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An island of liberality in a sea of prejudice
I attended high school in Bloemfontein, at a tradition-rich, English-medium institution. Many of our teachers had completed their undergraduate degrees and/or teaching diplomas at Rhodes, a den of liberalism.
As such, and as rebellious "souties" vehemently at odds with the "dutchman NP government", many of us prided ourselves on our liberalism. We enjoyed philosophical, informal debates in class about the demise of the system, or of its continuance. We railed against the idea of being sent off to fight for a government we didn't support. And we cheered as various Acts that served to physically implement apartheid, were repealed in the years prior.
However, let there be no illusions. As a government school, we toed the line. We sang the anthem, raised the ranje-blanje-blou, and filled in our call-up forms studiously. As much as we despised the philosophy of conscription, I don't think any of us held such firm principles that we might object to national service. Amongst us boys, a stint with Magnus Malan en Seuns was seen as something of a rite of passage. And if you happened to do JLs, a couple of pips on an officer's uniform was a guaranteed chick-puller. Accordingly, every Friday we did our thing at Cadets, and we donned our browns and saluted the flag on Republic Day.
So to Friday, 2 February...
Mid-morning found us on the school bus, parked under the blue gums, exploring what had been packed for us by the kitchen. Yep, same as every tour, grated cheese on brown, and hard-boiled eggs. We were on our way to Pretoria, to attend a cricket festival at St Alban's. We had a top side, a couple of guys who had done really well for OFS at Nuffield '89, and a few more tipped for the '90 team. We had just beaten Grey in a 30-overs league match, and we rated our chances against the likes of the hosts and St Stithian's.
As we were about to leave, onto the bus bounded our English and History teacher, and acclaimed choir master. Naturally, a Rhodes grad, and one of the liberals. Announcement: De Klerk has just unbanned the ANC and is releasing Mandela! Have a great tour.
And we cheered! As the clapping subsided, those on board without a political bent asked, but what exactly does it mean? And those of us with an interest in politics replied, ummmmm, dunno actually.
Therein the paradox. We knew that apartheid was bad and had to go, and we knew that Mr Mandela had to be released, and we knew that majority rule was a forthcoming attraction. But none of us had ever even seen a picture of Mandela. All we "knew" was that he was a terrorist who endorsed the armed struggle. We had never heard Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika. Or we had, in the chorus of the hit song Weeping, we just never connected the dots. More than anything, there was a recognition that our arbitrarily privileged way of life would change forever.
Nine days later, a sunny afternoon, ordinarily spent at the pool, playing touch rugby, tennis or squash. On this occasion, we were all spellbound in the common room, waiting for a glimpse of this man who was going to change our country forever. It was dark by the time Madiba appeared at the Grand Parade, for his first speech in our lifetimes.
I would love to say there was a feeling of hope, there wasn't. We simply didn't know. On one hand, as neo-liberals, we saw this as a good thing. On the other, being in the Free State, a naturally conservative place, we heard talk of a civil war, that the blacks were going to murder us in our beds (or drive us into the sea), and that the farmers and citizen force (conscripts still subject to camps, thus still technically under national service) were going to prevent the blacks from taking over, or die trying. There was nothing in our life experiences that prepared us for how to think about this.
As we know, the following four years were tumultuous. Unspeakable politically-motivated violence, obfuscation and stalling by the politicians, yawn-worthy negotiations, and rank stupidity by many personalities of the day. The Conservative Party did not take part at all, the IFP and Mr Buthelezi only joined up at the last second, and Mangope the old goat clung on to his belief that Bophuthatswana was an independent state, and not subject to the goings-on in SA, until the last.
And that's what made the immediate post-April 1994 period so special. It was dark and gloomy one day, and filled with rainbows, sparkly unicorns, gambolling puppies and mermaids, the next. Twenty years on, as I despair at the actions of the ruling party, the party I once admired and supported. I am incredibly sad. Today is not a good day.
