Honorary White (16 page)

“No, I wouldn't.” These were the things I'd been hoping to hear, not the nice, self-deprecating noises which had been made so far. But still, he was telling me of the old times. I wanted to hear about now. About here. About them.

“Meanwhile the police have become rougher in their tactics and more sophisticated in their methods. Their chief weapon was intimidation. They could easily get Afrikaner students to infiltrate student organizations. Anyone who expressed anti-Government sentiments was a target, no matter who he or she might be. Did you ever hear of Philip Golding or John Schlapobersky? They were both at Wits and were detained in 1969. A favorite police ploy was to confiscate the passport of any student or faculty member suspected of anti-Government sentiments. An American student named Rex Heinke was deported for the same reason. Don't think that all these activities were by Whites pursuing their own selfish interests.”

“Weren't they?”

“No. Even after Blacks were banned from attending white universities the white activists would meet with Blacks, surreptitiously, even in the black townships. Like everything else, the informers soon got wind of it. Some white students were arrested in Soweto, for being there without permits. That was really the year of the raids. The Security Police were everywhere, picking people up and detaining them on the flimsiest pretext. One student named Ahmed Timol died in detention it is said because of a severe beating by the police.”

He seemed unable to stop himself. The stuff was flowing from him, rushing out of him, while the rest of us listened.

“Did you see in the newspaper that Abraham Tiro has been killed by a parcel bomb? They've been after him a long time. In 1972, soon after I came up to Wits, he made a graduation speech at Turfloop U., the black university in Natal. In it he attacked the racist philosophy of the Bantu Education Act. For this he was expelled. As a result all the Turfloop students staged a sit-in and all were expelled, the police helping with the expulsions. Naturally. This set off a chain reaction, as students from black universities at Fort Hare, Westville, Bellville, Zululand, everywhere, joined in spontaneous protest. The high point was a peaceful demonstration by more than ten thousand Whites on the steps of St. George's Cathedral at Cape Town. As you would expect, the police charged at them, with batons and guns, and even followed them into the Cathedral to beat them up and arrest them. Can you imagine that? Inside the Cathedral. And the Prime Minister defended them.

“I could tell you more. Do you know why? I plan to document it all; maybe I'll use it as the basis for my thesis. I was in Cape Town for that protest demonstration. I saw what happened with my own eyes. I stayed out of the way. I don't think I could take that kind of brutal beating. The police don't care whom they hit, man or woman. Or where.”

“What about the black students?” I asked.

“They're harassed all the time. Even before they open their mouths they're banned. I guess the informers are even more active among them. Black informers. Every day you read of some more being banned, restricted to their own homes from dusk to dawn. However, you seem to take their protest for granted. What you wanted to know about was our involvement. If you see little evidence of it, that's because we're copying the tactics of the Blacks. We've been operating underground since 1972, when the editor and the cartoonist of the “Wits Student,” our university publication, were suspended from the U. for publishing anti-government material. They were subsequently charged with offenses under the Publications and Entertainments Act and convicted. The same thing has happened at other universities, black and white. The Government has strangled protest in any overt form. I don't believe they will succeed in silencing protest. We're being forced to operate differently, that's all.”

“How has the murder of Tiro affected your underground activities?” I asked. “Seems to me the Security Police have demonstrated how very easily they can reach anyone, anywhere.”

“Perhaps,” a young woman said, “but not necessarily. The police knew that Tiro depended on help from friends. He'd fled to Botswana, but he needed help, and the police found a way to get to him. Here we are learning to be very careful. We hadn't agreed to tell you all these things because we couldn't take the risk of your mentioning your source, if you decided to write about it.”

“I won't mention names,” I promised, “nor will I ask which of you are involved in what movement. But I'd like to know whether it really is a movement or just the posturings of a few?”

“We're more than a few. Much more. Even some faculty members are with us. The same is true at other universities. Unfortunately, we can't expect any public support, not even among our parents or relatives. Everybody is afraid. Even the priests. Most of them, the English-speaking ones, are sympathetic, but they can't all be martyrs. Did you know that there's a violent right-wing group operating with the knowledge and consent of the Government and Security Police? They call themselves Scorpio. They're terrorists, but because they're White there's no mention of them. In '72 they fire-bombed the home of the student president of Cape Town U., Geoff Budlender. Naturally, no arrests, no prosecutions. So, you see, we're like lambs surrounded by predators. From the distance of the U.S.A. you might imagine that this is a struggle between Blacks and Whites. It's much more than that. Under this government it's also become a struggle by some Whites for freedom to live in peace with justice for everyone, Black and White. We do not plan to turn this country over to the Blacks, but we'd prefer to see it governed democratically, justly, and without recourse to fear and intimidation.”

We were interrupted by a call from the hotel lobby. Dr. Bozzoli, President of Witwatersrand University, wished to speak to me. He came on the line and reminded me that I'd promised to dine with him at his house that evening. Covering the mouthpiece, I told the students that the President of the U. was at the hotel and I thought I'd better meet him downstairs.

“On account of us?” one asked.

“Well … ”

“I think you should ask him up,” one said. The others nodded.

I asked him to come up, checked my diary and found that it was true. I'd made the entry, but on another page. I told the students of my dilemma, adding that I was sure Dr. Bozzoli had heard at the desk that I was entertaining a group of his students. The front desk seemed to know everything I did.

“They wouldn't know,” I was told. “We drove into the basement garage and took the lift right up here. We knew the number of your suite from when we'd phoned earlier.”

“You'll have to go with him,” one said.

“I suppose so, but I was really enjoying this talk with you. And I've invited you to be my guests for dinner. What shall we do about it?”

