THE RADICAL REVIEWVOLUME FOUR NUMBER THREE

15c/1s. 6d~ May 1965

Universilies

"Those whose hands are stained

with the blood of John Harris

have unfortunately not learned

the lesson of John Brown."

-H.E. M.ACHKAR MAROF

"This is Xanadu whileout on the plain ..."DONALD STUART on Makerere

;Inlll:lr~ • ~

Soulh AfricanExeculions

PROTEST SONGS

I I

Banluslans"Whatare theyhidingbehindtheirbacks?"- s. L. S I DZ U M 0

50 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

The Hostage

Contents51 IN A GUILTY LAND: Statement by M. Marof

52 JOHN HARRIS-AN OBITUARY PROFILE

j4 SONGS OF WAR: Nhlabeleli

56 KWA-NAMAKUNDE: Chawan4a. Kutse

60 SEPARATE DEVELOPMENT-THE RECEIVING END:

S. L. Sidzumo

62 COLOURED sON-I: Johan de Lange

64 THE PARTY: Carl Mafoko

67 BECHUANALAND - COVETED LIABILITY: Patrick

van Rensburg

69 AFRICA AND MARXlSM-3: Martin Legassick

50 Leader; 57 Cartoon; 66 Two Poems by Perseus

Adams; 68 Comment by D. E. Steward; 70, 71, 72

Reviews by Lewis Nkosi, T. N. W. Bush and

Donald Stuart

Subscription ratesWorld Surface Mail: I year R2 - £1 - $2.80;6 months RI - 10s. $1.40; Renewal: I yearRI.SO - 18s. - $2.~.

Student. in Southern Africa: I year RI.~ _I'•.; Airmail: I year U.S.A. $6 - S.A. R4.

THE NEW AFRICAN12A GOODWINS COURTOFF ST MARTINS LANELONDON wc2 ENGLAND

THE RHODESIAN FRONT'S THREATS that economic destruction of Rhodesiaby Commonwealth sanctions would also mean the total economic destructionof Zambia have been hurled back at them by President Kaunda. He has toldthe Zambian people: .. It is the duty of every Zambian to stand up againstsuch forces and fight':

His role is that of the hostage who has to choose between making adesperate attack on his captor and being shot in the back.

Coal, power and transport make landlocked Zambia Rhodesia's prisoner,a position which Zambia has long tried to change with the help of herfriends.

Two-thirds of these ties could have been cut if the World Bank had notstalled last year on finding the £50 millions needed to link Zambia withTanzania by rail. This would have enab\ed Zambia's 600,000 tons of copperannually to have found an outlet other than through colonial Rhodesia andMozambique. It would also have made possible the development of T anzanialflarge coal deposits in the Galula and Ruhuhu areas on the eastern shores ofLake Malawi, helping to replace the 1.1 million tons of Wankie coal Zambiatakes annually from Rhodesia.

Even before the Rhodesia Front's election-time threats the need for aTanzanian rail link was pressing. Rhodesia was already asking Zambia torenegotiate the Rhodesian Railways Agreement of 1964, we learn fromSalisbury. At that time the request seemed less like a bargaining counterthan evidence of Rhodesia's purpose to free herself of the restriction on newlines and on the requirement to carry Zambia's copper to Beira. Mr. Smith'spost-election talk of speeding up negotiations for independence has been lessbelligerent than before, but his election triumph has increased the likelihoodthat he will threaten his Zambian hostage.

IT HAS GENERALLY BEEN FELT that the World Bank's report last year wascompletely inadequate for the purpose of raising finance for the rail link,and the governments of Zambia and Tanzania have very recently set up anintergovernmental committee charged with the task of commissioning.a further combined economic and engineering study. The crucial question is,of course, who is to pay the £50 millions.

During his recent visit to Peking, President Nyerere perhaps as a result ofpressure at home, asked the Chinese if they were interested in bUilding therailway. When they surprisingly replied that they were, Zambian reactionwas decidedly negative. Foreign Minister Simon Kapwepwe flew toDar es Salaam to say that Zambia was most opposed to this.

Yet such help must be found, the cost being too great a burden forTanzania and Zambia if the finance is to be found in commercial circles.

Zambia and Tanzania would obviously want an international consortiumto come forward with a suitable offer of aid and soft loans. If the nations whocould support such a project do not do so, and such a consortium does notappear, how will the rail link be built?

Even without UDI Rhodesia may continue to press for renegotiation of theRail Agreement though to cancel it would be to act illegally since such anissue would affect Rhodesia's foreign policy which is still, technicallyspeaking, controlled by Britain.

With UDI the link will become as vital to Zambia as the air lift was toWest Berlin. Failure to provide it might destroy Zambia as effectivelyas it would destroy the remains of her Western friends' credit among theunaligned nations of the world. But perhaps Zambia might yet be saved ifthe rail link is financed from elsewhere.

At worst Zambian reaction to what President Kuanda has already calledRhodesia's threat of "wanton aggression" could bring a step nearer the racewar for which much of Western policy seems to be preparing central andsouthern Africa.

InAGuilt~Lan(l

Statement by HE. M. Achkar Marof(Guinea), Chairman of the UnitedNations Special Committee on thePolicies of Apartheid of the Govern­mellt of the Republic of South Africaat the 57th meetin/J on 7th April 1965,on executions in South Africa.

TUDAY WE MOURN THE EXECUTION bythe authorities of Pretoria of two SouthAfricans for acts or alleged acts arisingfrom their opposition to the inhumanpolicies of apartheid.

As the Acting Chairman informedthe Committee at the last meeting, wehave received information that Mr.Washington Bongco was secretly exe·cuted early in February without anynews in the South African press.

Mr. Washington Bongw, a news­paper vendor, was found "guilty" ofbeing a member of the regional com­mittee of the African National Congressin East London. of being the volunteer­in-chief of the regional committee, otsoliciting funds for the organisation ..and of engaging in acts of sabotage.

Sentencing him to death on March23rd, 1964, in Queenstown, Mr. JusticeCloete denounced this "dreadful or­ganisation" to which Mr. Bongco be­longed. (Cape Times,' March 24th1964.)

He was refused leave to appeal andhad been in the death cell at PretoriaCentral Jail since July 1964.

Mr. Bongco, it may be noted, wasarrested as early as February 1963 andbrutally beat~n We have received acopy at a statement made by him inthe death cell on July 15th, 1964. Iwill not read to you the story of thebrutality inflicted on him by the police,although they fully knew that he wasa T.B. patient. He had to stay inhospital for more than three weeks asa result of the assaults. He wascharged with nothing more than thetrumped -up charge that he was illegallyin East London.

He was detained under the 90-da)law in July 1963 and charged muchlater with sabotage when he insisted on

suing the police for assault charges.Even after the death sentence, he was

told by the police on April 27th, 1964,that his life would be spared if he gaveevidence against other Africans. Herefused.

IN MOURNING THE DEATH of Mr. Wash­ington Bongco, the courageous patriotof South Africa, I would like to saythat in the opinion of decent humanity,the "dreadful organisation" in SouthAfrica is not the African NationalCongress, led by such outstanding menas Chief Luthuli, Nelson Mandela,WaIter Sisulu and Oliver Tambo, whichhas patiently sought a peaceful solutionfor half a century in the face of utmostbrutality and provocation. The mostdreadful organisation in South Africais the racist regime of the Whiteminority which stands condemnedtoday of wanton murder of patriotswho struggle for a new South Africabased on the principles of the UnitedNations Charter.

As we mourn the death of Mr.Washington Bongco let us rememberalso the three patriots from PortElizabeth executed on November 6th,I964-Mr. Vuyisile Mini, Mr. WilsonKhayinga and Mr. Zinakile Mkaba.

Let us remember also the numerousmembers of the Pan -Africanist Con­gress who have been executed since thebeginning of 1963. We have recentlyreceived an incomplete list of 47 of thepersons executed and I read theirnames:

FROM PAARLFezile Felix Jaxa, Lennox Madikane,

Mxolisi Damane, Jonathan Sogwagwa,Johannes Notyawe, Fanele Matikinca,Thembekile Titus Nyovu.

FROM BASHEEPatsolo Xhego, Mtalatala Xhego,

Thembeni Swelindawo, BawukaziMgqikani, Light Mgqikani, Beka­pantzi Vulindlela, Bennett Mpetu,Sadunge Vulindlela, WeduweduNokuhla, Nqaba Memani, SiheleguVulindlela, Siwani Mlahleki, ManiniMzanywa, Lusi Mthembekwana,

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 51

Mkwenkwe Gaqa, Poli Mili, BonaseVulindlela, Mbaco Xhego, Nto Nkani,Ntsokolo Mhlabeni, Tuse Mzanywa,Tswepo Monyukela, Maliza Vulindlela.

FROM KRUGERSDORPRichard Matsaphae, Josiah Mocumi,

Thomas Molatlhegi, Petros Mtshobe.

FROM QUEENSTOWNMtutu Apleni, Nothimba Mbozwana,

Bonakele Ngcongolo.

FROM COFIMVABAKatsekile Philaphi, Siqwayi Mhlaba,

Ngalo, Mbizo.

J-RUM UMTATA

Galeni, and five others.The South African press thinks so

little of the lives of Africans that theydo not even announce or report theexecutions.

TODAY WE MOURN ALSO THE DEATH ofMr. Frederick John Harris. 27-year-oldformer chairman of the SOllth AfricanNon-Racial Olympic Committee, whichopposed segregation in sports anda d v 0 cat e d exclusion of segr~gated

South African teams from theOlympics.

Mr. Harris, a teacher and a memberof the Liberal Party since 1960, is oneof those few courageous White men inSouth Africa who believed passionatelyin racial equality, identified himselfwith the oppressed people and sufferedpersecution. His passport was seizedin 1963. He was served with banningorders in February 1964 preventing himfrom continuing his work with theLiberal Party and the Non-RacialOlympic Committee.

Like many others, he became con­vinced that there .was no way left toinfluence the situation except by clan­destine activity. When most of hiscolleagues in the underground organisa­tion, the African Resistance Movement,were jailed or fled the country, he triedto plan a spectacular demonstration.He placed a bomb in the Johannesburgstation and telephoned the police sothat the area would be cleared. Thepolice did not act promptly and anelderly lady lost her life as a result ofthe explosion.

Under the prevailing circumstancesin South Africa, the means of struggleare for the Liberation Movement todecide in the light of the conditions inthe country.

The responsibility for the conse­quences lies very much on the rulersof Pretoria who, in defiance of theworld and all sense of decency, createda situation which left no other alter­native to decent people than to engagein violence.

IN MOURNING THE EXECUTION of Mr.Frederick John Harris, let me say thatit will not be forgotten that in the

52 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

struggle of the South African peoplethis man, a member of the privilegedgroup. gave his life because of hispassionate belief in racial equality.This will serve to strengthen the faithof all those who fight against the dangetof a "race war" and retain their faiththat all human beings can live togetherin dignity irrespective of the colour oftheir skin.

I have, of course, known of Mr. JohnHarris and his activity in the movementagainst apartheid in sports for sometime.

Last July, a few days before hisarrest, the attention of the Sub-Com­mittee was drawn to a confidentialmessage from him on the question ofsports apartheid.

I have recently received a messagesent by him from his death cell inPretoria Central Prison in January. Hewrote:

"The support and warm sympathy offriends has been and is among my basicreinforcements. I daily appreciate theaccuracy of the observation that whenone really has to endure one reliesultimately on Reason and Courage. I'vebeen fortunate in that the first has stoodup-my ideals and beliefs have neverfaltered. As for the second, well, I'm notashamed-I know I've shown at least amodicum of the second."When I think of John Harris, the

first White martyr in the cause ofequality in South Africa, I am remindedpowerfully of a great White American,a man who gave his life over a centuryago-on December 2nd, 1859, to beexact-because of his passionate hatredof slavery: I mean John Brown.

People said then that John Brownwas eccentric, that he was unwise inattacking the arsenal at Harper's Ferry,Virginia, and that his act would onlystrengthen the slave lords.

History has made a very differentjudgment. Whether the particular actof John Brown was right or wrong,wise or unwise, his cause was right andinvincible.

Those whose hands are stained withthe blood of John Harris have, unfor­tunately, not learnt the lesson of JohnBrown.

On that fateful day of December 2nd,1859, as he left his cell to mount thescaffold, John Brown left his last mes­sage: "I, John Brown, am now quitecertain that the crimes of this guiltyland will never be purged away, butwith Blood."

Within two years, the nation wasembroiled in a civil war in which itpaid the price of half a million lives.The north resounded with the anthem:

John Brown's body lies a-moulderingin its grave,

But his soul goes marching on.I wonder if Dr. Verwoerd and his

cohorts and apologists are seeking arepetition of history. •

THE ANONYMOUS CONTRIBUTOR writesthat this obituary profile was com­piled from private and publishedsources, notably the interview withAnn Harris by Jill Chisholm, pub­lished in the Rand Daily Mail,Johannesburg, November 7th, 1964.

A THIRD-GENERATION SOUTH AFRICAN,Frederick John Harris was born in1937 and spent part of his childhoodon a farm at Eikenhof in the Transvaal.From earliest days his intellectualbrilliance was recognised in the familycircle. He became a radio "Quiz kid"and his relatives, several of whom wereteachers, used to say half -seriously ofhim that he would one day be PrimeMinister. From an early age his maindream was of himself as a statesmanin an ideal South Africa.

