Every Stone Shall Cry: Pale Native

I heard it again this past week. I still shake my head. There are still people saying: It wasn’t that bad. Those things didn’t happen. We had to do what we had to do. The education never would have worked together. Those killings were propaganda. I never saw an unhappy black person. 

Yes, some people still say and believe it. That is why we must read the records and learn from the journalists who did the hard investigation at the risk of their own lives. 

Du Preez’s Pale Native reads more like a high powered thriller than a journalist’s account of his life and mission. Self-described as: “a butt-kicking, hard-living, cynical, restless, maverick journalist”, Max was all these. Abrasive, tough, irritating, fearless, visceral and rough, he minced no words and took risks with grave consequences, but he never flinched in his role as “troublesome advocate of justice and fair play” (Sunday Independent).

With Max, the fight against apartheid was deeply personal. As an Afrikaner, and a member of the oppressive class, he keenly felt the injustice and his responsibility to speak out. Interwoven in the story are his reflections and feelings of guilt and shame of being part of the unfair side, though not by choice. For him the colors blend, the sides are not “right” and “wrong” and the stories have to be heard for the record to be set straight.

Why? In his chapter on Dirk Coetzee and Vlakplaas, du Preez explains why people go into denial: “because if what Dirk said was true, they were part of something very barbaric and unchristian.” Max willingly took on the dark, hidden, underside of the apartheid apparatus because there were few willing to pay the price. That price was high in his personal life, his professional career, and financial affairs. 

Du Preez published the Vrye Weekblad, the only Afrikaans anti-apartheid journal, until he was bankrupted by a corrupt libel case. The journal featured the horrors of the Special Forces and how high the corruption went in the government. 

The most difficult chapter for Max to write was “Let the Truth be Known” about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. He followed the TRC for SABC and deeply believed in the process. He recognized that the nature of this commission forced white South Africans “to take the tales of horror from the past more seriously.” His expectations of the TRC included peace for his country and a personal peace as well. Undoubtedly he longed for justification of his activist life marginalized by this battle against apartheid.

He was deeply grieved when de Klerk’s opportunity came and he absolutely denied the atrocities and any knowledge of the workings of his underlings. Desmond Tutu, the chairperson, asked how de Klerk could not know when Tutu himself had personally informed de Klerk about the killings. Du Preez summed it up: “FW de Klerk wasted the most important moment a white South African leader will ever have to speak honestly to the black majority and ask them for forgiveness and full acceptance. It could have made  such a huge difference. That moment will never come again.”

Despite that overwhelming sense of opportunity lost, Max remains hopeful for his country. He belongs to a heroic breed of reporter willing to take on a corrupt establishment. Nelson Mandela recognized his lonely role while other media groups and foreign correspondents chose safer, less volatile approaches. The abrasive exterior which enabled Max du Preez able to survive in such a tumultuous climate has made his settling into the new South Africa more complicated. We must still read the history with which he has enriched his new country.

Every Stone Shall Cry: How Can Man Die Better

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds?

Lines from Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome, Horatius, capture the spirit Benjamin Pogrund wished to convey in this masterpiece bringing together the life and struggle of Robert Sobukwe caught in the vagaries of apartheid but with an iron will to insist on man’s humanity to man: ubuntu.

As I came away from this unique biography, which reads somewhat like a diary between friends as close as brothers, I thought that the answer about dying was less significant as it became clear that Sobukwe had lived better for facing fearful odds. His story is a triumph of personal perseverance in the face of persecution, injustice and bigotry; the overwhelming impression one receives from Pogrund’s description is that Sobukwe was a man of intense grace.

The friendship between “Benjie and Bob” (Pogrund and Sobukwe) unfolds after the initial introductory chapters which feature Sobukwe’s family and education at Fort Hare, which also produced leaders such as Seretse Khama, Robert Mugabe, Oliver Tambo, and Nelson Mandela. The type of life these men endured was described by Motlana, one of Sobukwe’s followers at Ft Hare:

“We lived a life of subservience, obsequiousness, fear, of obeisance to the white man in a way that nobody can really understand. When you saw a white man you saw God Almighty and you had to get out of his way . . .”

