Eyes of the Sky

 

In an earlier blog post I told you how I had surreptitiously come across Rayda Jacobs’ The Slave Book. I posted my thoughts on Ms. Jacobs’ work, daring to compare her with the South African literary giant Andre Brink. I also remarked that I accidentally tumbled into the second part of Ms. Jacob’s chronological epic of one or two South African families which began in the seventeenth century. The saga of the Kloot family, for one thing, begins in the Cape.

The first book in this trilogy is Rayda Jacobs’ award-winning debut, Eyes of the Sky, published by Kwela Books, an imprint of NB Publishers in South Africa. The reader’s eye is immediately drawn to the novel’s title, wondering who or what is Eyes of the Sky. First impressions do last. My initial thoughts were drawn to the indigenous people of North America and their penchant for naming their sons and daughters elaborately after what is spiritually important to them in nature, the skies and the heavens.

The naming of children is closely connected to humankind’s spiritual communion with nature. More importantly, it is an acknowledgement of a higher force. On the Southernmost tip of Africa, it is believed; lay the true origins of humanity. Today’s Khomani San people, living mostly in the urban ghettos of the Western Cape and on the rural outskirts of South Africa’s largest province, are the direct descendants of what is believed to be original man and woman. Call them Adam and Eve if you will.

Much like the remaining Native American tribes, even the original inhabitants of Australasia, the scattered families and clans of the Khomani San are gravely endangered. Much like the European and African settlers in North America, settlers from abroad, whether willingly or forced, have invaded and endangered the livelihood of this originally nomadic group of people. The most direct descendants of the Khomani San live on harsh, dusty plains across the Northern Cape.

It is sometimes hard to imagine their ancestors living in a Garden of Eden. Certainly, this was not the case during the seventeenth century when the original Afrikaner settlers migrated to the Karoo in search of their own freedom from oppression and land on which to farm. Rayda Jacobs’ recreation of the Kloot family is a vivid narrative impression of what life was like for the early Afrikaners who sought to exorcise themselves from the colonial claws of the British Empire.

In their search for their freedom and right to live, they unwittingly invaded the vast living space of the Khomani San. Invariably, their misguided Calvinistic and Dutch influence gave them a superiority complex over the indigenous nomads who in turn knew and understood the land far better than these early settlers. The settlers in general perceived them as mere savages, scantily clad and without proper shelter from the harsh elements.

It was nothing of the sort. The Khomani San, in close communion with their ancient primal religion, knew how to survive. What they could not do (well) was come to terms with the superior force of their European counterparts who brought with them fire sticks (rifles). How were they to wage a fair battle with their poison-tipped arrows, essentially used only for hunting, against rifles that could pulverize their naked bodies with heavy casings of lead?

As this story goes, the Kloot family has decided to settle in an area known as the Hantam, only a few days journey from the Colony’s capital, Cape Town. The landscape here is harsh and dry, but Oupa (grandfather) Harman, a hardy farmer, recognizes it’s potential. Invariably, time waits for no-one and the patriarch passes his life-giving flame to Roelof who sires two sons born three years apart from one another. The older brother, David, is cast as the stereotypical misogynist and racist. He vents his hate-filled spleen on the indigenous tribes living near the Kloot farmstead and the women living on the farm, both relative and slave. It is left to the younger Harman to put an end to this human tragedy which threatens everyone’s existence if it is allowed to fester.

Harman Kloot is a passionate chip off his old grandfather’s shoulder. Before the old man’s death, a secret is imparted to the younger Harman. In later years it will become part of his legacy and the cultural heritage of later settlers of the Western Cape. Today’s (real life) descendants of such encounters between the rural pioneers of Southern Africa and their European and Northern African migrants are known as Cape Coloured.

Some of them today jestingly and colloquially refer to themselves as a “mixed bredie”, a metaphor of an original and tasty dish brought to these shores by their Malaya ancestors who were conscripted as slaves by Dutch colonialists. All that is left for me to say now is that I look forward to the conclusion of a vividly colourful portrayal of life in the Cape which began in the seventeenth century.

Are all things possible through prayer?

 

“Prayer is the means by which we obtain God’s power. Lord teach us to pray!”
Most believers, preachers, rabbis, imams and faith healers have already answered that question. Yes, of course all things are possible through prayer. Charles L Allen’s short book, All Things are Possible Through Prayer has sat on my desk for a few weeks now. Beneath it are a further four overdue library books which I shall endeavor to talk about in the next couple of weeks. Even though I must have read this modest looking book at least a few times over, I refused to let go of it.