Many white South African schoolsare still places where brawn is moreadmired than brain; in Harris's school­days this was even more the case. Hewas not a happy schoolboy either athis primary school, where he was anEnglish-speaking boy among Afrikanerchildren, or at high school where hecould not match success at his workwith sporting prowess. He matricu­lated with distinction in 1954.

The tolerant, catholic atmosphere ofthe University of the Witwatersrandbrought John Harris out in a way thatschool had failed to do, and he was fortwo years a member of the Students'Representative Council. His life wasnot bound up with university affairs,however, and he kept up the familytradition of open-air life with hitch­hiking, camping and country excursionsin vacations. He had met Ann Pearsonwhen she was still at a Johannesburgconvent, and their boy-and-girl affairlasted through university and teacher­training. Against family opposition,Ann being a Roman Catholic and Johna free-thinker, they were married in aRoodepoort registry office in April1959, both having taken up teachingposts.

IN THEIR EARLY YEARS of marriage theHarrises saved hard and in 1960 wentto England, John entering PembrokeCollege, Oxford, and Ann teaching ata secondaJY modern school at Abing­don, near Oxford. When an unexpectedpregnancy forced them to the realisa­tion that their savings would not carryJohn through Oxford without Ann'searnings as a teacher, they decided to

John Harris

go back to South Africa.Ann Harris has said that "we could

have stayed in England but we just feltthat we wanted to be back in SouthAfrica. One of the things that decided

. us to come back was that John feltstrongly that he should take an activepart in things and help change things".She had known long before this of hiscommitment: "I think he felt," shesuggested, "that when we have a non­racial South Africa we would want tohave some share in building it."

They were returning to a SouthAfrica in which rapid change had forthe first time in their lives begun toseem more than a long -term hope. Thepost-Sharpeville State of Emergencyand "Africa Year" coincided in 1960.They had joined the multiracial LiberalParty before leaving; within a week ofbeing back in Johannesburg early in1961 John Harris had become activeand was· soon to be elected to theTransvaal provincial committee of theParty. He was a delegate to theNational Congress of the Liberal Partyin Durban the same year and impresseddelegates from other parts of thecountry by his clarity and conviction.In 1962 he became a member of theTransvaal executive and the NationalCommittee.

JOHN HARRIS HAD AtWAYS held strongviews on racial equality and socialjustice but had been in other ways aconservative. In his student days hehad .opposed the communist and left­wing socialist movement at the univer­sity. He had not held out much hopefor change in South Africa and hadconsidered emigrating to New Zealand.

In the exciting atmosphere of post­Sharpeville South Africa, he developeda new faith in South Africa's nonracialfuture, in the cause of universal suffrageand a South African welfare state.Ann Harris said in an interview whileJohn Hams's case was awaiting appeal:"His prime political interest at thistime was how to get rid of the Nats andhow to have a nonracial South Africa.He really believed that a nonracialSouth Africa was possible~very much

so. And he still does, 1 know." Shesaid that at this period the LiberalParty "became one of the most impor­tant things~if not the most importantthing~in our lives".

John Harris resumed the study ofpolitics at the same time that he tookup active political life. At Witwaters­rand University again, he read part­time for an honours degree in politics,Oxford having assured him that hewould be accepted for a B.Phil. if hetook such a degree. At the time of hisarre~t he had written the examinationand was busy with his thesis.

THIS WAS A TIME OF FEVERISH ACTIVITY,in his teaching work (in English andFrench at the new Hyde Park HighSchool, Johannesburg) and in politicaland student life. Ann Harris has saidof John: "He has always been veryserious about what he thought wereimportant things. John is always quitesure that he is right once he has thoughta thing out and taken a decision onit ... I don't think he is a perfectionistbut he decides on a few things that arereally important and he is very seriousabout these."

He took such a decision when heJoined the South African NonracialOlympic Committee in 1:962. Here wasa clear-cut short-term objective-toforce the South African Olympicsauthorities to bring about desegregationin South African sport or face expul­sion from the Games. This was moreimmediate and concrete than the long­term objectives of the Liberal Party,concerned very much at this time withdrafting blueprint policies for that non­racial South Africa which suddenlyseemed so much more remote than ithad done in 1960-61.

SANROC had been created by DennisSrutus, secretary of the South AfricanSports Association which had prac­tically alone fought against racialismin sport. Brutus had organised forSANROC the support of nonracial (i.e.90% nonwhite) sporting bodies with atotal membership over 45,000 strong.Harris shared Brutus's passionate be­lief that white South Africans would

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 153

be forced to oppose the AfrikanerNationalists' race policies when it wasfound that these were causing thecountry's expulsion from one inter­national sporting body after another.Ann Harris has said, "1 don't think heever doubted SANROC wQuld work. Inmimy ways John has always been anoptimist, especially about the future ofSouth Africa. I think he is stilloptimistic about this."

HIS OPTIMISM ABOUT SANROC'S immed­iate objectives was not misplaced, butits real purpose, to change whiteattitudes, he knew would be harder toachieve. He had quickly become avice-chairman and when Dennis Brotuswas banned from all meetings; allpo~itical and social activity and con­fined to central Johannesburg, Harristook over the leadership.

As chairman, wrote a colleague, "hewas indefatigable, inundating the Inter­national Olympics Committee withnewspaper cuttings, letters and memor­anda, proving racial discrimination bythe South African Olympic GamesAssociation. He travelled to Rome,Lausanne and London to campaign forSouth Africa's expulsion if she did notcomply with the Olympic principle ofracial equality". The same colleaguewrote of him as "the man principallyresponsible for the expulsion of theapartheid South African OlvmpicGames Association from the TokyoOlympics", a Success which the hard­headed, unsympathetic JohannesburgStar called "the only really effectiveboycott so far established against SouthAfrica in sport". He appeared on tele­vision in Britain in 1963, and in aFrench television film made in SouthAfrica, but never shown, due to SouthAfrican government pressure.

THE BANNED DENNIS BRUTUS had es­caped to Swaziland, but in an attemptto reach an all -important I.O.C. con­ference in Europe he travelled throughMozambique, where the Portugueseauthorities arrested him and handedhim over to the South AfriCan politicalpolice. John Hams, his wife recalls,

54 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

John Harris

continued

took a week off from the college wherehe was teaching and rushed aroundfrantcially, trying to establish what hadhappened to Dennis and at the sametime to make arrangements for SANROC

to be represented at the vital Baden­Baden meeting. He himself was pre­vented from boarding an aircraft atDurban ten minutes before departure,when his passport was removed byPolitical Police. This was in Septem­ber 1963. From then on, blows fellheavily; the shooting of Dennis Brutusas he tried to escape from custody inJohannesburg; his own bannning orderthe following February; personal at­tacks on him, in public when he losthis teaching post and an Afrikanernationalist newspaper tried to have himlegally prevented from teaching whenhe joined the staff of a commercialcollege, and in secret, when he w~s

subjected to anonymous telephonethreats and eventually when shots werefired at his house. One shattered thelounge window when John and AnnHarris were sitting a few feet away inthe dining room.

THE BANNING ORDER had perhaps themost serious effect. It was served onhim on the eve of an important con­ference he had organised to discussnonracial sport. He was compelled toresign from SANROC and the LiberalParty and to cease any work connectedwith them, was banned from all socialand political gatherings and confined tothe magisterial district of Roodepoort,with special permission to visit Johan­nesburg to attend his job. He had toreport to the Roodepoort police stationevery Monday.

With Dennis Brutus a politicalprisoner on Robben Island, LiberalParty colleagues being banned oneafter another, all legal activity a thingof the past for the banned Africancongresses, among whose members hehad many friends, overt political actionhad come to an end for John Harris.His Liberal Party and SANROC col­league, Dr. Robin Farquharson, recall­ing John Harris's "acute and questingmind, his openness, his wide nonra~ial

friendships, and most of all his pas­sionate dedication", described how"denied the chance to continue anvform of open activity against racialism,he turned to underground work for theresistance movement, with the resultsnow known".

Ann Harris noticed that "he seemedto think the position in South Africawas worsening rapidly. Sometimes hewould feel very depressed about this.He always spoke of two things whenhe felt like this-the terrible malnutri­tion and the thousands of people whowere in gaol for offences like the passlaws. Not about big things, but aboutthe everyday lives that Africans werehaving to lead".

His wanderlust, which his love ofthe varied, sweeping South Africancountryside fed on, was curbed by theban, as was his sociable nature. Hemixed easily with people. Ann Harrisdescribed him as "the sort of personwho makes friends on trains", andremembered occasions in particularwhen he had made casual friendshipswith Afrikaners, with whom, she found,he got on particularly well. The banended all this too.

IN JUNE 1964 THEIR FIRST CHILD, Dav;d,was born. When he was a month old,Frederick John Harris, already atrained and active member of the small,multiracial African Resistance Move­ment, found himself almost the solesurvivor in Johannesburg, after massarrest had resulted in the capture of hisfellow members. He then conceived anambitious plan aimed to justify theseemingly smashed A.R.M., to givehope to the oppressed millions, and toforce white South Africa to think again.On July 24th at Johannesburg ParkStation he tried to carry it out unaided.His failure caused the death of an oldlady and injury to 23 bystanders. Italso, as he knew it might, led to hisown execution, by which the presentminority Government robbed SouthAfrica of one of its most brilliant andpromising sons, even if it may havegiven South Africa something elseinstead. •

AMEJlICAN NEGRO FREEDOM SONGS are in thenews at present and one is reminded of several!famous South African protest sonas of the1950's, such as the Alexandra bus strike sona,A wakhwelwa . . . (They are not ridden in),which certainly had some success in its limitedfield. On both sides of the Atlantic both wordsand music for this kind of sona are direct anduncomplicated. They are readily learnable andtheir message-though sometimes only for thosefor whom it is intended-is unmistakeable.

It was trumpets. so we are told, whichbrought the walls of Jericho tumblina down,and ever since that time (if not before), musicof one kind or another seems to have been putto use in war. The earliest known musicalvictory in Africa seems to have been whenHanno the Cathaginian suffered an "ordeal bymusic" when his naval expedition landed some­where on the West Horn of Africa about theyear 500 B.e. He wrote:

"By day we saw nothing but woods, but bynight we saw many fires burning, and heardthe sound of flutes and cymbals. and thebeating of drums, and an immense shouting.Fear therefore seized on us. and the sooth­sayers bade us quit."Victories won by sound alone may be some­

what rare. But even if they often do no morethan instil courage and a sense of commonpurpose, battle songs and cries. or instrumentssuch as trumpets and drums. seem almostalways to have played an essential role in war­fare. During Shaka's reign of terror in southernAfrica his impis beat on their shields insteadof bothering with drums, and each regimenthad its own battle cry and repertoire of regi­mental and war songs. Some of these are stillremembered in rural areas, though they areseldom sung today.

ONE OLD ZULU REGIMENTAL SONG from the mid­19th century is of particular interest, even ifit was not successful at the time. It com­memorates the stand taken by Shaka's suc­.:essor. Dingane. against the Voortrekkerinvaders of Natal. The chorus goes:

Sunduz' amaBhunu ahaml>e!--Drive out theBoers. make them go!

Hoshoza!-Poke them out (like a snake fromits hole)!

Bathi uyalon' izwe,-Some say he (Dingane)is ruining the country.

Ingani uyalungis' al>a/o!-But at any rate heis "fixing" the foreigners!

This song is. of course. an out-or-date model.In all probability public utterance of thesewords in South Africa today would count as,abotage. if not treason. even if the singerspleaded a more political interpretation--theremoval of White domination-rather thanIiteral "pushing of the Boers" right out of the"ountry.

Practical protest songs for today .:all for newlevels of metaphor. They need to mean a lotmore than they say-- or mean one thing while,aving another.

Whether or not this happens to _have beenthe original ancestor of all modern SouthAfrican Resistan<;e songs it was certainly not

Alexandra Bus Strike Song

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 55

M 84. Key G.

If : - J r m · - I d : ~ r . - ~ - : ID f · m ~ ~· . ·A. Ya kh"e l"a a "a kh"el"a ,.They're not ridden in

If : - I r } m · - f d t r : - • - : m f · m i 11 :mal· ·A "a khye - I"a , a Ya kh"e l"a ~ A - ma

The

I r · r I - r f d : - ,d . I t, : ~. d J r · d • m . ma I· . . · .

bhasi ka "PUT CO" -a ka khyelya ~ AlIa•

buses of "PUT-CO" must'nt be ridden in

Ir · r I - . r I d : - l d : - ~ t, : ~ : d I r · d•· . ·

bhasi ka "PUT - CO" lDa ka khyelya ~

The language is Zulu. PUTCO is the normalabbreviation for the Public Utility TransportCorporation (Johannesburg).

Mid-Nineteenth Century Zulu Protest Song

M 96. Key G.

4.r' r I. r I r,r'. r / d' 1/ r' / /4 : ... . : 1 , 1 • 1 d'I

Wa - sun - du z' a- ma - Bhunu a - ham be , Ho•

/ d' - . la / d' o m / m,r'. - : - . d' / 1 : la, la 0 11\ I- sho za , Su n du z' a - ma - Bhu - nu a-•

I 1 IB / r' / r' - 0 1 / - (D. C. )

ham be , Ho - sho - za ,• .

the last. Recent compOSItIons like the BusStrike Song or the Bloemfontein Women'sPass-burning Song had their success in rallyingpeople to a common cause. Future ProtestSongs might well fulfil an historic mission inSouth Africa.