The backdrop of this biography is apartheid. While not taking over the story, apartheid becomes the totalitarian manipulator. The weakness of totalitarianism is that it cannot touch the human heart, unless that heart allows it. Sobukwe did not allow it. His choices: to get arrested for not carrying his pass, to be imprisoned and not accept fines, to forgive no matter what was heaped on him, were his own. He was able to live better, facing fearful odds because he knew who he was and what he believed. 

Benjamin Pogrund was an anti-apartheid journalist who ran afoul of the Nationalist Party himself, but he focuses the story on Sobukwe’s decisions which led to him being recognized as a dangerous leader.  He was the man who showed bigotry to be blind. By living the Truth in broad daylight, it became invisible and his captors singled him out for the two precise elements he would never be guilty of: communism and violence.

Sobukwe was feared by the apartheid regime to such an extent that he was sent to Robben Island and kept in solitary confinement for an undetermined length of time. He had not broken a law, but was deemed dangerous; a special clause, the Sobukwe Clause, was written into law allowing the government to extend his incarceration year by year simply because to give him his freedom would be too dangerous. He lived on the island in a house separate from the other prisoners, surrounded by a wire fence, with armed guards who were not supposed to talk to him. No one else was ever punished by that clause.

The entire mid-section of the book deals with the indignities and complications Sobukwe endured for six years while imprisoned on Robben Island. He was not a “regular” prisoner because he had not broken a law worthy of such sentencing, so the treatment of him was “relaxed”: he was allowed to wear clothing sent to him, study for his degree and receive books, he even had a record player and a heater! But the solitary nature of his punishment took its toll on his mental health. When it became evident that he was unstable, he was removed from the island and put under house arrest in Kimberly, banishment to a township where he did not speak the tribal language.

The island experience was where Sobukwe lost his faith. He said he never lost his faith in God, but the church and the humans who ran the church--he no longer had time for. Pogrund speculates that this could have been exacerbated by the bigoted ministers who came to “minister” to him. However, when he was released, he did resume corporate worship--the extent to which his “faith was restored” is not clear, but he never wavered in his confidence in God and God’s purposes.

A deep thinker, the father of African Nationalism, the one who inspired Steve Biko’s Black Consciousness movement, Sobukwe succinctly expressed himself:

On education: “Education to us means service to Africa. You have a mission; we all have a mission. A nation to build we have, a God to glorify, a contribution clear to make towards the blessing of mankind.”

On race: “There is only one race to which we all belong and that is the Human Race. In our vocabulary, therefore, the word race, as applied to man, has no plural form.”

On leadership: “We must be the embodiment of our people’s aspirations. And all we are required to do is show the light and the masses will find the way.”

Pogrund’s research blends in many details of the apartheid system while telling the story of his friend Bob. We are faced with incomprehensible facts: that black people were denied the vote but required to pay a head tax or be jailed; during the decade of the 60s, the law to define a white person was amended at least five times. And in order to pass history exams, black students had to refer to their people as “kaffirs”.

The dismal chapter covering Sobukwe’s funeral revealed in depth the importance of this man whose name is scarcely known while Mandela and Tambo are household words. His significance as a Son of Africa and Father of the Nation was blatantly apparent. Sadly, this led to his funeral becoming a battleground for warring factions with political agendas. The man who was described as “remarkably gentle. Not that he was weak. He was gentle with a strength that was very humbling.” (Alex Boraine)--had a funeral hijacked by an agenda counter to the ideals he lived by.

Sobukwe was a significant player in the demise of apartheid although he spent most of his mature life in prison or banished. His humility, deep love for his people, quiet nature and serious demeanour made it difficult for people to describe him. As one simple township person observed when asked about Sobukwe:

“When a person becomes an eagle, it is difficult to talk about him.”

For that very reason, we are indebted to Pogrund for writing this book, sharing the man who was Bob Sobukwe. 

Every Stone Shall Cry: To Kill a Mockingbird & 12 Years a Slave

(In a parallel track to the South African authors we have been looking that, this post reflects on two North American works wrestling with the ugly bigotry triggered by the color of skin.)