I’d like to invite you down a dangerous dark alley where prayer becomes the only avenue out of the darkness. But before I do that, let me once more apologize to my regular and devoted readers for not being with you as often as I had promised the last time I posted anything here. Nevertheless, I am quite grateful that my blog is still attracting a steady flow of visitors in spite of my long absence.

Such is the path that I am on now that I am required to be more organized and efficient than at any time in my life. Otherwise I will not be able to pay the rent and take care of myself, let alone others and other material matters.  The thing about prayer is this; it can be dangerous and you need to center your mind towards one or two areas of your life that need fixing. But sometimes God has already dictated that your life was fine to begin with, you just did not know it at the time. To pray correctly takes some practice, perhaps even a degree to master.

Most pastors and spiritualists know how to pray, whether having been taught to do so by rote through their respective divinity schools or through faith. It appears that the Roman Catholic Pope Francis does. So too, the Dalai Lama who has just turned eighty. Happy Birthday your Holiness, hope you’ve had a few extra laughs! But, dear sir, I remain sorry that you are not allowed to visit our beautiful country. In case you need reminding, I am a South African, born and bred on the tip of the continent, known as the Cape of Good Hope, or the Cape of Storms, depending which way the strong winds blow, or how things are for many impoverished Capetonians.

To put it bluntly, things are pretty grim for nearly half the peninsula’s diverse population. It is winter here and when it rains, it pours. Half the population is unemployed, many of them are deserving youths who did not ask to be born into a life of poverty and unrest. Many inhabitants are either living on what is unfairly branded as informal settlements, shack lands to those in the West (although, this too is a rare site for you). Others are known as backyard dwellers.

Now, most of these folks, out of sight and not thought much of, are indigenous to the wider Cape which is also within the domain of the Western Cape Province governed by the Democratic Alliance. Through racial discrimination and racist job reservation policies similar to South Africa’s bitter apartheid past, most colored folks are not able to find meaningful work. Mired in a world of poverty, many male youths have chosen gangsterism as a way out of their morass. Thousands of men and women have become slaves to a dangerous drug made famous by an award-winning American serial.

Funny thing though, that most of the South Africans doing the complaining today, literally have the world at their feet. On the one hand, middle class whites complain bitterly about the epidemic of corruption, fraud and theft, sometimes even murder, committed by the new hegemony. In simpler terms, this is the legacy of one Jacob Zuma and his African National Congress, a once majestic liberation movement with a rich history behind it.

On the other hand, many privileged black youths, ok, make that a few dozen black youths either brave or stupid enough to do this, are protesting wildly at the administration of one of Africa’s leading universities to “transform” its self. It is a dubious term if ever there was one, because it has distinct racial, or racist motivations behind it. The excuse here is that colonialism must be uprooted and replaced with a pan-African line of enquiry. Truth of the matter is this, and perhaps the Palestinian academic, Edward Said has mentioned this in the past, colonialism still needs to be taught in order to respond to it coherently and rationally. Pan-African academic work is already part of the discourse.

A small band of excrement flingers, well dressed in designer garb that no-one else can afford anyhow, has not noticed (or chooses not to) that the country has transformed for the betterment of all its citizens, including, and perhaps especially for them, fellow Africans north of the Limpopo River. These migrants are the epitome of how all of us should live our lives. In spite of their harsh circumstances, they are able to work extremely hard and even start their own small businesses, making enough money to send back home to the families they left behind.

The world took note when a despicable Zulu king called upon his obtuse followers to root out foreigners, blaming them for South Africa’s scourge of high crime and unemployment rates. The world also took note when the Sudanese dictator was allowed to cross the country’s borders, unharmed and seemingly untouchable, wine and dine at tax payers’ expense and return safely to his desert fiefdom. Reasonable South Africans were also reminded that a spiritual peacemaker of world renown is still not allowed to visit.

The problems of racism and cultural intolerance are, or course, not unique to South Africa. Just recently, a president intoned the Christian Hymn of Amazing Grace in commemoration of innocent church goer’s slayed by a deranged racist in the USA. This country remains plagued by racism in spite of Constitutional and Federal legislation which guarantees the rights of all its citizens and protects those deemed to be minority groups. Less still is said and done for America’s indigenous people.