BlOEMFONTEIN PASS-BURNING SONG [tune sameas for Awakhwelwa ...]

Malibongwe. malibongwe!-Let it be praised!Malibongwe. malibongwe!-Let it be praised!19ama lamakhosikazi-The name of the ladiesMalibongwe!-Let it be praised!

2 Lia chesoa. lia chesoa!-They are burning!Lia chesoa. lia chesoa!-They are burning!Koana Vrystata-Here in the Free StateLipasa lia chesot!!-Passes are burning!

The first, seemingly non-committal verse, isin Zulu or Xhosa. The second is in Sotho (L[before I]=d; o=w; e is between i and ay);Vrystata is pronounced "fraystahtah" (from theAfrikaans Vrystaat - Orange Free StateProvince).

NHlABELElI

56 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

Kwa-Namakunde is based on thehistory of the Bakongo kings. Thehistory of Mbanzakongo actuaLLy.extends over about a century and ahalf. about which very little detail isknown. Besides being a very freereconstruction, to the point ofmythologisation. Kwa - Namakundeis in several ways a dramaticcompromise ...

MOST IMPORTANT ARE THE DICTATES ofshort-wave broadcasting. The play is theresult of an experimental series for theBBC's African service. For the earlierplays material was drawn from Englishand European folk drama and in thecourse of four plays the freer content andstyle of Kwa-Namakunde was evolved.

Unfortunately the problem of poorreception, especiaLLy in East Africa, raisedits head after the first version 01 the playwas written. Sound effects had to be cutout entirely and a form of narrative intro­duced. In the ordinary way narrative inradio drama is the last resort of incom­petence. The narrative in Kwa-Nama­kunde is an attempt to overcome this.The role of the narrator is at least equalto that of any of the characters and setsthe tef?1po of delivery. A part from settingthe scene it must also create atmosphere.dictate the tempo. at which the dialoguemust be delivered and create the impres­sion of a crowded stage.

The second point of compromise is onedictated by the nature of drama in the

BBC's African theatre. Plays require tobe acceptable in most of Africa and musttherefore avoid being too regional.DramaticaLLy this is a great disadvan.tage.However. available casts are usuallydrawn from various parts of the contineniand it is essential to produce material thatwiLL fit the tongues of aLL.

In Kwa-Namakunde more accent isplaced on plot and technique than on thecreation of character. This may faLLstrangely on the ear attuned to Westerndrama. The material dictates this andapart from other reasons liberation fromthe obsession with the individual characterleaves greater freedom of ideas and moreopportunity to convey information.

For this reason dialogue is created notas individual speeches, but as shortsnatches which cumulatively from a linewhich. in tempo and other characteristics,can be manipulated. It is the total sceneand not the individual character which isbeing presented to the audience. In away, language is used much as musicalsound to create a cumulative impact.

In reading Kwa-Namakunde it shouldbe remembered that there is a rising line,both of events and presentation through­out the play until the diminuendo at thedeath of Magude at the end.

CH A WAN D A K UT SE, a SouthAfrican living in Britain, has had tenradio plays broadcast in the past fiveyears. This extract from and introduc­tion to Kwa-Namakunde is the first ofa series on African radio drama.

NARRATOR: The Priest Tomasso went away fromNamakunde, walking with good men whom theKing had sent to take him to a friendly townaway from Namakunde. He walked slowly andhe looked back often and the tears were in hiseyes. For in that talk with Nsofu Kwa-Nama­kunde he had seen what others would soonsee. ...

But things do not stand still. Magude hadnot been in too much of a hurry. The gates ofthe great city Namakunde closed. the men stoodready and soon. within a day, the clouds ofdust were coming up towards it, the dust from~he wheels of the white man's cannons and hissoldiers, the dust from the feet of Yaka war­riors. The dust rose in a great cloud thatturned. the blue sky yellow and in the distancewere the voices of the armies that were comingon to Namakunde.

By that same evening already the scouts, thespies were creeping up to the walls of Nama­kunde and the small patrols that Magude sentout throuRh a little gate were meeting them.This was like two dogs who meet and sniff andlook, trying to see each others' strength, tryingto sniff and see what each would do.

When the sun rose the next morning, thetents and camps of the white man and the Yak astretched like a sea around the city and thearmies formed together into spear of menwhich would attack the walls and try to breakthem down.

Again the dust rose as the men came for­ward. rank after rank white soldiers and alongtheir sides the Yaka, creeping, jumping, eyesshining with the thought of slaughter.

But they come slowly, for they do not knowwhat waits for them. Since the death of thatKabindi there are no more traitors left to tellthem.

They come and suddenly, the trumpets of thewhite man cut the air, their feet become likethunder and they charge against the walls. Themen of Namakunde fight, their guns spit death,their sabres /lash and the white man must stopstill, fighting and pushing, but stopping in justone place.

[Pause].The noise of battle comes into the church

where Joao, Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde, knee!.,'and prays, or does nol pray hut merely kneelsand thinks.

The priests chant out a service of mouminRfor his son. They chant in reRular voices forthe rest of his son's spirit.

PRIEST (Bass): Dies Irae.TENOR: Dies IlIa [etc.]Joao Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde kneels and

thinks, thinks of his son, his son now dead.His only son, the only son of Namakunde.

Ai' Nsofu, who calls himself Joao, sits andthinks and while he thinks despair comes. Hisson is dead and with his son he has also diedand with him dies his city. He thinks anddespair deepens in his heart.

He look~' up and he listens to the chantinl?of his priests, he look at the great stone hUild'­ing where their voices float ahout, thin and sad.their voices of death, the death of his onlyson. . , .

Despair curls round his heart and squeeze.'

as one would squeeze a fruit. Despair with itsclaw tried then to squeeze the life out of theheart of the King of Namakunde. ...

But. Joao, Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde, standsup.

JOAO: Hey, you, Priest! Make me a prayerfor Victory.

There is silence in the great hall of thechurch.

JOAO: Priest! And you others, make me aprayer for victory.

BASS: Your majesty, this is a mass for thedead.

TENOR: Your majesty, we cannot just changeit.

BASS: Your majesty, victory is of this world.TENOR: Your majesty, think of your soul and

its passage to the next world.BASS: Pray, your majesty, pray for your

salvation....TENOR: Pray, your majesty, pray that your

soul may ...JOAO: Silence, you ravens, you vultures. Pray

me a prayer for victory, a prayer for the victoryof Namakunde, a prayer for the victory ofKwa-Namakunde.

BASS: Your majesty ...TENOR: These are heathenish things.Joao. Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde, leaps for­

ward and pushes them out of the way. Leapsforward up to the altar, waves his arms andsets the cross flying, waves his arms and throws,Jver the great candelabra. He tears the clothsaway and stands there, the fire of rage .shiningout of his eyes.

JOAO: Make me a prayer for victory, makeme a victory, priests. What is this talk ofyours of souls? ]s not my wul the city ofNamakunde? Am] not its father and its soul?Make me a prayer!

BASS: This is sacrilege ... God strike himdead!

TEN~R: Destroy him and his house, 0 Lord,destroy him and his house for he has defiled) our holiness!

JOAO: Take your god an~ take your churchand take your songs away with you. Look atme, here] stand. Do you know my name?

BASS: Your name is cursed.TENOR: Death fall on your name.JOAO: My name is Nsofu, the son of

Mukango, the son of Sitari. Like my fathers] rule this city. My name is not king, myname is not prince, my name is Kwa-Nama­kunde! Look, little priests, here is NsofuKwa-Namakunde!

Kwa-Namakunde!Now he calls himself Kwa-Namakunde,

Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde.He leaves the priests to flap their robes like

birds, birds of carrion, great bald vultures,flapping their wings. He leaves the churchand hurries to the walls. He hurries, he runsand as he runs he dances, shouts and sings. ...

JOAO: Banda! Zulu! Jere! Your spear,great fathers! Your son takes your spear, greatfathers ... Come, fathers, let us fight, let usstruggle with these white men and these Yakas!Come, let us dance and strike and spin thespear and strike our blows . . . Kwa - Nama­kunde like you before me!

o Fathers! 0 Banda, 0 you who plantedyour great spear to mark the place of Nama­kunde! 0 midnight sky of whom we are thestars and you the great black source!

Nsofu runs to the walls where Magude standsbrave, his feet planted apart with their roots inthe ground-a mighty tree against which theenemy shatters itself.. He ~tands victorious, Magude, 'his face shin­/fig wllh sweat, his eyes shooting spears ofcourage. ...

Wehe! But outside the walls wait the whiteman. He waits there with his cannon, he waitsthere with his guns, he waits there with hisswords. ...

And inside? Yo! The men of Namakundeare small because they fight without theirfather, they fight without Nsofu Kwa­Namakunde. ...

Tkaaai!Look at Nsofu! He springs and stands next

to Magude!JOAO: Men ~f Namakunde! ] have come!MAGUDE: Kmg loao!lOAO: Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde! Your father,

men, who wears the name of our great fatherBanda! Who wields the spear of our greatfather, Banda!

H.au! Look at the men now. They growunt~l they are giants. They cheer. they stamptheIr feet, they sing the songs of Namakundethe great praise songs of Namakunde! He!The sound is like thunder and it rises likebIrds. ...

And it settles with tne white man, who listensand says to himself: "Hau, these men ofNt;Imakunqe, they have found a new thing thatWill make them strong. We must attack themnow before they eat too much of it and growso strong ~hat we can no longer fight them!"

The while men come together, slowly, care­fully they look at the walls. ... "There" oneof them p~!nts, "There is a weak spot, 'let uscharge. . , .

They call their men, their voices cut the airlike knives, their feet roar on the ground andthe dust spreads like a thunder-cloud,

They charge!He! Nsofu! He! Magude!Look at them . .. elephants, lions!They stand side by side and wipe away the

while man's soldiers. Wipe them away fromthe. walls as if they were locusts. They pourtheIr anger like fire and lightning on the headsof the white men.

o Kwa-Namakunde!o greatest general, 0 Magude!

The white man comes like wate.,., like wal'esuf water. But the walls of Namakunde and theanger of its father stand like mountains andthe waves of soldiers break and scatter.

Then they draw back, these proud Portu­guese, they draw back to a distance as they sitand wait like hyenas round the outside of thefirelight when men sit in the warmth and eat.

Oh, the blood flowed like a river and thecorpses lay like stones that day. Oh, it was afeastday for the cannibals. the Yaka thatsniffed at the heels of the white man.

And so, in the silence the sun tumed red as

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 57

blood in the west and slowly left the sky. Thewhite man lit his fires and the Yaka creptlowards the dead men, their knives shirting inthe last small sparks of light.

And in the darkness, the men of Namakundeguarded the walls, standing like great t"ocks.their faces to the white man's fires . ...

Come nearer, sit here close around me andlisten to the story of that night, the night ofLifiqane, the night of the great scattering of theend of Namakunde.

You young men, you must listen, for thereis a truth in this, a great and heavy truth. Sowe must speak about it with respect and putthe propert words right in their proper places.We must look at these words and choose themcarefully and see that they are good wholewords. For when we've put them all togetherwhat they say will break our hearts. ...

Eye! Nsofu.Eye, Namakunde.Eye, Kwa-Namakunde. ...Long ago, in the beginning, the creator made

men. And inside man he put a heart andshaped this heart to shape the man. And whena man comes and makes this heart of his new,makes it into shapes and colours it was nevermade in by the first creator, he cracks his heartand then he cracks himself.

Ehe! Mai-mai.... So it was with Nsofu,Nsofu Kwa-Namakunde, King Joao.

Heh! My children, my sons, this is a greatthing.

For that night, that night of victory, Nsofubecame mad and lost his reason. Some peoplesay it was the witchcraft of the white men,some say it was the curses of the priests. ...But listen to me. Nsofu went mad becausehis heart had cracked and then he cracked.

But listen io the story:Magude went round and spoke to sentries,

gave his orders for the night, saw the woundedcomfortably cared for, wept with those who'dlost a comrade, for, indeed, his soldiers werelike sons to him. Then he went up to thepalace to search out Nsofu, so that they couldmake their plans of battle for the victory thatwould follow. '

But what was this he found there?JOAO: Heh! We'll drink their blood and eat

their flesh....MAGUDE: Kwa -Namakunde ...JOAO: Ah, Magude, my brave Magude. Such

a feast we'll have tomorrow .MAGUDE: Kwa - Namakunde .JOAO: We'll swoop on them like birds of prey

and tear their hearts out from their chests.....MAGUDE:. The men will fight for you, they

WIll fight like men of old. like the heroes ...JOAO: Yes ... Hey, Magude, come here ..MAGUDE: Yes?JOAO: Magude. somebody's been to see me.MAGUDE: Who, Kwa-Namakunde?lOAO: Banda.MAGUDE: Banda?JOAO: (laughs) I see that I surprise you.

Don't you believe me. Don't you think thatfather Banda will come back to guide me,Kwa-Namakunde"

MAGUDE: Of course, of course ...

58 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

JOAO: Ai! This Banda's a clever man...•There I was. just now. before you came, stand­ing in my great hall. and Banda came. out ofa corner, out of the darkness like a shadow.He held out his hand towards me, showing meto follow into the shadows so that we couldtalk without his being seen....

MAyL!DE: Great Chief, King' Please, will yousit down•...

