the project takes as its point of departure central concepts of Manfred Max-Neef. In his Human Scale Development (1991) he proposes an alternative approach to development. Dissatisfied with the restrictions of both the growth-centered and the state-centered vision of development, he opts for a human-centered approach. Its focus is on the content of development (namely its meaning and purpose) rather than its form. It is more concerned with how development ought to take place than how it actually occurs (Van Zyl, 1995: 2). For our purpose, the holistic nature of this approach and the inclusion of the full spectrum of human needs are important. As Hettne (1989:153-4) explains, the human-centered vision has the following characteristics: needs oriented (intent on meeting human needs, both material and non-material); endogenous (not imposed from the outside, but arising from the needs of a particular society as defined by that society); self-reliant (relying primarily on the strengths and resources of a particular society or environment); ecologically sound (using natural resources responsibly, with a view of its impact on local eco-systems and on present and future generations); based on structural transformation (ensuring that the conditions are created for self-reliant management and participation in decision-making by all those affected by the implications of such decisions).

Even if one opts for a needs-oriented approach, the important question is how wide these needs are conceptualized. In mainstream neo-classical economics needs are understood as desires or wants for material or economic goods and services that are measurable and quantifiable both in principle and in practice. Even though the restricted nature of this definition (which excludes non-material needs) is recognized, the question remains how a broader and richer understanding approach to human needs could be made operationally significant (Van Zyl 1995:3).

It is in this context that Max-Neef’s idea of ‘human scale development’ is of special importance. It represents a sustained attempt to operationalize the full spectrum of human needs in the process of development. In his own words:

(Human Scale Development) is focused and based on the satisfaction of fundamental human needs, on the generation of growing levels of self-reliance, and on the construction of organic articulations of people with nature and technology, of global processes with local activity, of the personal with the social, of planning with autonomy and of civil society with the state (Max-Neef 1991:8).

 

The first step is to define needs in a much more fundamental way. "In the conventional growth-centered approach, human needs are not defined in fundamental terms, but rather as desires or wants for objects or artefacts for particular goods and services. Economic goods can therefore satisfy needs directly in a one-to-one relationship. If, however, a more fundamental perspective on human needs were adopted, the process of meeting such needs would become more complex and should be viewed quite differently" (Van Zyl 1995:4).

At the same time, it is of crucial importance to distinguish more radically between these fundamental needs and their satisfiers. What often is understood as a need is in reality a satisfier for a more fundamental need. Sustenance and shelter are usually understood as needs, but in reality they are satisfiers for the more fundamental need of subsistence. Likewise, education, research and communication are satisfiers for the fundamental need of understanding. This leads Max-Neef to identify nine fundamental needs: subsistence, understanding, creation, protection, participation, identity, affection, idleness and freedom.

Max-Neef makes the bold claim that these fundamental needs are finite, few in number and classifiable. They are also universal, the same in all cultures and in all historical periods (Van Zyl 1995:4). The obvious variations in cultures, systems of government and types of societies have their origin in the different way these needs are satisfied. The distinction between needs and satisfiers is of critical importance for the process to develop common values, as will be explained below.

These needs form an interrelated and interactive system with no linear hierarchies (contra Maslow). It is the context in which these needs are experienced which will also determine the order of their satisfaction. The inclusive nature of these needs makes it possible to broaden the concept of poverty to include not only lack of material goods, but also the lack of freedom, respect, identity and the like. We can speak of a poverty of participation because of discrimination against women or minorities, even if this occurs in an otherwise economically prosperous country. Poverty in terms of the fundamental need of protection can be caused by widespread violence or by poor primary health systems.

By broadening the concept ‘poverty’, it also becomes possible to highlight the dynamic nature of needs. An analysis in terms of needs may reveal important deficiencies, but at the same time unlock potential. The lack of participation is at the same time the starting point for engaging and mobilizing people. In this respect, the different types of satisfiers are of particular importance.

Max-Neef distinguishes between positive and negative satisfiers. Negative satisfiers can further be classified as destructive (imposed on people, e.g. the arms race, censorship), pseudo (induced through persuasion: indoctrination, status symbols) or inhibiting (rooted in customs and habits: paternalism, unlimited permissiveness). Positive satisfiers can either be singular (satisfying needs on a one-to-one basis, e.g. handouts, insurance systems) or synergic (satisfying more than one need with a single action, e.g. work place forums, satisfying the need for participation, understanding and creation). In applying these distinctions, Max-Neef has developed a process whereby a ‘negative matrix’ is completed by a group or community as a first step, that is, a synthesis of all the negative satisfiers of the nine fundamental needs in a specific situation. This is followed by a ‘positive matrix’ of the positive satisfiers.