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” (Scout Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird)

Last week I had the experience of considering two more viewpoints in the significant issue of how we perceive and judge according to color. I saw a live stage play of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and the movie “12 Years a Slave” almost back-to-back. It was intense: two, powerful first-person stories that unwrap the bandages and show the wounds resulting when we humans descend to discriminating against one other on the basis of skin color. The juxtaposition alarmed me: the simplicity with which both persons saw through the false pretense was painfully obvious. Yet a brutal system persisted because so many “good” people did nothing.

The story tellers in these works are without guile: a white child growing up in the deep South and a free black man from Saratoga, New York, kidnapped and sold in the South. Their stories play out as encounter person after person unable to accept Truth plainly told, preferring to weave explanations and excuses. 

Scout Finch is only ten years old, but her common sense and integrity (being raised by a lawyer with true love of Justice and fellow man) cannot fathom the attitude of Macomb County which legally murders an innocent black man because his accuser is a white woman. Scout watches her father, Atticus, stand alone in the gap of understanding between the colors. The one “good person” who did something, his efforts could not hold back the ignorance and malice of the mob. He is a picture of grace, as he answers Scout’s objections against the white people: he tries to explain their stunted world view. While clinging to justice, he still reaches out in hope to the minds that have twisted it.

Solomon Northrup is the teller of “12 Years a Slave”: a true story about a talented violinist shanghaied while on a trip to Washington, D.C. His brutal treatment at the hands of slavers graphically portrays the dehumanizing process which made people tractable and “useful” slaves. One is immediately reminded of Nelson Mandela’s observation that this type of treatment is as dehumanizing to the perpetrators as the victims, and it is only too evident as the story emerges.

The major factor which keeps Solomon enslaved for so long is fear. When Solomon tries to tell people he is free, he is savaged, and the scars from that beating will give testimony to his status as a slave. After that, when he encounters someone he hopes might be able to help, fear is still the issue. He is afraid to tell people he is free. They are afraid to hear it. They are afraid to do anything about it. No wonder, then, it takes twelve years for someone with the fortitude finally appears. Even that man admits his fears for his own safety, should he do Solomon the favor, but his character is up to the challenge. 

Fear is the thing that keeps many of us from stepping beyond the borders of our lives to make a difference. I kept asking myself as I watched theseheart-wrenching stories: what would I have done? and: what is the injustice going on around me that I am doing nothing about?

When Scout wonders why her father, who is a crack-shot with a rifle, doesn’t use a gun to get his point across or defend his position, he wisely tells her: 

“Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It's knowing you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”

Atticus knew he could not win against the public tide. But he would not be swept along with it. 

Solomon’s courage is remarkable as his story descends into hopelessness. He fights the temptation to give up, despite failed attempts to communicate with his family and the system designed to prevent slaves from escape. The builder who finally carried the letter for Solomon that led to his release did succeed. His risk resulted in Solomon’s rescue. But that freedom was tainted by the backdrop of the slaves left behind, still victims of an oppressive system allowing people to treat others as property. 

These are stories that we ignore or sideline to our peril. As the human race goes forward in progress, we tend to regress in humanity. Neither of these stories verbalizes the answer, but it is pointed to in every particular: we are people imprinted with an image we have flawed. 

Our work, the work of courage, is to reconcile people to ourselves, one another, and the Maker of our image.

Reunion Reflections

Twenty-three years ago I left Swaziland with a burning desire to return. I had spent four years there teaching right out of college, and had done most of my growing up in that tiny peaceful kingdom. God, in His wisdom, put me among the people most qualified to help me learn about myself and His world view. I felt like I had found home.

Nowadays we missionary kids are called TCKs (third culture kids) and have a greater understanding of the nuances of growing up in a culture other than one's "home" culture. I attended college before TCK was even a term and before anyone was writing books or doing research. I knew deep down that I was different, a bit odd, and basically I could get on with life or not. I chose to get on, but God chose Swaziland.

       Here I am with three of my former students: Hottie, Lynne and Enola.

Most of the issues surrounding the oddness and differentness of TCKs center on this concept of "home." The question we don't know how to answer (because the answer depends on who asked the question) is: where are you from? or: where do you call home?

