Remembering Kenneth Good
My good friend, Ken Good, passed away yesterday, 2 October 2020 at the ripe old age of 87. He had a long career as a Professor of Political Science, teaching in a wide variety of settings. We spent 7 years together at the University of Botswana. He was the author of many articles and books with a consistent focus on democracy, development, and social justice. He is perhaps most well-known for his book Diamonds, Dispossession and Democracy in Botswana
I first met Ken Good at Rhodes University in South Africa. It was 1994 and he was spending the day with us in the Politics and International Studies Unit, then directed by Roger Southall. He delivered a paper, the topic of which has long been forgotten. But not the man. When we next met, it was 1996, this time in Gaborone, Botswana, where he was a Professor in the Department of Political and Administrative Studies. This time, the shoe was on the other foot, as I was giving a paper about prospects for democracy in Nigeria. At the time, I was working in Ijebu-Ode, Nigeria for Adebabyo Adedeji at his African Centre for Development and Strategic Studies (ACDESS). Ken’s primary area of interest is democracy in theory and practice. He helped organize the event and the large room was packed to the rafters. The temperature was also up — this was February, mid-summer in the sub-continent — and so was Ken’s tail. He loved nothing more than a frank discussion about prospects for democracy anywhere. I spent the night at his home, met his young daughter Clara, and we drank Irish whisky and talked politics long into the night. Later on that year, when I left Nigeria, it was to take up a job at UB, largely because of the prospect of working alongside Ken Good.
I consider Ken to be a friend, mentor, and inspiration and will remain so in death as he was in life. When he was unceremoniously kicked out of Botswana, I had moved on to the Okavango Research Institute in Maun, so didn’t have regular contact with him or any of my colleagues in the department. Nevertheless, several students approached me regarding their plans to organize protests in support of him and I offered them what I hope was ‘wise counsel’. T-shirts were printed up and marches were organized, but as is not untypical of the Botswana government, their minds were made up and he was deported once and for all. That was 15 years ago, so the memory fades and plays tricks.
I think of him often and use several of his publications in my graduate seminar at the University of Waterloo. We had one abiding argument between ourselves. For Ken, ‘critique is its own justification’. I am quoting him directly. Tell truth to power and let the cards fall as they may. He was very good at drawing lines in the sand, lines he would never cross. In contrast, my argument was that having laid out the critique, what is your advice for action? Critique was not enough. There must be a plan to move forward — and by forward I mean in a progressive direction, a direction that improves outcomes for all affected stakeholders, no matter how difficult or divisive the issue. A revolutionary at heart, Ken had little faith in reform. You had to choose a side and fight for what you believed is right. In his case, he only ever and always stood on the side of the oppressed, the marginalized, the dispossessed. He had an obsession with the Spanish Civil War and what might have been. I believe that in his teaching he tried to prefigure preferable futures and encourage the students to move beyond received wisdoms and dominant discourses, be they national or global. Don’t buy their bullshit, as he might say.
When I think of him, what first comes to mind is his serious nature. As the saying goes, he did not suffer fools lightly — or at all for that matter. Not that he wasn’t fun. Fun for Ken was a good argument about serious things — generally accompanied by good food and good drink. He loved intimate dinners. When the party got beyond 4 or 5, he tended to shrink away as the face-to-face element was generally lost in a more boisterous atmosphere. He loved to read and his house in Gaborone appeared to rest on a foundation of books. He was always pressing upon you a new book that he found of particular value. He loved nothing more than to have you come by his office and sit for an hour to discuss important matters of the day. And he always put the news of the day into a theoretical framework, filtering it through his political philosophy. Everything had its place. There were lessons to be learned everywhere and always.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a curmudgeon is ‘a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man’. No doubt, some people feel that this was an accurate description of Ken. From my point of view, when he was like this — as he often was — it was generally for good reason. He had time for neither frippery nor frivolity. Surrounded by the shallowness of consumerism that had engulfed post-1994 Southern Africa, he railed against pointless distractions. I have fond memories of him unceremoniously walking out of dinner parties that he felt were a waste of his time. With a wave of his hand, he would rise and bid us good night. You could only shake your head and respect him for his unwavering convictions. Being a man of principle only too happy to call you out as warranted, was bound to make him an enemy or two here and there. It got him thrown out of Botswana. How many people have the courage to say what they believe despite the likely consequences? As I said, he gained and deserved our respect.
He dubbed me a ‘Canadian lumberjack’ and said that I was ‘more larrikin than Larry’ — a larrikin being ‘a mischievous young person, an uncultivated, rowdy but good hearted person’, which I took as a complement and an indicator of his equally mischievous and good hearted nature. Under that gruff exterior was a big-hearted man. He had wonderful nicknames for all the rogues that ruled the region. Calling Mangosuthu Buthelezi, ‘Brutalezi’ for example. The toilet at his house in Gabs was adorned with newspaper clippings and photos pasted to the wall — a veritable look inside the head (and heart) of Ken Good. And when I imagine his head and heart, I see quite clearly that Kenneth Good was indeed very good. I will miss him very much. He will never be forgotten.
Larry Swatuk, Doctors Brook, Nova Scotia, 3 November 2020