JOAO: SO I followed him into the darknessand he whispered in my ear. Oh. his breathwas cold as dawn and his hands flowed overmy shoulders like rivers of cold water. ...

MAGUDE: Nsofu, I have known you since weboth were children in your father's house....What is this you say?

JOAO: And, Magude, you know what Bandatold me?

MAUUDE: Ai! No, my king, I do not knowwhat Banda told you.

JOAO: Heh-hehe ... This Banda's clever.This Banda told me great things.... Hey,Magude. listen. Banda tells me he wants theambassador. ...

MAGUDf: What?JOAO: Banda tells me I must sacrifice his

excellency by impalement and by fire....MAGUDE: But it was Banda, he himself, who

stopped such things amongst us when he madethis city....

JOAO: That was then, Magude.... But that'snot all. ... Magude, listen carefully to what Isay. You must now go out.and bring together

all the guns. all the gunpowder, all the swordsthat our soldiers use. You must bring togetherour three cannons and all the foreign ammuni­tion and pile them up beside the main gate....

MAGUDE: This is madness....JOAO: You must tell our men to gather up

their sticks and spears they use for hunting....MAGUDE: But we cannot fight guns with sticks

and spears....JOAO: These are orders, orders from father

Banda.MAGUDE: King, Father! Do you want us to

be sold in exile like our neighbours? Why isit we have lived so long and fought againstthese white men? It was because we havetheir weapons, we have guns and swords, wehave our great stone walls....

): .. ',0: Banda has promised me a victory if wedo this....

MESSENGER: (running and panting) Magude. .. There has been a movement in the whiteman's camp. Our spies say they will cometogether at the main gate of Namakunde...•

JOAO (lau!?hs) There, you see, Magude.Banda told me to gather our soldiers roundthe main gate....

MAGUDE: It is madness. I will not do whatyou say, Father.

JOAO: Then I will do it by myself and youcan stay here, traitor. If it was not for thelove I bear you, Magude, you would join hisexcellency the ambassador on that fire....

This was not witchcraft. this was madness.

The SPirits of the old ones do not come likethat. out of corners. out of darkness like mice.... All the sorrow. all the hardship. had at lastcracked Great Nsofu. Cracked him very easilybecause he had not been whole for years.

A i. the story of that night.Nsofu left Magude and went around from

regiment to regiment. from man to man. givingout his orders. seeing that the arms were piledup by the main gate. The men shook theirheads in worry. but obeyed him. Was he notKwa-Namakunde?

Slo~dy the pile grew. and in the torchlight.red like blood. there piled up by the main gatevf the city guns and cannon. swords and otherarms I do not know about. And slowly. bit bybit. the gunpowder. !?reat black harrels of fireand death. pilin!? in amongst the other things.All tORether. ...

A nd the men stood round. armed for hunt­ing. not for war. They stood around and spokein whispers. moving their feet as if they didnot know how to stand. A nd their eyes shonelarge and white when ihe flickering flame of atorch came near them. The fear rose fromthem like a stink. a weat stink of decay. Forthev were mne and knew what lay hefore:11{,;11.

But thev obel'ed. for had not Nsofu Kwa­.Vamakunde ,I'po'ken?

•

NEW AFRICA

The Progressive International Monthly Magazine onAfrican Political and Economic Affairs

Subscription: £1 (S.A. R2, U.S.A. $3) per annumpost paid

Published at58 PADDINGTON STREET, LONDON W I

Africa Report

The most widely-read American journal on AfricaObjective, comprehensive news on a country-by­country basis; expert analysis of trends and dy­namics; personality profiles; maps; photos. BookDepartment reviews all major new books on Africa11 Js.sues each year Plus a year'end mdex $6 per year

AFRICA REPORT Dept. NA, Suite SOS Du­pont Circle Bldg., Washington 36, D.C., USA

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 59

with their own nationalism-the first ofall the Mricao nationalisms.

(.ft~ '(... I(. Aj'I:u ;.. /i&cl ') od J

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 19&5 159

60 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

Separate Development:

The Receiving End" What are they hidingbehind their backs? ..

S. L. SIDZUMO

THIS NATIONALIST PHILOSOPHY of ··separateness". alias apartheid.is clearly one of the strongest corner-stones of Nationalist rulein South Africa since the National Party came into power in1948. It is also one of the strongest beliefs of the Nationaliststhat White supremacist interests in the land can never be safe­guarded until and unless the various non- White groups in thecountry are compartmentalised in their own different camps or"homelands". Indian. Coloured and African groups must notlive together. Each group has to have its own camp or "home­land" if the interests of the White minority in the land are to besecurely safeguarded.

Because they had maintained their interests in life were notonly inseparable but also interdependent. Africans. Colouredsand Indians in South Africa had to witness the steamrolling ofa piece of legislation through the parliamentary machinerywhich was destined not only to disrupt family life. but also placemisery and humiliation on the doorsteps of many a non- Whitein the land-the Group Areas Act of 1952. This Act symbolisedin no uncertain manner the determination of the Nationalists touproot African families from their hard -earned homes in thecities and have them resettled in areas specifically earmarkedfor their habitation-some 14 to 25 miles away from a city likeJohannesburg.

The people of Sophiatown were moved to the Government­controlled townships of Meadowlands and Diepkloof where.unlike in Sophiatown. New Clare. Western Township andAlexandra. they were to witness ethnic grouping of families atits optimum. Unless the Tswana-Sotho. Shangaan-Pedi. andZulu-Xhosa were herded into their respective camps so as tomake remote the prospect of national solidarity amongst them.the interests of White supremacy and baasskap would certainlybe threatened.

But is separate development, as SUCh. likely to succeed andcapture the imagination of the man of colour in South Africa?Or is it likely to militate successfully against the forces of evolu­tion the direction of which seems to be towards an inescapableinterdependent co-existence for the various racial groups in thecountry? The answer to both these questions is a big NO.

The South African Nationalist Government is at the momentfeverishly preoccupied with its much-publicised. grandioseBantustan programme. This. in practice; is a process of puttingcertain arid areas in the country for African habitation under thecloak of "self-rule" or Black State within a State.

THE TRANSKEI WAS THE FIRST to be given self -government. underthe tutelage of the Republican Government. And what was thereaction of the people of Transkei at the polls on the eve of the"parliamentary" elections in the territory less than two yearsago? The ruling Transkei National Independence Party. led bythe Chief Minister. Chief Kaizer Matanzima. made no secret ofits firm stand for the policy of separate development which i~

strongly favoured by the Republic Government. The T.N.LP.defeated Chief Victor Pote's opposition Democratic Party by a

S. L. SI 0 Z U MO, who lives in the Transvaal. is a frequentconiributor to the South African English-language press.

very narrow margin indeed when the Transkei LegislativeAssembly met to elect its Chief Minister. largely because of themassive support it received from most tribal chiefs appointed tothat body.

It was. of course. quite understandable why a large numberof chiefs had supported the Transkei National IndependenceParty. As Government servants. they had no alternative but togravitate in this direction for fear of losing their positions-aschiefs-if they cast their votes in favour of the dynamic Demo·cratic Party. under the able leadership of Chief Victor Pote.While the T.N.LP. is openly against the presence of Whites inthe territory and anything that smacks of the White man. ChiefVictor Poto's Democratic Party strongly believes in multi­racialism or interdependence. It cannot reconcile itself to thetheory that the Transkei can be economically viable without thepresence of Whites and also without the territory encour:lgingan external flow of capital into the Transkei-a conviction muchscorned by the ruling T.N.LP. On the other hand, TranskeiWhites feel they are now expendable and want their interestssafeguarded as much as possible.

It is perhaps remarkable that a steady but highly noticeableswing among the tribal chiefs-many of whom are illiterate­who had identified themselves with the T.N.LP. is at the momenttowards favouring interdependence between White and Blackinterests in the territory. They have now been disillusioned andare. as a result. aligning themselves with the Democratic Party.They have discovered. no doubt. that they were intimidated tojoin the T.N.LP., not through their own volition. The Demo­cratic Party. which is intellectually more suited than its T.N.LP.counterpart. has succeeded in capturing the imagination of theelectorate in the Transkei. From all sides in and outside theTranskei. it has been hailed as the party most likely to be inpower in the not distant future. largely because of its unwaveringstand for democratic principles.

ONE OF THE MOST NOTICEABLl'! EFFECTS of the NationalistGovernment's policy of separate development is that it hastended to alienate Blacks against the Whites throughout thelength and breadth of the Republic of South Africa. It hasengendered in the minds of the people of African descent aprofound feeling of hatred for the White man as well as animplicit sense of disrespect for law and order. It has made theBlack man feel that. because of the pigmentation in his skin.and his rapid adjustment to Western ways of life. NationalistSouth Africa no longer needs his presence in the so-calledWhite areas. He must now be sent back to the remote kraalswhere he should live and conform to the pattern of ancestralmodes of life, despite the strides he has made in various spheresof the modern world.

Why at so late an hour must Nationalist South Africa thinkof such abstractions as "separate development". "separate free­doms" and "separate associations"? What are the Nationalistshiding behind their backs about which the Black man should bekept in ignorance throughout the ages? These are among someof the vital questions at present agitating the minds of thinking.Africans in the land.

To the large majority of the urban African population in theRepublic "separate development" is meaningless. It is seen bymany as a concept born of fear of the African by the AfrikanerNationalist and which in the end would reduce the African to averitable cipher. Perhaps it is worth mentioning the fact that agreat proportion of the urban African population in the countryis almost completely divorced from the influences of tribalsociety and affiliations-a fact which is normally ignored bythe Nationalists in South Africa. To them the African ofyesterday remains that of today. He has no grievances oraspirations of any kind. As a kafJer he must be kept in hisplace. This is the veil of fallacy under which many an Afri­kaner Nationalist lives today in South Africa.

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 61

Said an editor of a widely-read non-White newspaper re­cently: "It is unrealistic for the Nationalist Government to think,that Africans can only develop sufficiently in the reserves. Iftheir policy of separate development is to commend itself to theconscience of Bantudom, then the good inherent in separatedevelopment-as is often claimed by many a Governmentspokesman-must first be in evidence among the tens of thou­sands of urban Africans who already live 'separately' in theso-called White areas." This view is shared by many thinkingAfricans in the Republic. It is against this background that theprospect of acceptance of the policy of separate developmentby members of the urban African population in South Africastill remains remote. •

62 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

I LATER HEARD of a peculiar incident. When Iwas only two years of age, a prominent white~oman came to call at the home of my truerather; who was at the same time my otherfather s boss. My half-brothers and I wereplaYing. m the red dust of the farm road whenher shining motor-car drove by. When shereached us she stopped near me. It seemed asIf she wanted to take me into the car with herMy heart started to beat faster, partly out offear and partly out of mis- placed respect forthe white woman. But it was a momentaryfancy. or so it appeared. because she went onto the farm -house.

According to the servants the woman arrivedshort of breath and most perturbed as sheknocked and was admitted. When she ",asface. to face with her hostess she came em­phat�ca��y to the point. "Really! How canyou bear to let your little one play out thereWith the Hottentots. m the blazing sun and sofar from the house?"

The. hostess blushed to the roots of her hair.The v!<Sltor wondered why her friend behavedso strangely. Had she perhaps overstepped themark 0 Then she followed her hostess's eyes.and the child In question came toddling out ofone of the rooms. It was not her hostess'slittle boy she had seen among the "Hottentots"but me. her host's son.

Today J understand all these things.

I \~l THE so!' oi a member of parliament. amember of the government oi the Republic of'outh :\tnca. I have had a hard and bittertime becau,e my ml)ther is not a white woman.1:1 our sunny and iertile Republic it is morethan a curse not to be white. and what hasmade my struggle all the more difficult is thatmy father and my mother were not marriedShe is the wife of another man. he the husbandl11 another woman.

I do not believe that he ever loved mymother-it was nothing more than lust andinsensitivity on his part. And there were otherwomen. women who were not white, withchildren.

To begin with I knew nothing about all this.When we were still living on my real father'starm there was little cause for me to becomeaware of all these things. Although I can stillrecall cert~in incidents at a later stage. mychildish mind was too innocent to notice any­thing out of the ordinary.

There was. for example. the time when acertain' woman. not white. remarked to hertriend one fine afternoon that I resembled myfather very closely. I must have been abouteIght years old then. That remark made mefeel really proud. for what boy. especially oft.hat age, does not feel proud that he is like hislather: That l, of all my eight brothers andSIsters. should be most like my father made mvlittle heart beat faster with joy. It neve'rdawned on me that my mother's husband. herlawful husband. was almost black and that Iwas white. I was naturally and happily un­aware which father was being referred to.

I was an innocent child. and. metaphoricallyspeaking. colour- blind.

ColouredSon • I

.\1'10 so WE MOVED to Philippi. a rustic. sandyregIOn of the Cape Flats. covered with scrub.LuckIly for us children. we were accept~d inthe local school. It was here that trouble aboutmy colour began. When school came out oneday a couple ofboys attacked my little brother.They were teasing him because, so they said.we talked dialect and were different. I flew tohis aid and they ran away.

As they ran. one of them shouted at me:"You white Boer. You are an apartheidNatIOnalist. you dirty Boer!"

W~ WF:-;T TO LIVE on a iarm at Elgin. Wechtldren had to walk nearly five miles to as~hool at Grabouw. I can remember thebitterly cold days when the sharp stones andfrost hurt my bare feet. At such times I enviedthe white children going to school in theirco~fortable buses. No white child in SouthAfrica walks more than two miles to school­the government, the government of apartheid.,ees to that. It even hires taxis when necessaryto transport some white children. It does notworry about children who are not white.