“Whatever you say,” they told me. I was unhappy to have to leave them, because we'd finally broken through the earlier resistance and were reaching each other.

“Here's my suggestion,” I offered. “I'll go with Dr. Bozzoli for two hours. Meanwhile you order your meal here, whatever you like, and take your time about it. I'll be back before you're through and we can have coffee together and continue our talk.”

They agreed. The President arrived and seemed quite surprised to see me with a roomful of young people. I made no attempt at individual introductions, bearing in mind some of the things we'd been discussing. They seemed a little jittery at having been discovered by him.

On the way to Dr. Bozzoli's home, I told him of my predicament and explained that the students had offered to wait for me while I kept my dinner engagement with him.

With the Bozzolis were a few members of the university community, one or two businessmen and their wives and the author Nadine Gordimer with her husband. Before dinner we sat outdoors and made small talk. For much of this pleasant interlude I listened, observing these charming, urbane, gracious people who seemed untouched and untroubled by the sinister air which foamed and rumbled about them. They talked knowledgeably about their country's economy and the implications of the extraordinary fluctuations of the gold prices. They commented on the equally dramatic changes taking place in diplomatic procedures, largely due to what they called American “instant” statesmanship as practiced by the very peripatetic American Secretary of State. They discussed the international effect of oil shortages, but assured themselves that South Africa would suffer less than most because her economy depended more on her massive coal reserves than on oil.

From where we sat, the women gowned and coiffed, the men elegant and worldly, national disaster seemed light years away. Part of me wanted only to enjoy this short respite from the hustle of six extremely busy weeks, but another part of me was watchful and listening, remembering that under the selfsame stars that glistened overhead, and within a short distance from where we sat, the pain of exclusion was being acutely felt and deeply resented by others, Blacks like myself. Within earshot of our sophisticated banalities, the fuse was already set for a tragic explosion.

Things changed when we went in to dinner. Mrs. Bozzoli, who had said so little outdoors, being content to supervise the introduction of newcomers and settle them down with drinks, now emerged as a highly articulate and well-informed hostess, displaying a surprising independence of spirit which defied compromise of her personal principles. As if under her stimulating influence, the conversation became more sober and careful, and was directed to the fundamental issues of South Africa's domestic and international situation. Inevitably, I was asked to state my impressions of the society even though I protested that I had seen very little and learned even less in the six weeks of my visit. However I said that it seemed to me the Government was deliberately trying to goad the black people to the point of revolt.

Even though their expressed attitudes vary in form, all Whites benefit from the cruel exploitation of the Blacks and are disinclined to any change likely to threaten those benefits in any way. Some of those sitting and talking with me took a distant, intellectually objective view of the racial situation, assuring me that in spite of what I might see many changes for the better were in progress. They could recall the conditions and circumstances of ten or fifteen years earlier, and were themselves impressed by the dramatic way in which changes had occurred since. They drew my attention to the recently publicized decisions to abandon some of the “petty apartheid,” the segregation signs so familiar on park benches, buses, and public buildings.

Impatiently, I applauded their objectivity but insisted that I could not share it. They could afford their distance from the Blacks, because at every level that distance was maintained and encouraged. They all had black servants who were denied the right to bargain for their labor and could hardly protest their treatment. I could not be “objective.” I was black and could not, would not wish to avoid identity with those of whom they spoke so impersonally, so unfeelingly. I knew that I was sitting there with them only because I was an overseas writer whose work they admired. Did they care about the authors and poets of equal or greater potential vegetating among them?

“Let's get to the heart of the matter,” one woman said, her face set in a mold of aggressive determination. “I'm a sociologist. The very nature of that discipline requires that we regularly examine our society for strengths and weaknesses. The moment we begin we're confronted with the inequities imposed on Blacks. Okay. But consider for a moment what would happen if those inequities were suddenly removed. Our elders remind us of what they endured at the hands of Blacks when this country was settled. The disparity in numbers remains, perhaps it has even increased. Just imagine the Blacks in power. Given the present conditions, what could we do to reduce what you call polarization without tipping the balance of power in favor of the Blacks?”

There was a sudden stirring among the group. Clearly, she had posed the question of general concern to them all. She caught me unprepared. I had not, so far, been thinking along those lines.

“I would prefer to speculate on the sharing of power rather than on a reversal of roles,” I said. “Think what a willing and conscientious black population could contribute to the society. Not as near-slaves but as citizens proud of their rights. In many other societies, given the opportunity, Blacks have proved themselves as capable as anyone else of setting national needs at the top of their priorities.”

“It would be unreasonable not to expect them to want to revenge themselves on us for past injustices,” another suggested.

“If Germany and Israel can find bases for mutual cooperation, I imagine it is quite possible for anyone else.”

“In this society, the individual is expected to conform politically and socially,” a bald man said. “The attitude to Blacks is both social and political. If I, as an individual, wished to adopt a humanitarian attitude to Blacks whom I meet, work with, or employ, I would automatically be assuming a posture politically at variance with the prevailing governmental policies.”

“If, as an individual, in spite of the attitudes of others, you can recognize and respect the humanity of Blacks, I cannot see how that would force you into any political posture. I am Black. You can sit here and converse courteously with me; that does not suggest a political posture. You say you work with Blacks. I cannot see that, should you treat them with courtesy and respect you are assuming a political posture. If you employ Blacks as domestic servants and decide to pay them a wage you can afford and they are worth, I do not consider that a political posture, unless you wished to make it so.”

“I don't think your reference to yourself is relevant,” someone intervened. “You are a famous author and a stranger, so immediately our attitude to you is one of respect.”