These concepts have been integrated in Max-Neef’s alternative development strategy which was put in practice in several Latin American countries over the past decades. Subsequently, the approach has been used in a variety of development initiatives worldwide. At an international conference to mark the tenth anniversary of the publication of his Human Scale Development, held in Valvidia, Chile in October 1996, reports of these initiatives in the United Kingdom, Australia, Spain, South Africa and several Latin-American countries were discussed by practitioners in the field.

Max-Neef’s ideas thus proved to be a suitable point of departure. However, these ideas had to be adapted and expanded in many respects to be suitable for our purposes. The opportunity to put the process to the test arose in 1991 from a request to facilitate in a large gold mine in North West Province, where tensions and divisions in the work force threatened to disrupt production on a large scale.

The management of Vaal Reefs at Orkney, a mine with 48,000 employees, realized that, despite their efforts to improve technology and to contain costs, the human factor still remains a crucial issue. Exactly because the employees of the mine cannot be isolated from the broader social transition that was taking place in the country and because the same lack of common values was manifest on the mine, it was decided to give urgent attention to the human element. With this in mind, management adopted a value statement in the form of a Preferred State, with the intention to disseminate the statement throughout the company. It was decided to do this with the help of outsiders, and this created the opportunity to get involved in the process.

The assignment at Vaal Reefs was accepted on three conditions. Firstly, that the process of taking a value statement developed by management down the mine be suspended for the time being; secondly, that employees be allowed to identify and develop their own values without interference from management; and thirdly, that management itself become part of the process by reflecting on and articulating its own values and by accepting that whatever common values emerged from the process, would be equally applicable to and binding on management.

On this basis, work was started in June 1992 on West Mine, one of the three divisions of Vaal Reefs, comprising of three shafts (3, 4 and 10) and 16,000 employees. A series of workshops was held over a period of twelve months, before moving to the engineering, accounting, maintenance, transport and other services departments.

The composition of the workforce at Vaal Reefs seems to defy any possibility of shared values. In terms of culture and language it is very diverse, while the full political spectrum is represented—from the AWB (Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging—a radical white right wing group) to the PAC (Pan Africanist Congress—an Africanist movement) and everything in between. As far as employee organizations are concerned, eight different bodies have to be taken into account. An overriding concern is the continued profitability of the mine. Some shafts face closure, which will result in the loss of a considerable number of jobs.

As already mentioned, one of the conditions on which the project was started, was that management would not interfere in the process and would allow the free development of values. Management had already adopted a "preferred state" which they wanted to become the value statement of the whole mine. The first challenge was to convince management to abandon this top-down approach and to allow employees, without any interference or pressure of any kind, to develop their own set of values. Management eventually accepted this bottom-up approach.

Employee organizations presented a different challenge. From the side of white organizations, the suspicion was that the values program was a way to prepare for integration in the mine. From the side of black unions, the suspicion was that the values program was the first step in the process of retrenchment. These fears were addressed and eventually allayed by calling a meeting of representatives of all employee organizations, where the content of the program was presented and debated. Consequently, the consent of all organizations was obtained to proceed with the process.

The logic behind the process was to move from the present state of division and mistrust to the discovery of (hopefully sufficient) shared values on which to base the strategic re-organization of the company. It was essential to ensure the widest possible participation in the process. This also implied that it could not be management controlled or directed. As one of the parties involved, management had indeed a right to participate, but then on an equal basis with other parties involved. It was one of the challenges of the process to ensure that management did not control—either explicitly or implicitly—the process, but that management at the same time was not excluded from it. The goal was ownership by all levels of the company. This required a carefully planned consultation process before the actual work began and extensive feedback sessions to employees to report on progress and the results achieved. Consequently, the process consisted of distinct stages, each with its own methodology and goals. These stages may be summarized as follows:

Preparing the ground. The goal of this stage is to set a benchmark to serve as criterion to measure what the process achieves (or fails to achieve) in terms of progress, changed attitudes, improved relations and performance. The instrument normally is a pre-survey of a representative sample of employees (including management), using a questionnaire specially developed for the purpose.