Life did not run smoothly at Elgin. Mymother, .though only in her early forties, beganto tall m health. It was the middle of thewmter when we reached the new farm. farfrom store and doctor, unlike the previousfarm, where there were two stores nearby andwe needed no doctor for we were well and mymother was not ailing.

<?ne day two dealers (they were not white)arnved from Cape Town, buying fowls and pigs1ram farm labourers. We had a couple of pigsand some fowls that we had been fattening.The dealers were delighted with our animalsand wanted to know how we went about gettingthem mto such a condition. The animals be­longmg to the other people could not hold acandle to ours. They learnt that my fosterfather had a fund of knowledge about rearingpoultry and pigs.

Wh!le the dealers and my foster father werebusy I.n the runs, my mother sent me to invitethem In for a cup of coffee. At coffee, one ofthe dealers asked my father whether he wouldnot come to the Cape Flats and run a poultryfarm t?r hIm. He added that later he couldkeep plg.s t£?o. My parents accepted the offer.

By thiS tIme my elder brother had marriedand moved to the Cape. My mother was mostconcerned about him and wanted to be nearher firstborn son.

do~ncast. It seemed that she could not qUitebelteve that they had to leave the farm aftersuch a long time and all that had happened.She and my foster father were beginning toage. and to make a fresh start somewhere elsewould be very difficult.

THE CUSTOM Of THE F.\RM m question was thatcertam famlltes among the labourers had fromlime to time to supply a youngster to work inthe kitchen. The turn came for one at myelder brothers to go. He flatly refused to workIn the kItchen. What aggravated things wasthat another boy was there with whom mybrother (half-brother, rather) could not geta.lon~. The two were always arguing andhghtmg.

Because this brother of mine was moreaccustomed to work in the vegetable garden­he was about twelve years of age-he joinedthe gang of workmen in the garden instead ofgoing to the kitchen. That made the farmervery angry. He ordered the lad to the kitchcnat once.

My black foster father had by then hadenough of many things, one of which was theblckenng of the two boys. and I think anotherwas the farmer's secret amorous attentions tomy mother. By then my parentage had ceasedto be a secret among the neighbours.

"Listen. Boss." said my foster father that dav."my boy is not going to work in the kitchen.He and the other boy keep on quarrelling andwranglmg and I have had enough of it. AndIn .~ny case the boy is happier in the garden."

It seems to me that you want to give theorders around here. Your boy can work in thekitchen or you can get out." The farmerwalked off and left my foster father dumb­lounded. This from the man who. so to speak,had upset my mother's home and made myblack father a laughing-stock.

.Much later I found out that it was the boss'sWife who was behind his harshness. She musthave drummed many things into her husbandsince that fnend of hers had mistaken me forher child. Indeed, I daily grew more like mylather. even more like him than his own sonsand something had to be done to get rid of me:to remove me fram the farm, where mypresence was an embarrassment to the whitepeople.

The day my foster father came into the fieldto collect us I was aware that something wasvery wrong. After school we usually went intothe fields or gave a hand in the garden. Thesun was still high in the heavens and there wasmuch to do.

On the way home I gathered from the con­versat�on of my elder brothers that we ",ereleavmg the farm.

That day my poor mother looked quite

There were. of course. scores of such inci­dents. but the greatest struggle of all beganwhen our family moved nearer to Cape rownand I was completing my schooling. But I amgoing too fast. First I must relate why thefamily had to leave the farm where my parentshad given more than twenty years of faithfulservice to my real father and 'his father beforehim.

I myself. not yet nine years old. had neverdreamt that we should have to leave the farm.For me it was the beginning and. so I believed.the end of everything. It was my home andrepresented the whole world to me.

III !lll'SC 1I1110hio.'-!nlplliclIl IIO/I'S /n Ill(:'tf/egililll£llc SOli of 1I former SOIlIIl A!ric(/IImember of Par/iamelll are ,dimPSI'S of IlIalhalf-\l'orld ill/whiled /n- !iglll-skill/led"cololln.0" people fUllIITcd hI" \I·llile /111'/1.

(1fle/l promillelll Cili;('lIs. .

LANGEDEJOHAN

I was deeply shocked. It was the first timein my life that anybody had abused me for mylight skin. I did not think it was any crime tobe light. Indeed, until then I had hardlyrealised that I differed so much in colour from

Selma

1965

most people who were not white.When I got home I told my mother what

had happened. She did not say much but herexpression changed to one of inward pain.

A week later two welfare officials visited the

NO ONE WAS QUITE SURE how they weret9 act. The mimeographed programmehanded around in front of the capitol onThursday afternoon scheduled five min­utes for "Old Testament Reading" andfive minutes for "New Testament Read­ing". It also noted that there would be apresentation of a replica of the LibertyBell by the Philadelphia City Council.But nobody opened a Bible all day andthe Liberty Bell never had its chance.For within minutes after the clusteredprofessional folk singers had finished andalmost as soon as the whole crowd ofthirty thousand had welled up to floodthe top of Dexter Avenue, the tone of theclimax of the Selma to MontgomeryMarch became clear and people all of asudden knew why they were there. Thiswas something new in America.

Through the five days of marching theChristian militants had mixed with thepolitical militants, the bleeding heartsmixed with the adventurers, the profes­sional liberals with the Black Belt peas­ants. Only at the end, below the steps ofthe capitol, did they all find out whatthey were there for. Only there did theysense their caoacity for revolution.

MOSTLY UNCONSCIOUS of the implicationsof their demand for a revised America,these good people marched up DexterAvenue behind the United States flag andsang the National Anthem behind Mrs.King's reedy lead.. Everyone's first per­sonal concern semed t6 be not to offend.These were good people who hadmarched gently and selfconsciously tocorrect, to rectify, something in theircountry (Ralph Bunche justified theirbeing there when that afternoon he said:

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 / 63

school. When they saw me they carried on awhispered conversation with the principal. Ilearnt later that they wanted to know whetherI was a white child. •

[to be continued

"No American can be an outsider any­where in America.") which history hadcarried beyond. Yet they shook the earthwith their soft feet. Whatever their inten­tions were before they actually stood therein Dexter Avenue looking up at thestartlingly white capitol building, the actof their being there was an emphaticassurance that America was going tochange itself, that the nasty license of a"we" and a "they" had expired inAmerica.

That day in Montgomery the best in thecountry served notice that the UnitedStates would soon be truly one countrywith one people. The issue that afternoonwas not segregation or miscegenation orl:quality under the law. It was freedom,freedom within the explicit constitutionalideal of the American experience.

or HE OLD HORSES LIKE A. Phillip Randolphtalked for only a few seconds. Thepolitical radicals like lames Bevel andFred L. Shuttlesworth shouted good­natured taunts up toward George Wallace,hidden high behind the venetian blinds.The leaders from the- field like lamesF-orman and Albert Turner took theirC'pportunity to inform the crowd of prac­tical matters like the many dozens ofactivists sitting in Alabama jails withoutbail money. And Martin Luther King,often referred to ppblicly that day in theAfrioan political mode of "My Leader",perorated all remaining question out ofthe gathering and then told .them to gohome quietly. They did, many of themeven still unconscious of the implicationsof the exhilarating change which they hadjust helped to begin. D. E. STEWARD •

64 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

PETE WAS PLAYING HOST. He sat precar­iously on the edge of his chair facingGeorge, his back turned to a door leadinginto the kitchen. The walls of his roomhung paintings that reflected his love ofnature: one, a setting sun over a sprmgforest hedging a broad river; another asea-front with fishermen spreading theirnets for a catch. Then there were alsofamily portraits. Behind George thickcurtains shaded a bed. Sam occupied thethird and last chair, sitting at an angle toboth of them.

"Yes, George," Sam started as hemotioned for a cigarette from George."You were just telling me about your oldman."

"Yes, we'll never satisfy them, Sam.""We can't," Sam agreed. "But we must

teach them to accommodate us.""But it's a big task, Sam. The belIef is

deep-rooted. And we must respect.""Well, we have to face up to it," Sam

insisted.. "Even as to being estranged from our

families?" George argued. Then he addedas an afterthought: "Not that we despisework. But such pedantry!" And hefrowned at the idea of being expected tostay home and to ask for the parents'advice and to take a lead in Church;expected to be the first to notice horsesin the garden; to water the garden ratherthan be "reading, reading endlessly!" Thefutility of explaining that book learningwas necessary almost gagged his thoughts,disinclined him against any work.

"You know I'm in the same position,George." Sam would refer to his ownaffairs as if that would solve your prob­lems. "Myoid man will never look withpleasure on my present work, merelybecause I quit teaching. The old menbelieve a young man is a degenerate if hechooses a career they did not intend himfor.

"Like to see you model yourself onthem and then they can pat themselves onthe back and say to friends, 'see theMagabane in him!'

"And to satisfy them will be to dis­appoint ourselves. Am I not doing well

eARL MAFOKO, who I i ve sin aNorthern Transvaal "reserve," hasfrequently contributed short stories andsocial comment to The New African.

as a salesman now? And I like it. I'mfitted for the work."

PETE SAT EYEING THE TWO alternately withhis face something of a smile and a frown.He did not like these self -assured argu­ments of Sam, and when the latter threwin this personal touch the frown in hisuncertain expression deepened.

"I am doing well," Sam repeated, as acloud of smoke curled over his head.Through the smoke haze Pete could seeSam's eye stabbing at him. That eye andthe last assertion, Pete felt, was notwithout reference to him as workless, andnaturally he took up the challenge.

"But teaching is a'right!" His left eyeshot at George in appeal, thus making theargument move in a circle.

George took it up. Teaching is good,of course. And we like it."

"It depends in what respect you mean,"George said .

"What does he imply now, George?"Pete asked.

"Well, you see, there's only this naggingfeel you have when you are expected toplay the teacher, even out of the class­room. And I don't think it's the impor­tant thing. The acquired way. Thisplaying the teacher, you know."

"What is playing the teacher?" Petedemanded.

"Of course you know," Sam thrust in.·'It doesn't help to evade the issue. Youhaven't been such a sq uare as not to knowwhat a sickly folly it is. To try that sortof thing. That meaningless acquired life.Look, I am at home in sales in spite ofits precarious nature. But that's what Ilike about it. Keeps me active. Keepsme planning, planning. Thinking out newtechniques of approach." And his Adam'sapple wriggled in a swallow.

Pete gripped the table edge, refusing tobe thus lashed into accepting this view."But, Sam, how can you be so sure ofvourself?". "Must. Got to. If we're not sure ofourselves won't we for ever be duped?You cannot expect to live by the adviceof others. Fortune tellers are merequacks."

"Now you're beginning. Going off ata tangent. That I visit my fortune tellerfriend is not part of this talk, Sam. I

have lived happily on the friendship ofthat man and I won't stand any slanderof him. What do you know that's betterthan the wisdom of the Whites I alwaysfind around my friend's place? Peopledo come down to earth, Sam. We mustn'tpretend, chaps. Just because we've aslight education .. ."

"I expected that from you, of co.u~se."Sam was smiling. Pete sensed a SInIsterattack. Always unable to defend himselfwith a frown against such blandness, herose from his chair, waving his hands atSam.

"You're wrong, Sam! You're wrong!""Just always as I arrive at a point

where I feel I am beginning to drive somesense into you, you must bring in .thisidea of Whites. You spoke of WhItes,did you?"

"What? ' Pete blurted.Sam eyed George, smiling hard, enjoy­

ing himself. George's face was just abashful heap of blushes and puckers. Theparty was drifting into cold seas again.The thin veil of friendliness was rippingwith this controversy. Smiles were turninginto grins as Sam made no effort to oblige.

"He said Whites, George. Did youhear that? Even Whites."

George just fidgeted in his chair.

SAM TURNED TO PETE. A pathetic smileon his face showed he was relishing theweakness of his opponent's point. "Didyou say it, Pete? Who are these Whites?"

"Look," Pete retorted, "you're teasingme, Sam."

"I mean, what is so holy and chaste inthem that you should measure my extentof refinement by standards, by the behav­iour of th~ir group?"

Pete appealed to George: "George, youassociate with wrong people." He lookedat him in a challenging mood and Georgejust said, "Well ... well .. ."

"Wrong people, George!""He can be right," George said. "He

is . . . can be, of course." He was notbeing his usual self: always nursing others'feelings, always leaving room for thecomfort of the other man's heart. Thehandsome face of Pete that had won himmany friends was losing its usual ease.He had been fortunate in early life to theextent of an uncommon clerical job and

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 165·

though he was now hard up and witheredat thirty-five he still hoped by luck tostrike a job like that original one. Hedid not like the idea of being regarded asa failure even though his friends blamedhis failure on the country's racial set -up.If only he could land a good job he wouldshow them that he was no failure, that hecould embrace the idea of freedom as aworker.

"We are trying to look forward, Pete,"George continued. "We need not be whatthose were who have come before us.'

"Models!" shouted Sam. "Soft babesof parsons."

"Models of worn-out institutions,"George said.

"And he puts as an excuse his friend'sWhite customers. To hero-worship andattribute all good to Western standards!To even look upon gross habits of thesedeceivers as what Africa lacks the talentto accommodate! How do you like that?"

Pete had to continue the argument andhe disappeared into the kitchen with ashout: "Nonsense!"