While I lived with my parents, wherever they were was home. After that, home was a nebulous thing that I didn't have. But in Swaziland I found a sense of home that went deep because I was enmeshed in a culture with my own boundary issues. Both this and that, but neither one. I did not feel Korean, though I grew up there, nor American, which my passport assured me I was. It was that third culture thing.

I taught in Florence Christian Academy which had the distinction of being a school primarily for coloured children. This did not mean "children of colour" but children of a blending of colours--black, white, brown, and ethnicities mingling, too. Swaziland was a type of haven because outside her borders, South Africa ruled with an intense opposition to that mingling, called apartheid. In fact, such an existence was "illegal" as different colours of people were not allowed to marry and have children.

So I began to understand myself as I got to know the delightful people who lived with the constant pressure of not being one or the other, but both and neither--when either side decided not to own them. Of course there were many more issues that my friends had to deal with: the pressures of competition for education, unequal treatment on either side of the border, and even the variations of skin tone within a family. But I found people who accepted me just because I came. They taught me so much about what it means to accept, what reconciliation does and does not look like: and what faith can do in the face of such a harsh world.

I made many mistakes, but was able to learn thanks to grace extended. I also saw what happens in lives that don't have the fortifications of faith, lives wasted and broken on the rack of what others thought. In those four years I went to eleven funerals and only two were older adults. It sobered me. I started to genuinely grow up. But oh, the fun I had in the process, being around so many others who felt, like I did: not a land creature, not a sea creature--not one or the other. But in fellowship, I found community. It was pretty close to "home", probably as close as I'll get in this life.

Who are you? Five Theories about Internet Quizzes.

I was going to title this: “Why don’t we know who we are?” because of the proliferation of quizzes going around on the internet aimed at resolving this perplexing issue:

What character from Lord of the Rings are you?

What character from Downton Abby are you?

What Disney princess are you?

What color are you?

What bird are you?

What animal are you?

What superhero are you?

But I am more interested in a different question: Why do we take these tests? Do we really have so little awareness of ourselves that we need a stranger and a quiz to tell us we are Frodo or Dumbledore or Iron Man or Pocahontas or Snape or purple or an eagle? And face it. sometimes we end up being someone we don’t want to be--so we take it again and tweak a few of the answers that we were ambivalent about. Because we wanted to be Samwise or Voldemort.

Why are we thus engaged? I have some theories.

1. We are in need of entertainment and these somehow qualify as “fun” in our time-space continuum.

If this is the case, I suggest we get a life and BE who we want to be, rather than take a quiz to tell us we are the ringbearer to Mount Doom or the Dowager Countess.

2. We are avoiding doing something important or something we need to so.

In which case, we are taking procrastination to new levels. I recommend we stop taking quizzes and DO the hard thing.

3. We truly don’t know who we are.

And sadly, we think that a ten question internet quiz will shed some light on that? If this is the case, we are more deluded than we know--and internet quizzes will be a panacea even though they won’t answer our question. Quiz on, my friend, quiz on.

4. We hope we are like someone we admire.

Truth be told, we are all aware of how transparent the questions are and where they will lead. So anyone with a modicum of insight can skew the results to make it come out to be whom he or she admires without being in the slightest like that person. (With the possible exception of a colour--haven’t quite figured out how that one works.)

5. We need affirmation.

This, I suspect is the secret underlying cause for the proliferation of internet quizzes which portend to deal with our deep, subterranean identities. Truly we are wading in the shallows if we want to be affirmed by an impersonal multiple choice task that supposedly interprets our clicked preference into the deeper realities of our persona. And then, whoever we turn out to be--the “you are so and so” description will airbrush the character into someone of interest, superlative positive attributes, and tingly sounding affirmatives (even if we turn out to be Loki). But, I have noticed, the character is rarely a person of character; rarely one who makes choices based on honor or integrity. 

So: do we stop taking these quizzes? I don’t know. Are we characters or do we have character?