Involving all stakeholders. The aim is maximizing co-operation and the method used is a series of meetings to inform employees, unions, outside contractors, relevant government representatives and community leaders of the precise nature and aim of the process. Stakeholders are invited to send observers to the subsequent workshops, and the final results are also made available to the different parties.

Ensuring representativity. The aim is to prepare the ground for accepting accountability of the outcome of the process. The composition of the different workshops to ensure full and well-balanced representativity requires careful and responsible planning. The election of representatives (and not merely appointing them) proved to be an important pre-requisite.

Confrontation of perceptions and stereotypes. The first step in the actual workshop is to create a climate where people are willing to share their present experiences of the country, the work situation and the ‘other’ group. Careful facilitation is needed to create a climate of openness and lack of fear. Participants are therefore not asked to defend or attack the correctness of these perceptions, but to ask for explanations or examples. If well done, submerged tensions, the ‘hidden transcripts’ and the stereotypes people have of each other are brought to the surface, revealing often for the first time how one group experiences the other. It is of crucial importance that these stereotypes are experienced in the presence of the other. This stage of the process is usually the most explosive and requires skilful and mature facilitation.

Articulation of hopes and fears. Whereas the previous exercise focused on present experiences, in this stage the attention is shifted slightly to the future. The aim is to let participants discover what they share in their long-term ideals, despite present tensions and inequalities. By asking people what they hope will happen to the country, the company and inter-personal relations, and what they fear might happen, it is revealed that they often fear the same things (increased violence, crime) and share the same hopes (economic security, good education, stability). Some sense of communality starts to emerge at this stage.

Setting goals. The aim is to broaden the emerging sense of communality by focusing more specifically on the work situation and asking participants what they expect from their supervisors, their colleagues and their subordinates in the company. Starting with their superiors, it is not difficult to extract a long list of desiderata people have of their boss: fairness, empathy, vision, decisiveness, respect, good communication. When the list of expectations of colleagues and subordinates is drawn up, the commonalties become all the more evident. It is soon clear that for all practical purposes we are dealing with common expectations—even from subordinates ‘leadership’ can be expected in the sense of taking initiative and exercising self-supervision.

Generating common values. The communality thus achieved is then consolidated in the form of basic values. These values and their meaning are thoroughly discussed to ensure that everybody is clear about their implications and that the values chosen are supported by all. The consensus of the group is thus consolidated in the form of common ‘building blocks’, representing what the members of the group do share, whatever other differences may exist. This consensus is reported back and compared with the results of other workshops before deciding on a final set of values for the company. In this way, participation and ownership are maximized.

Deciding on implementation. The crucial next phase is to find suitable satisfiers for the common values or needs decided on. It is in this context that Max-Neef’s ideas are of particular practical value. The psychological effect of having already established a basis of communality during the previous step is most important for the effectiveness of the present stage. By first letting the group identify the negative satisfiers which prevent them from reaching their objectives, before deciding on the positive satisfiers for their common values, two important goals are achieved. First, it provides a way to deal constructively with diversity. Diversity as such need not be a problem—it can in effect be a source of strength. It is only when diversity leads to negative satisfiers that a problem arises. Second, by making each other aware of the forms of negative satisfiers already present in the work situation, the subsequent positive satisfiers are usually much more realistic and achievable. This stage is in fact the start of a process of joint decision-making and signals the beginning of the implementation process.

Formulating a practical code. The implementation is taken a step further by translating the set of positive satisfiers in a practical and more simplified code of conduct—understandable by all and applicable to all levels of the organization. Thereby a process of reciprocal control (as opposed to control from the top) is set in motion.

Reporting back. Great care is taken to prepare the report back to the group who originally elected the representatives for each workshop. The aim is to get the support of the wider group and to ensure ownership and accountability. As literacy often is a problem on certain levels of the mine, visual ways of presenting the basic values as the building blocks of a new foundation are used, sometimes supported by the judicial use of industrial theater.

Forming work place forums. The next step is to formalize the consensus reached in the form of workplace forums as required by the new Labor Relations Act of 1996. As will be explained below, the inclusion of these provisions in the law was not unrelated to the process developed at Vaal Reefs. The idea of these forums is to maximize worker participation and to provide alternative forms of constructive mediation in matters of industrial relations. Setting up a forum is technical and not a complicated matter. Ensuring its effective operation is quite a different matter. Experience has shown that without first establishing a firm basis in the form of a set of common values, the chances for getting a constructive forum going are slim indeed.