Sam took to mud slinging. "You'retoo much of a softy, Pete. And wehappen to entertain such big ideas. In­cidentally, these are meant to uplift you.Hoping for luck! That's a lax attitude.EncQurages the belief that we need tutel­age. And, look, you'll secure a job onlyif it pleases your kind-hearted bosses tooffer you one. That's how talent is wastedin this land."

Pete was restless like a laying hen.That he should be so easily written off asa failure! At the mention of talent heemerged from the kitchen fast. "Me, Itell you I'm damn intelligent. 's how Igot that job with my standard seven."

He bit his lower lip as George struckin: "Yet you're handicapped in spite ofyour abilities. You know you could beuseful. And you're so intelligent, youknow."

"What? You're wrong! LookYou ..."

Sam split in laughter while eyeingGeorge, who was blushing for Pete's sake.A knock at the door saved the scene.

IT WAS DUMANI WHO ENTERED and he tookPete's seat. He was one of those whomPete found bearable. Pete stood behindhim. The conversation ran on to passes

and jobs, with Dumani, still fresh fromthe street, saying excitedly: "We are noteven free to walk the streets, to look forwork. And yet we must work or we'recriminals."

Pete was pleased to be on the favour­able side of the topic this time and hewas agreeing, "Yes, yes."

"People have appointed themselves todecide for us how we must live in ourland. As if they can casually size up theaverage needs of a nation," Dumaniadded.

·'Yes. we really need freedom.""As if they know the natural bent of

an African.""Yes, you see .. .""We need this freedom to unfurl our

talents, to move where we like in thisland."

"Freedom to work where we choose. tocompete freely."

"To study what and where we prefer.""To partake in any activity we like.

Any, any." He was stealing looks at

Our sales points

in Africa, America

and Europe are

increasing but

the safest way of

getting The New

African monthly

is to subscribe.

There is a form

on page 68

Sam, who was banal enough not just toagree.

"Yes. go on, gentlemen," Sam said. "1suppose that is not all. Freedom, yes.And what more? What about indepen­dence?"

Pete followed him up. "But you're justrepeating the same thing. I know youjust want to give it your own turn. Ifwe're free to travel anywhere. any time.free to work in Pretoria. in Jo'burg, thendon't you think other things will followearlier?"

"May be allowed all those anywheresand anywhats but that does not solve theproblem of the voteless masses. 's longwe're not independent I'll call that notfreedom. Just an imitation of the realthing. You'll depend on the decision ofthe man you did not vote for to obtainthat freedom. You'll be dependent onthe humour of that man to continue inyour freedom. He may withdraw it atthe slightest irritation, and then you mustdepend on a fresh flow of generosity inhim to obtain another spurt of yourfreedoms. That is the poison of beingdependent. Why do we have to ask to befree?"

"Well," Pete said, "at least you do I;eedthis freedom. Why not make it the firststep then? Arguments aside, I mean."

Dumani came forward: "A first step,yes. A first step. But, of course ... ofcourse independence. I do like the wayhe put it. 'Arguments aside, I mean' ,

PETE TURNED PALE. He found the kitchentoo far and wondered why he had notstayed there all along. Another knock atthe door came just as he was wishing forit. It broke the tension. And in thatlittle space before he went to answer theknock Pete found breath enough to makea fresh suggestion.

"Now, now,' he said, smiling. "Theparty is picking up. We can have drinksand talk more of this pleasant nonsense.I mean we're not being hard on oneanother, boys. Now for a drink, Sam."

The new arrivals patched on benchesand, besides bringing a musty smell ofsweat and the heat and beer, theyscattered the party and the talk amongthem. •

66 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

THE

MURDER

TRIAL

Being the trial for murder ofa young coloured man whoattacked and robbed a whiteman. here called Mr. Fourie.

These poems are part of a collection which wonthe 1964 South African Poetry Prize. sponsoredby the Department of Education, Arts andScience. "The Bathers" has been omitted fromPerseus Adams's The Lord at My Door. whichis about to be published.

Perseus AdamsTHE BATHERS

Your shrunken head was bentBut not as it would beShortly, on the state's axis of hemp.Bastard dreamerWhose life had always hung by a threadHow would oneBetrayal of the floorPut right the stones with blood on them?

I had not knownThe law was such an unrealistic thing.Pompous, marching mountainDressed in a sunset's gownAnd served by such absolute gravityTo let your little bones swing:The moon was on you that night­You and M;. Fourie.

For six weeks you have sat or stoodWhile they hooked or quarrelled your drunken actOn to their Ledger page,For six weeks you have been in your crow's nestTheir look -out, and their prize.I wonder if my thoughts had an allyWatching your warm wickednessPlotted by such cold and cross-word compasses.

A four-le/ter feeling jerked you into shapeA four-letter caring robbed you of rope.And deaf ears drummedYour frail and daggered lightningThrough the ukulele, bandaged dark.When smouldering men light brandy womenThe bed-springs murmur of obituariesAnd mourning mothers cry out from the cells of stars.

My head has screwed to seeThis tennis-match of our failureI held my heart in my handCovered, like the others and dreamtOf fathers and sons, murderers and daisies.And then in a dream much older:When men were fuses that could fire the worldAnd while I dreamt, the circle grew tighter.

The last day came, dark day of sentenceAnd the benches garlanded with status.The judge walked in, the people stoodThe judge sat and the people listenedHearing a widow consoled with additional blood.Can a trapdoor swallow wantAs the grave lets in light?Black is my cry, black to the roots of sight.

It had been a day's glorious pitch-and-tossBeneath the beach-trees of Summerstrand, PE.,And now we were returningBy the place where all rivers meet: the sea.

And here was all the sunshineOf a Sunday striped naked to the lip:An African Sunday, tipping the scalesTowards unbalance; the sea's furore, the Rull's rusty screw.

I held her waist. I drank her smiles. IWrote a poem, and lost it again:The beach sucked us to the marrow-boneAnd then. suddenly we were upon them:

Black Africans, in the waves, dancing.And here was the first thirst in the fire of SpringThe whirling harvest spearDrawn to a dark heart, gathering rain!

They jumped and plunged and laughed and sanI;

They tore open the long-incumbentPillow of the sand; nor did they seem to careTides were rough here and life-guards were away.

They bit the breeze and dodged tomorrow.They courted the virgin in each secondTill black. gold and silver collided. spunAnd dawn returned at 5 p.m. over the water.

Moving closer I grew almost afraid to ownThat this was a furious forgeifulness. a passionateRemembering: for their freedomWas a wild horse whipped by laws. tugginR foam.

And O. as I watched, their abandonTravelled in my own: togetherWe dragged all the trammels of the cityTo that innocent rage. that embracing sea.

Yet they gave me no welcome and they did notCall my name: I turned awayFollowing the locked path of myInward education. accompanied but alone.

Turned away and returned to a beach where"WHITES ONLY" told me I was back with my own.And here there were life-guards, safer watersThe dark lot of those who seek to divide the SUIl.

Our picnicking day was over;My love and I were returned to our ownBut pity and sorrow had left a stain on meAnd the carefree joy of her smiles had gone.

'--~--~-------------------------------------------- ----

BechuanalandThe CovetedLiability 2

PATRICK VAN RENSBURG

SOME YEARS AGO. the Malan Government appointed a commis­sion to see if it was possible so to develop the African "reserves"that they could absorb the country's total African population.After lengthy investigation the Commission discovered that overtwelve million people could not be contained peacefully in the14% of the country's land area which the reserves comprise.Dr. Verwoerd rejected the findings of the commission. remindinghis supporters that Basutoland. Bechuanaland and Swazilandwould ultimately be incorporated. The millions of Sotho.Tswana and Swazi speaking Africans, born in the cities. wouldthen have "homelands" to which they could be deported; theSotho. Tswana and Swazi "reserves" in South Africa itself andbordering their respective Protectorates are far too small to beadequate dCillping grounds.

The ~0licy of total territorial separation has not been altered.and it remains the goal of the South African Government toremove all Africans from white areas. On the other hand, thefindings of the Tomlinson Commission are more valid thanbefore. Where will South Africa put its unwanted Africans?

When Britain evel1tllally declared that incorporation was nolonger a possibility. Dr. yerwoerd appeared to accept thedecision. It was possible that the South :\frican Prime Ministerappreciated that the moment of giving "self-government" to theT ranskei was hardly the time for pressing the claim to theProtectorates. After a long silence, Or. Verwoerd made an.··offer" to the Protectorates in September 1963. "to lead them toindependence within a South African Commonwealth". Theoffer was baited with prospects of large-scale economic aid;there was also a suggestion that the territories should expect noassistance from the Republic if the offer was refused. If SouthAfrica could bring the Protectorates within her jurisdiction. thenshe might be able to persuade them to accept the Africans shewants to evict from her "white areas". Dr. Verwoerd might bequite willing to allow self-government to proceed. provided theTranskei formula was applied and the pace controlled.

IF THESE ARE South Africa's aims, she can be expected to pursuethem as far as she is allowed to. preferably by political intrigueand management. as she is doing in Swaziland. If the Protec­torates' integrity is unmistakeably guaranteed against aggression.and the Republic understands clearly that she could not act withimpunity. then the most they would have to fear is an economicsqueeze. How far South Africa would go to force the territoriesto become dumping grounds for unwanted urban Africans isanybody's guess. It would depend on the prospect of inter­national economic retaliation. in the form, say, of sanctions, andhow real the prospect was. There would ab" be dangers inincreasing the strains of poverty inside the Proteuorates whichcould possibly create explosive situations within them, notwithout menace for South Africa herself.

PAT R le K V A N R ENS R U R G. al/rhor of Guilty Land. l\'lIS(/11 acrive Liberal in SO/lfh Africa and orgallised rhehrst CO/l­Slllller hoycott of SOl/th Africall goods ill Bri((lin hefore ,~Oill~

10 Bechl/analand to fOl/lld Sl\'(/lIl!lIg School. of \I'/i.·ch he is 1/i('

headmaster.

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 67

Incorporation is not South Africa's only aim in the Protec­torates. The economic threat would be much greater if theterritories became bases of subversion against South Africa(whether known to the Protectorate Governments or not). SouthAfrica would also like to see refugees refused entry to theProtectorates. Another irritant to South Africa is the I!rowth ofdemocracy in the Protectorates, because it subverts the-Transkeiformula of a legislature dominated by chiefs.

There is little doubt that under the colonial Governments. theterritories have already made considerable concessions to SouthAfrica. In each Protectorate there is legislation against plottmgsabotage or other violent anti-Government activity against theGovernment of a neighbouring territory and a large number ofrefugees have been deported from or are Prohibited Immigrantsin all three Protectorates.

WHEN INDEPENDENCE COMES, each territory will have to workout its own relations with South Africa. For example, Mr.Seretse Khama's Bechuanaland Democratic Party, which is anenlightened conservative party, without - strong Pan - Africal'1commitments, detests apartheid. Mr. Khama hImself has goodpersonal reasons for doing so but he is unlikely to provokeSouth African anger. He is deeply conscious of his country'sdependence on South Africa and both fears and resents SouthAfrican pressures. Some of his European supporters in Bechu­analand would like to forge closer links with South Africa, andunder Mr. Khama the colonial civil ser',ice which he inheritsmay try to exert a pro -South African infl uence, especially whenfreed from the surveillance of Whitehall. Mr. Khama may yetspring a surprise on those who expect him to draw close toSouth Africa.

For any of the Protectorates to become politically independentin their present state of economic dependence on South Africais to invite the possibility of South African threats. intrigue andgeneral brinkmanship. A certain measure of dependence onSouth Africa is unavoidable for all the Protectorates, I!reatest inthe case of Basutoland. If Bechuanaland could find alternativemarkets for her cattle. her exports and imports would still haveto be transported by Rhodesian Railways either through Rhod­esia and Portuguese East Africa. or through South Africa. It ispossible to establish links by lorries with Zambia but thedifficulties would be immense. The only railway link betweenSouth Africa and Rhodesia passes through Bechuanaland. whichdoes give her a bargaining counter, but obviously one whichcould be removed by the building of another railway line.

Bechuanaland's development plan is a good starting point for':.e creation of greater economic viability and independence.The var;ous surveys provided for in the plan. and the expen­diture on infrastructure are indispensable and long overdue. Itis really scandalous that implementation of parts of this planhas been delayed because of lack of finance. The Bechuana­land Government has been ,,'ailing in e'perts to assess some ofthe schemes in the plan. but it is a matter of high priority that a.:ommission of experts. preferably from the Ministry of OverseasOevdopment, should undertake an urgent and oYerall survey ofthe plan--without, ho\\ever. delaying its implementation. 1\0

68 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

one can question the wisdom of employing an irrigation agrono­mist for three years "to carry out a programme of observationsand proving trials on a range of crops and on fertiliser andwater requirements" in the vicinity of the Okavango swamps.But this is a follow-up of a reconnaisance survey which hasalready had good results. There are only half a million peoplein the country and at the moment much of their staple diet, alltheir sugar and flour are being imported from South Africa.because of drought in established farming areas. For a smallpopulation, vast schemes are not required and it is surely worthtaking a chance with the food crops in the Okavango area. Thedevelopment plan also provides for village development schemesand co-operative development. but in both cases the moneyavailable is hopelessly inadequate.