Every Stone Shall Cry: A Beautiful Place to Die

As a break from classic “apartheid genre” books, today’s choice is A Beautiful Place to Die (2012) by Malla Nunn. Nunn has written a tight, contemporary murder mystery set in the early days of apartheid (1952) and blends a strident female voice with her message. Anyone enjoying mysteries will find this one no disappointment. Nunn’s plot twists and keeps her readers guessing while interweaving historical fact and myriad complications of apartheid.

Detective Emmanuel Cooper is sent to solve the bizarre murder of an Afrikaans policeman, apparently loved by all, in the small town of Jacob’s Rest. His English background conflicts with the Security Branch (the government’s seamy underbelly) set on finding a subversive black communist behind every violent attack. The juxtaposition of colour and ethnic interests is compounded by a curious Jewish couple who figure prominently, giving more insight into the philosophy of the architecture of apartheid.

Malla Nunn grew up in Swaziland with the perspective of a person of colour looking across the border into a nightmare of legalized bigotry. Her story rings true, sounding legitimacy in the voices and choices of her characters. She has powerful connection with her female characters: Afrikaans, Jew, and coloured while her male characters tend to be more stereotypical. Mysteries are not as much about character as plot, so her strength in defining women reflects her contemporary sensitivity to the role of women not often found in male mystery writers.

As I read the writers of Subsaharan Africa, there appears a continuum with poets at one end and potboilers at the other. Alan Paton comes to mind as a powerfully poetic voice, while Wilbur Smith is at the other extreme. Paton is to be read and reread, his words savoured and his message taken to heart. Closer to Wilbur Smith,  Nunn’s title is the most poetic part of her work. From start to finish the words pull the reader along, almost breathlessly, with little pause for reflection. If action is your choice, with history as the backdrop, you will learn more than you’ll be comfortable with in Nunn’s description of murder under apartheid.

Every Stone Shall Cry: Country of My Skull

". . . there is a need for understanding but not for vengeance, a need for reparation but not for retaliation, a need for ubuntu (the African philosophy of humanism) but not for victimization."

so writes Antjie Krog in her introduction to Country of My Skull.

“Trying to understand the new South Africa without the Truth and Reconciliation Commission would be futile; trying to understand the commission without this book would be irresponsible.” (Andre Brink)

How did South Africa not descend into a bloodbath upon her emergence into democracy? What made her transition from a totalitarian police state to one-man-one-vote so different than say, Rwanda, Sudan, Yugoslavia or Congo? How were the victims of oppression deterred from vengeance?

Nelson Mandela’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission is largely responsible for the level of healing and restoration that is evident in SA today. With Desmond Tutu incorporating the spiritual element in resolving conflicts, the TRC had potential for healing broken spirits. Forgiveness and release of bitterness were hallmarks of the TRC as recorded by Krog.

The three year long TRC was not a “quick fix” and made no claims to solving problems. It was designed as a platform for stories to be told and the victims to meet their torturers on equal footing. Antjie Krog was South African Broadcasting Company’s (radio) representative on this sojourn which crisscrossed the country and listened to thousands of heart-breaking stories. It included her own mental breakdown.

Country of My Skull is her personal record of that journey, including many stories that shock and repulse. Her poetic voice (she has published eight volumes of poetry) speaks eloquently of the emotions on both sides of the apartheid regime. Her attempts to clearly present the voices of all speakers, although throughout her life her writing was against the official position, are strong and clear. She describes vividly the courtroom scenes and the haunted faces.

The subtitle for Country of My Skull is “Guilt, Sorrow, and the Limits of Forgiveness in the New South Africa.” With so much vested in the success of the TRC, Krog honestly looks at how effective a process was which offered amnesty to any for simply “telling the truth.” Her epilogue balances the searing impossibility of the task with the manifest results. No bloodbath. She acknowledges Mandela’s personal integrity and character when he accepted the TRC’s report despite the discontent of his party, the ANC.

The TRC was a very significant milestone in the continental story of Africa. It needs to  be heard. Journalists are rarely poets, so accounts of these milestones are often lengthy and boring. But Krog brings her poet voice to the task and a beautiful experience awaits the reader. As Nadine Gordimer asserts: Krog the poet was not afraid to go too far.