Regular assessment. The aim of the final step is to put in place an effective monitoring system and a way of measuring progress on a regular basis. The workplace forums proved to be an excellent instrument for this purpose. Not only were members of the forum intimately involved in generating a set of common values and the subsequent code of conduct, but they were also ideally placed to observe and monitor any digressions of the code. Again the principle of participating management is of cardinal importance. Instead of top-down enforcement, the self-generated code and the targets set by joint decision-making become the responsibility of the forum. The forums, if properly set up and based on commonly accepted values, have shown to be very effective instruments to solve new problems as they arise and to ensure adherence to the code.

A typical set of values emerging from the process would be the following: communication, respect and human dignity, trust and honesty, education and training, justice and equality, responsibility, leadership, safety and health, teamwork, profitability.

After a series of more than 50 workshops in several sections of the mine, ranging from underground teams, engineering, accounting, finance, maintenance, transport and general services, the set of values has undergone certain revisions and refinements, but has remained basically the same. Each of the values has been discussed extensively in terms of its satisfiers and has gained acceptance across the board by black and white employees, union representatives and management alike. An indication of the nature of this interaction was an interesting discussion of the value of ‘profitability’. It started out as ‘productivity’, predictably proposed by management. The resistance to this formulation from the side of employees was based on the argument that production without a clear indication of what role production plays within the total operation of the company, will only become a tool in the hands of management to manipulate the work force. After an intense discussion, ‘productivity’ was replaced by ‘profitability’ as the value. Employees accepted that the survival of the company and their own job security depended on the company staying profitable, but they wanted information on how production was used and managed in order to attain the goal of profitability. This was further enforced by ‘communication’ ‘trust and honesty’, values which again illustrated the interdependence of various values and their non-hierarchical relationship to each other.

The representative workplace forums that were established at the various shafts used the common values as basis for their planning and operations. They also became the framework to decide on future developments and for the solving of new problems (e.g. ‘queuing’, which led to work stoppages at other mines). Based on this experience, the concept of workplace forums later became incorporated into the new Labor Relations Act.

The process was subsequently applied in a wide variety of companies and organizations—noticeably in the field of agriculture and forestry, state and semi-state departments, institutions for higher education, community organizations and other institutions undergoing rapid social transformation. An important advantage is that the process makes possible the discovery of common basic values, despite deep cultural and other divisions. It then makes this commonality the basis to address the differences and divisions. The distinction between basic needs (values) and satisfiers has lifted the debate from a clash of basic values to a discussion of how a set of commonly supported values can best be implemented. Shifting the debate from whether one supports respect for human dignity to how the need for respect can best be satisfied, is a subtle, but most important change of perspective which immediately leads to a more constructive result. At the same time these basic values, often very generic and almost too general to have an impact, are re-defined and enriched by the variety of perspectives present in a diverse group.

What relevance does the process described above have for the basic problem stated in the first section? What can this secular intervention contribute towards understanding the role of religion in civil society?

There are important consequences for religion both in terms of process and of content. Public discourse (that is, the discourse of civil society) can only be effective if it is accessible – accessible in terms of participation and in terms of communicative potential. As indicated above, religion has made it difficult for itself by the way in which it has participated in this discourse. On the one hand, it has confused audiences. By speaking to the third public in terms of the second, religion has created obstacles that prevented its voice from being heard properly. On the other hand, the full spectrum of potential subjects who could contribute to this discourse has not been given the opportunity to do so. There is too much reliance on ‘religious bodies’. In practice, this usually means the official pronouncements of religious authorities. The ‘ordinary believer’ on the shop floor, the most obvious and most readily available subject for this kind of public discourse, very seldom is given the opportunity or encouragement to make a substantial input. Judging from the quality of inputs by ‘ordinary participants’ in the value process, this contribution promises to be substantial and far reaching.

In terms of content, the potential contribution is even greater. The values generated by the value process in the cases where it was applied, are in no ways in conflict with what religion could support. To the contrary – respect and human dignity, responsibility, participation, trust and honesty, equality and justice are all values that most religious traditions would enthusiastically endorse. In fact, religion could provide a much deeper basis and motivation for these values. But this is possible only if they are formulated and articulated in terms of the third public, or, to use Coleman’s formulation again, in terms of ‘everyday and tangibly accessible life’. The challenge is neither the process nor the content, but the willingness, the wisdom and the hermeneutical ability to participate creatively and constructively in this discourse.

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