The total Government expenditure under the plan and in­eluding recurrent budget expenditure, through five years, on all

education, higher, secondary, primary and teacher training, willbe £3,962,534 (designed to produce 100 "0" levels in 1969). Atthis stage of Bechuanaland's development, investment in agricul­tural productivity and education seems to be the major require­ment. and in both these fields the plan is quite inadequate.Some of the expenditure on education might be called wasteful:the teacher training college in Serowe cost over £100,000 andthen there was no money for recurrent costs in the first year.The Southern African context emphasises the importance ofinvestment in the development of human resources in all threeProtectorates. If turbulence can be forecast in South Africa andif it overspills into the territories. trained and qualified peoplewill be more important than buildings: and the existence of agood educational system in the Protectorates. and the availabilityof qualified people there, might assist greatly in the re -organisa­tion of education in South Africa itself as well as in the re­establishment of stability.

The New Africancovers Africain generaland South Africain particular

THOUGHTNew ideas and oldin Qnd about Africa

ARTSThere is no culturalapartheid in The NewAfrican: poetry,painting, writing,sculpting, the lot

POLITICSKANU TANU SWANU ZANUwhere they've moved fromwhere they're moving toand not leaving behindSouth Africa's ANC PACLP PP UP HNP

LIFE

Social ar¥1 economic lifein industrial and pre­industral Africa and SouthAfrica. And the landsin which it is lived

You will find it wasworth the subscriptionI enclose .Name ..Address .

And have you no friendor relation who wouldlove it for a birthday-or for that matter for alion -birthday-presentfor a non-racialist-or for that matter aracialist in need of a lift?Name ..Address .

Subscription ratesWorld Surface Mail: I year R2 • £ I • $2.80:6 months RI· 105. $1.40; Renewal: I yearR1.80· 185.· $2.50.

Students in Southern Africa: I year RI.50 .155.; Airmail: I year U.S.A .. S6· S.A. R4.

THE NEW AFRICAN12A GOODWINS COURTOFF ST MARTINS LANELONDON wc2 ENGLAND

BRITAIN HAS PERHAPS ONE or two years left before Bechuanalandbecomes independent. There is a great deal that should be donein those two years. It is doubtful whether any civil servant, nomatter how able and how effective, can get the machinery ofthe present colonial Government moving at the pac~ that isrequired: and to withstand the pressures of South AfrIca needssomeone who has not only the confidence of the British Govern­ment but also considerable influence on it. And the sameamount of influence is required to make the colonial officeappreciate the territory's requirements and to provide the neces­sary funds. Bechuanaland requires a Governor rather than aQueen's Commissioner and a senior member of the LabourParty who has the confidence of Bechuanaland's newly electedGovernment could surely be found.

The defence of Bechuanaland is a matter needing urgentattention. Obviously, it cannot be left in the hands of 740policemen. Zanzibar has shown what happens to all the care·fully nurtured democratic institutions and algebraic constitu­tions when internal security is neglected. This is too sensitivean area to leave to chance. If V.N. or international troopscannot be found. then it is vital that Britain should not onlyguarantee Bechuanaland's integrity. but have the men there toprevent a coup d'etat that could quite feasibly originate in whiteSouth Africa.

Bechuanaland requires from Britain not only officialGovernment aid, and from this source not only financial aid. butmaterials and experts too, but it needs aid and interest from theCO-C'r'erative Movement and from voluntary organisations. Thefact that the Protectorate has been a British responsibility seemsto have excluded the possibility of official aid from othercountries. If Britain cannot provide the funds, materials andexperts for Bechuanaland's development, then it is urgent andvital that other countries should be asked to participate. Prioritymust be given to Bechuanaland (and Basutoland and Swaziland)not only because they were so badly neglected for so long. butalso because they are highly vulnerable territories in a verysensitive area of the world. •

[concluded

Africa andMarxism 3

MARTIN LEGASSICK

THE IDEOLOGY OF NKRUMAHISM, formulated most specifically inConsciencism, is the beginning of an attempt at a non-alignedAfrican Marxism. (l do not intend to show here how thestatements of Nkrumah that Folson quotes are not necessarilyincompatible with Marxism.) On regaining independence in1957, Ghana had a clear class structure, the contradictions inwhich had to some extent but never entirely been submerged inthe conflict against colonialism (the class-struggle on an inter­national level, perhaps, as Sekou Toure has said).

Besides the colonially-created class (comprising "instrumentsof the colonial administration ... merchants and traders, law­yers, doctors, politicians and tfade unionists" as well as "certainfeudal-minded elements who became imbued with Europeanideals" to quote Nkrumah) there were communal societies,traditionally separate states. These had, through the processesof colonial partition, been translated, in the single state ofGhana, into different roles in the productive process. Thus theAshanti state became the cocoa-growing area, in which allAshanti benefited through the traditional societal structure; thenorthern areas, in so far as they did not continue subsistenceagriculture, became sources of migrant labour; and in theAkwapim area a class of "small captitalist" cocoa farmers arose.In the '50's the earlier contradictions between traditional rulersand the colonially-oriented elite gave way to an alliance betweenthese against a petit-bourgeoisie allied with the urban property­less and unemployed and those in the villages who could be wonaway from traditional patterns. The conflict between these twoalliances is expressc:d in the c.P.P.'s attack on tribalism and onthe bourgeois. Consciencism certainly supposes class conflictunder certain conditions:

"African society has one segment which comprises our traditionalway of life; it has a second segment which is filled by the presence ofthe Islamic tradition in Africa; it has a final segment which representsthe infiltration of the Christian tradition and the culture of WesternEurope into Africa, using colonialism and neo-colonialism as itsprimary vehicles. These segments are llnimated by competingideologies ..." (p. 68)

The Ghanaian Times, laying stress on certain aspects of this(and thus illustrating the debate within the C.P.P.) elaborates:

... all sorts of pressures have come to bear on African society in thelast three hundred years. Each of these periods was characterised bythe predominant role of the mode of production and was based upona class structure.... At independence these classes do not disappear.In fact they tend to harden and fill the vacuums created by thedeparture of the colonial administration. (June 9th, 1964)

IN CONTRAST, GUINEA AND TANGANYIKA, faced with entirelydifferent structures of traditional society, and neither having asubstantial "middle class" as had grown up in Ghana (forreasons I cannot go into) can speak with more justification of

MARTIN LEGASSICK is lecturing in Physics at the University ofGhana, Accra. This article is the last of three rnstalments.

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 169

"classless societies" and a direct transition from traditionalcommunalism to modern socialism. There is nothing in theprinciples of Marxism, I believe, to say that this is not possible:by conscious action it is possible both to prevent the growth ofindigenous capitalism, and to overthrow the domination of aneo-colonialist class, fulfilling a role in the productive systemof international capitalism. In one of many illuminating pas­sages in Consciencism (which may be regarded as one of thesubstantial contributions to socialism in Africa-certainly inEnglish-speaking Africa~but hopefully will nowhere be re­garded as "canon law") Nkrumah shows the essentially newfactor in modern socialism, which must be introduced:

(modern) socialism stands to socialism as capitalism stands to slavery.In socialism, the principles underlying communalism are gi,:,en e~pres­sion in modern conditions. Thus, whereas communalism m anuntechnical society can be laissez-faire in a techni~al society wh~resophisticated means of. production a~e at hand,. If the underlymgprinciples of communalism ar~ not. given c.entrahsed and correlat.edexpression, class cleavage Will anse, whIch are connected Witheconomic disparities ... (p. 73)

Marx had little to say about one problem crucial to Africa,that of industrialisation, except as it had occurred under capital­ism. The Soviet Union and China were faced with a problemto be resolved in practice, and we cannot say that the methodsused were any less harsh than those of the capitalists. Baran isindeed correct to warn of a "backward and underdevelopedsocialism". But African countries are fortunate today in havingboth the positive and negative aspects of former socialist exper­iences from which to benefit, as well as a further fifty years inthe tradition of Marxist thought and writing. Baran, Dobb,Oscar Lange, Sweezy and many others have applied the prin­ciples of Marxism to these problems. Perhaps African Marxistthought will find a better and more humane way: but perhapsprimitive accumulation and the rapid increase of productivityare inevitably painful processes, involving a degree of coercion.

THIS IS JUST TO SCRATCH the surface of some problem in theapplication of Marxist thought to Africa. For those who rejectMarxism one can only invite them to apply its tools to analysisof historical situations both descriptively and prescriptively."Faith" in Marxism can only grow by empirical verification:this has been my personal experience. To those who are betterMarxists than I, or have been Marxists longer, I apologise forthe naivete of my still-growing comprehension of its body ofthought. To South Africans in particular one can only call forMarxism applied to 'the complexities of the South Africanhistorical situation without the mistakes that have characterisedits dogmatic application in the past. Which are the forces likelyto produce change? What is the nature of the ruling class, andwhat contradictions are there in it?

Marxist analysis is not simplistic or facile: it requires compre­hension of the historical, economic and sociological facts, theability to extract the essential processes 'and contradictions, andto shape them into a thematic and analytic form which can givea guide to action. Marxism leaves much room for disagreement:it is a tradition of thought and not a dogmatic creed. •

(concluded)

70 I THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965

The River Between by lames Ngugi (Heine­mann, 18s.)And A Threefold Cord by Alex la Guma(Seven Seas Books, 3s. 6d.)Emergency by Richard Rive (Faber and Faber.:! Is.)Quartet (New Voices from South Africa) editedby Richard Rive (Heinemann EducationalBooks, 6s. 6d.l .

IF COLLECTIVISM AND THE CENTRALISATION ofauthority in the hands of the chief and eldersstill seems to be the driving ideology behindeven the most modern of the African states, theAfrican novel seems determined to challengethe central assumption that such a social orderis a basis for a good life or individual self­fulfilment.

Frequently the hero of the modern Africannovel comes to grief bec:luse of a certain dis­harmony between his private vision and theossified formg of moral behaviour prescribedby tradition. This is no less true of SouthAfrican fiction than it is of fiction elsewhere inAfrica. And since prescribed moral behaviourwas sanctioned mainly by African religioussystems, the present rebellion of the newAfrican hero against tribal morality signifies atruly African secularism. It is a secularismwhich could have been only delayed so long asthe African communities remained closedsocieties; for in the African society revoltagainst the moral wisdom of the tribe wasalways seen to be an aberration and an evil,with excision rather than accommodation of thedefective limb, as the only solution.

As I see it, this rebellion of the African heroalso constitutes the African novel's final sub­version against the traditional forms of Africanart who:e mode was celebrative and whosemain function was restorative through theharmonising of individual being with that ofthe traditional community.

WAIYAKI, THE HERO of lames Ngugi's novel, isrepresentative of an entire breed which is sub­versive to the extent that it is constantly tryingto enlarge the area of personal choice againstthe demands of tribal affiliation. Yet this con­flict between the individual and the tribe orbetween tribe and tribe during which individualfeelings are hopelessly submerged, is not onlythe central theme of lames Ngugi's novel, it

runs through much of the South African fiction.Nadine Gordimer's A World of Strangers andOccasion for Loving can be related to lamesNgugi's The River Between by the singulareffort of their heroes not to let their privatefeelings be submerged by the unreasonabledemands of the tribe. The only difference isthat in South Africa the tribal chief is whiteand the warring elements are separated bycolour.

In communities where morality is largelyprescribed, the area of personal choice isperilously narrow; consequently, impulsive be­haviour threatens the very existence of thesocial order. Society has to move very swiftlyagainst any of its members who find personalfulfilment outside accepted social patterns ofbehaviour. Nadine Gordimer's characters arealways given the opportunity to bale out beforetragedy strikes since the white rebels are usuallyaliens who seems to arrive in the country fromEurope with their return air tickets securelypinned inside their briefcases. In lamesNgugi's novel Waiyaki is reduced to shame anddisgrace as the result of his nonconformity, andhis only escape would be to emigrate to Nairobiand be swallowed up by big city life. Thusurbanisation takes on a new significance forAfrican literature.

IN N::iUQI'S NOVEL the hero and heroine arecaught between warring factions of traditionaland Christianised Kikuyus, and though the heromakes an admirable attempt to reconcile thetwo cultures, both within himself and in thedismally divided community, he fails becauseas an educated African he has begun to setgreat store by his own personal aspirations;also he shows the same ambiguities andequivocations of modern heroes everywherewho have submitted to the cult of self-doubtand scepticism.

This seems to me a very worthy successor toNgugi's first' novel, Weep Not, Child, whichdealt with the Mau Mau conflict. Ngugi's mainachievement is a series of evocative passageswhich are distinguished by their lack of con­trivance or any striving after effect for its ownsake. There is no reason to doubt that Ngugiowes a special debt to the Nigerian, ChinuaAchebe, whose Things Fall Apart seems to havegreatly influenced him. The main failure ofNgugi's writing so far has been his inability to

allow for easy transition from one scene toanother in a way that would suggest a clearprogress of the novel. The action tends tojump and most of the scenes are not allowedto develop sufficiently to give the novel itsaccumulative power.

NGUGr'S ADVANTAGE OVER the South Africanwriters represented here stems from the factthat he has situated his characters in a com­munity where choice can be seen to be real sothat personal failure or success can be assessedin universal, human terms. Such an assess­ment to be possible requires certain minimumconditions of freedom.

As the stories in Quartet seem to suggest, inSouth Africa there is often very little distinc,tion between choice and necessity. PaUlAnderson of Alf Wannenburgh's story, Debut,admittedly clumsy and ineffectual, did notchoose to be a member of a privileged whiteminority. In order to convince us that Ander­son's faults are personal ones Mr. Wannen­burgh should have redeemed for his charactera certain amount of individuality and unique­ness beyond the mere attributes of the tribe.Because he has failed to do this his satire fallsflat; Anderson is merely a scapegoat for therest of white South Africa.

In the same way in most of these stories theblacks enjoy an unearned virtue simply becausethey happen to be the oppressed. Their nobilityis in their suffering and just as gratuitous. It isa nobility that is given rather than achievedand it is this failure to suggest a variety ofhuman possibilities for their characters whichdeprives much of the work of these writers ofcertain universal qualities so readily felt in thefiction of AJex la Guma.

ONE EXPERIENCES A GREATER IRRITATION andimpatience with Mr. Rive's novel, Emergency,whose leading characters have turned sufferinginto an excuse for self-righteousness. AndrewDreyer, especially, has no individuality to speakof but merely performs as the alter-ego of thewriter, full of gl ib talk and wise-cracks whichdo nothing to ill uminate the full extent of hishumanity. In the same way the intellectualbric-a-brac to which the writer is constantlycalling our attention, the titles of books in theshelves or classical records on the record player,

are supposed to suggest a certain knowledge­ability. In fact they merely confirm our suspi­cion that this cataloguing is a strategy which ismeant to do the work of characterisation. Tofight ag;,inst apartheid or not to fight is theonly choice the characters are allowed to makebut since this choice is imposed from above(they either have to fight and suffer persecutionor be passive and still suffer persecution) therange of their choice is narrowed down to thatpresented by a rigid apartheid regime. Predict-

ably it is Andrew Dreyer. as sensitive as hell,who makes a nobler choice than the others.

IT IS INSTRUCTIVE TO TURN to Alex la Guma tosee how he copes with this problem of Iimtedchoices imposed by an authoritarian society.Though Threefold Cord is less successful thanLa Guma's previous novel, it still offers certainclues to his success. Within the limited choicesavailable to his characters what La Guma does

THE NEW AFRICAN I MAY 1965 I 71

suggest is the unlimited range in which theycan show their humanity. Most of La Guma'scharacters have the weight and value of realliving people; they wage their fight for survivalagainst a brutal regime, and what is left afterthey have spilled their blood is their undeniablehumanity. Where Rive's characters are unableto make love convincingly simply because theyare cardboard boxes and not human beings, LaGuma's characters carry the very stench andsweat of living people. •

Lessons of Disaster

SIR,-The editorial entitled "The Lessons ofDisaster" in your March issue seemed to medesigned to encourage the use of violence inSouth Africa.

The moral you drew from the recent abor­tive attempts was not that sabotage was a wrongtactic but that the wrong sabotage tactics wereused. And in case the point was missed youadded that these "sabotage tactics ... must bechanged for others"-violence, that is. directedagainst persons rather than property.

Editorial speculation on probable futuredevelopments is perfectly valid, but you shouldbe careful to distinguish between speculationand advocacy.

You claim that "The idea that this is the endof revolution should be reserved for the estab­lishment" with the implication that those notfor the revolution are in fact helping to "propup the establishment by their subservience"and, again lest the point be missed, you spellout your lessons for aspirant saboteurs.

The Liberal Party of South Africa, of whichI am a member, absolutely rejects the use ofviolence and would deny that it is either apractical solution to the problem or a way ofintrOducing the non-r<teial society we wouldlike to see.

As a regular contributor to your columns Ishould like to disassociate myself from yourattitude towards what I regard as an un-

o mitigated disaster. JOHN CLAREWhitley Bay, Northumberland

"Perhaps," we wrote, "the lesson in chiefthat has been learned is that the sabotagetactics that lost the battle that began withthe launching of Umkonto weSil,we in /96/must be changed -tor others that will morequickly bring about the end of terror, blood­shed and white baasskap in South Africa."

Surely 'perhaps' implies speculation and'others' not only military but political tacticsas well. -mE EOITOIlS

Undoing

the damage

T. N. W. Bush

Fraser of Trinity and Achimota by W. E. F.Ward (Ghana Universities Press)Colabar by Donald M. McFarlan (Nelson)

IF TIlT' \NGlICAN CHURCH of the early 201hcentury had kn('lwn the things "that belong toits peace" it would have honoured and en­couraged Alek Fraser as one of its greatestmodern priest-missionaries. By doing so it~'Hlld have gai.ned the trust and respect oflOdependent Africa and ASia and wiped out thedamage done by centuries of association withthe forces of colonialist suppression and pater­nalism. But this was not to be. The factsnarratcd in this book tell the story of rejectionby Chu~ch and State of an exceptional prophet.and their luke-warm co-operation with a pro­gressive educationist and ecumenisl who was atleast as far in advance of his times and con­temporaries as Colenso of Natal.

Sent to Coventry by ordinary white coll'ninl­isls for condemning British colour prejudiccand for championing Indian nationalism. hisforthrightness made him an embarrassment anda challenge to many of his superiors as well asto his best friends and most loyal subordinates.It was nol comfortable working with Frnser.any more than it could have been to be a dis­ciple of Jesus.. But his greatness in his ownfield secured him an assured place in the worldof education which nobody could take fromhim.

This is a valuable contribution to the litera­ture of the Afro-Asian Freedom Struggle anda scholarly biography of one of its most sinceresupporters. The story is told. with scientificaccuracy and ample documentation and illustra­tion. of the builder of something far greater, infact. than the colleges in Ghana and Ceylon towhich he gave new life and character. His wasthe establ ishment of "education which mustdraw out nationai feeling and be based onnational needs. an education which must cease

to serve colonialism". And behind the workstood conviction which compelled him to attackall forms of oppression. whether shown in theBritist. massacre of Indians at Amritsar.European responsibility for the slave-likeworking conditions in Japanese industry, or thecruel labour laws of British Kenya-to mentiononly a few cases.

Alek Fraser deprecated but was not dis­couraged by the pettiness of his Church and itspreoccupation with minor issues and squabbles.He won through in spite of this and establishedthe educational foundations upon which waslater built much of the human leadership offree Africa and parts of Asia. His was theeducational revolution which made the politicalrevolution of Nkrumah and others possible andinevitable. For those who wish to understandthe new Africa and Asia, this book is essentialreading.

"CALABAR" IS QUITE DIFFERENT in every way.It might be called an old fashioned missionaryadventure story with all the thrills and excite­ments. But it is much more than this. It is auseful prelude to the larger Fraser volume,since. it paints a vivid and sometimes horrifyingpicture of the tribal anarchy which was theinevitable aftermath of the white slave trade inWest Africa. It tells of the efforts of earlymissionaries to grapple with this massivepsychological and sociological situation whichwas chnracteristic of most parts of Wesl Africa.It explains in part the difficulties with whichFrascr had to contend. It does more than thisand admits the fact that missionary altruismwas in large part offset and cancelled in Africaby the greed and cruelty of traders and ad­ministrators who followed them with gin, rumand guns.

Whik paying tribute to the heroism and self­sacrifice of those who built churches. hospitals,schools and the most famous leper colony inA frica. it lays due blame at the door ofofficially promoted imperialism for most of theills which confront newly-independent areas ofthe continent. If Africa forgives the whitc man,it will he thanks to characters described inCal.1bai' s-.,,,h as Waddell. Slessor and Cruick­shank. Ii Ih(' damage is finally undone, it willb" dne ill Ill' small measure to the farsighted­ness and courage of pioneers such as AlekFru~~ •

To the Editors

They Built for the Future. by Margaret Mac­pherson (Cambridge University Press. 25s.)

UNIVERSITIES HAVE BEEN GROWING up in Africancountries to the .north of the Republic for thepast fifteen years. They have, with the excep­tion of the university at Salisbury, been plannedprimarily to meet the needs of Africans withintheir territories, none. however making dis­crimin<\tion on the grounds of colour norrefusing hospitality to a large number ofstudents from other lands. There are now atleast fourteen of these universities or universitycolleges in English-speaking Africa alone. Anobserver isolated in South Africa can guess thepart they are playing in the political awakeningof the African continent when he learns that atMakerere University College, whose history istold in this book, there.are tlver one thousandstudents.

Something of the.. weight given to universityeducation in the national development can beunderstood from the ~act that the only or­ganisation in Uganda whose business exceedsthat of Makerere is the Uganda ElectricityBoard, which operates the whole of the OwenFaIls power network and supplies electricity toKenya as well as to the tiniest Asian stores inremote corners of Uganda.

IT IS NOT, OF COURSE, in these material termsalone that one will think of higher educationin Africa. But it shows that to Britain andAmerica, as well as to the independent Africancountries who have accepted the gift, a univer­sity is likely to be one of the three of fourmain tributaries running into a national myth-the head of state himself, the legislature, thereligious bodies, whether dying or emerging,being three others. Dc. Nkrumah has thusgiven his name to the university at Kumasi, butonly provided that it became a university ofscience and technology; and Dr. Azikiwe isbuilding a new university almost in his ownfront garden at Nsukka in Eastern Nigeria,where programmes are offered in physicaleducation and journalism. New universitiesappearing in Basutoland, Malawi and Zambiaare tailored to meet political and economiclimitations. Like Nsukka they are taking instudents at "0" level. a little below that of the

South African matriculation certificate, and twoyears prior to the "A" level requirement ofLegon, Ibadan, Salisbury and Makerere. Theirwork will be gathered round the need to pro­duce administrators, agricultural and veterinaryofficers, or lawyers, or doctors, or engineers.The need for teachers is pressed so hard thatseveral universities are having to do much asthe University of Basutoland, Bechuanalandand Swaziland, where some students will beable to water down the academic content toallow for courses in education and periods ofpractice teaching to be carried on withoutlengthening their period of study.

It is here that the experience of Makerereshould be shown as important. In the last fiveyears its peaceful undergraduate teaching hasbeen convulsed by several efforts to meet thecriticism of politicians that it was living withinan ivory tower. There have been short coursesfor administrators who have required no highereducational Qualifications for entrv than thatthey occupied important posts; and for severalyears A.I.D. money has sent teams of youngAmerican garduates to take a course at theInstitute of Education prior to two years'teaching in East Africa.

BUT WHILE THESE THINGS are duly cataloguedby Mrs. Macpherson she regards them as nomore than items in a continuum. She is muchmore concerned to record the jolly voices ofthe builders chanting all the time the college'smotto, Pro future aedificamus. Which impliesthe past. With the faint voices of generationsof jolly builders puffing the dust softly fromone pile of annual reports to another in thedark of a basement.

Makerere belongs to the early generation ofAfrican universities born soon after the SecondWorld War into societies so shy that they hadnothing to say about the kind of universitythey would like to have. Thus the Universityof Ghana at Legon, the University College ofIbadan in Nigeria, and Makerere UniversityCollege, under the gentle but conservativepaternalism of the University of London, havehardened into types: their students, fully pro­vided for in feudal halls looking out on toquadrangles or stately parklands, supplied withcricket and football fields, tennis courts and

Donald Swart

swimming baths. reading in the shade andventilation of some of the finest library build­bridge or London or Manchester or Harvard.And they have succeeded when they got there,because the standards were really the same.

FROM THE LATE FIFTIES. however. criticism hasbeen growing. Political leaders in independentcountries, whose economies trembled at theprospect of maintaining these institutions, havequestioned their objectives. Between the col­leges of the University of East Africa there is.as Mrs. Macpherson rightly says, a lot of co­operation. But the fact that the colleges inNairobi and Dar es Salaam have come intoexistence ten years later has led them to beintensely critical of what they thi&k to be theother-worldliness of Makerere. Many Britishand American observers concur: they think thatthere is something complacent about the postureof Makerere sheltering under the assurance ofhigh academic standards designed to prove nomore than what is now quite well known, thatthe African is capable of true scholarship.

The Makerere myth. furthennore, is fed bytwo very similar aristocratic traditions whichwere given strong encouragement throughoutthe conservative fifties-that of the elect Britishpublic school feeding the elect British univer­sity, and that of the Kiganda feudal aristocracy,under the Kabaka and his Saza chiefs. Mrs.Mecpherson is quite conscious of the lushquality of this living, gained from these re­markably similar sources; and she manages toconvey a sense of immense overseas richesrained upon the hill and fructifying into thesheer physical bounty of courts. towers, toplesspillars, clocks, common rooms, telephones.clumps of flowering trees and vistas alonglawns. which to other eyes obscures rather thanreveals the links between higher and lowereducation in Uganda. This is Xanadu; whileout on the plains teachers who are ill-qualifiedand overworked struggle to give an "A" leveleducation in high schools with no libraries. norbooks to put in them, and no contact with theworld of reading or of art or of science.

THESE ARE THE CRITICISMS which are often madeof Makerere. And Mrs. Macpherson has notonly done nothing to forestall or meet them:she leaves them out of the record. One feelsthat she should have· collected some of theevidence which points towards the impossibilityof building up an institution of so unfamiliara kind in Africa without nourishing a slightlyfanciful myth. Some people have come onlyslowly to believe in the value of a universityin their new country: others are still quitemystified as to why it should be there at all.Here is a fertile field for sales tal1<: and decep­tion. This book would have been more usefulif it had chronicled more of the disappoint­ments and heartsearchings and severity ofthought that have gone to the making ofMakerere. •

Published by Gransight Holdings Ltd., t2 Gayfere "Street, London, W.I. and Printed by Stevenago Printing Works Ltd., High Street, Stevenage, Herts