I am standing at the end of the dark tunnel now. Time to turn once more to the light. Perhaps one must wait a few days for the light to return because it is the middle of winter and bitterly cold during the dark nights. I chose a bleak tone for this post deliberately. Do not worry, it all ends (or begins) well. I am forced to compare my life with others. At times, I may feel that I am so troubled and unfortunate that I do not even know how to pray. My mind sobers when I look around me and see how so many are suffering, so much worse off than I am. One prayer that I offered recently was to be able to get back in the saddle so that not only can I help myself, I can also go out and help those who need help now.

The bleak tone is indicative of my reflections on Charles L Allen’s closing pages of All Things are Possible Through Prayer. He concluded his prayer directions with an unusual metaphor. But this metaphor is now part of South African life. Let me rather quote the last paragraph in full.

“I don’t understand prayer any more than I understand electricity. But I do know that man builds a generator that catches out of the air that marvelous power, and we use that power to do so many things for us. God made electricity and I believe that God who made a power to light our homes did not forget to make a power to light up our lives. The God who made a power to pull our buses did not forget to make a power to help His children along the way of life. Prayer is the means by which we obtain God’s power. Lord teach us to pray!”

What a powerful and yet humble statement! This comes from a man of faith who in spite of teaching his readers all he knows and believes about prayer, does not claim to have all the answers. What he does say throughout his short, textual sermon is that prayer is complex and often misunderstood. There is no long or short answer on how to pray with results. Forget about folks rising up from their death beds and the lame being able to walk again. Forget about children infected with the HIV Aids virus, or folks who suffer from schizophrenic mental disorders. There are no cures.

Jesus understood this dilemma well while He was talking to his disciples and poor followers. For that time, He offered His followers a simple yet powerful prayer which has stood the test of time for over two thousand years. It begins with;

“Our Father who is in Heaven.”

You know the rest of the prayer. Well, for those who don’t, google the phrase and there you go. It’s short and sweet. It encompasses everything that we cry out at night to God for. One thing that prayer is not is any easy way out of our daily problems. Do not expect to be instantaneously lifted out of your gloom and your troubled life by the time you wake up the next morning. Sometimes a prayer is only answered, if at all, years later. Take my life .

Strictly speaking and for official purposes in my town, I am unemployed.  I am also hearing disabled and am slightly deformed. A few years ago it was discovered that I am also clinically depressed.  Now, all these disadvantages can seriously affect one’s personal judgment and ability to do everyday tasks that normal folks often take for granted. But, even when you have not prayed for this, miracles happen.

At some stage of my childhood, teachers at my special needs school asked my folks to take a giant leap of faith and place me in a normal educational institution. Boy, did I struggle. But I never gave up. I persisted with my studies and ultimately I matriculated. While at high school I had another passion apart from reading and writing. I loved the solitude of long distance running and for a while I seem to be satisfied with finishing second from the back in house races.

It would not be long before I actually started winning the races that St Paul gushes about. I qualified for provincial try-outs. Then I was conscripted to an infantry regiment at the height of apartheid in South Africa. Through my mother’s perpetual resilience I was freed from this incarceration. The thoughts and feelings I had about inequality and injustice as a child took root as a young adult.

After a short struggle, I joined the ranks of the working class. Drifting from nine to five and from day-to-day for the next twenty or so years until I quite literally became sick of it. As luck, or prayer, would have it, I was given the pink slip. I spent the next year or two completing my degree in Languages, Literature and Creative Writing. Now that I have graduated, I believe my journey in life may have only just begun.

In order to make ends meet, I now freelance my way through life. I still get to enjoy a modest luxury or two as a reward for my honest work. Finally, know this, prayer is a dangerous preoccupation, because you may wake up one morning and find that you may just receive what you have asked God for all along. Prayer is hard work too. You have to actively engage yourself in your own ambitions and desires and needs and make it happen.

So, ja, I suppose that All Things are Possible through Prayer.

The Slave Book

 

Rayda Jacob’s The Slave Book was first published in Cape Town in 1998 by Kwela Books, an imprint of NB Publishers. I was endeared towards Ms Jacobs after watching her film adaptation of her own novel, Confessions of Gambler, a few years ago. Before beginning my reading of The Slave Book I returned to an earlier debate over the awarding of a writing scholarship to the late Andre Brink. The fruits of that scholarship are now well-known. It produced the MAN Booker-listed Philida. Today, my argument remains the same. Brink was already a prominent literary personality, some would say a legend. My argument never questions the undoubted literary craftsmanship of Professor Brink. What, I ask again, is the purpose of a scholarship? It affords a new writer with above average talent and great promise the opportunity to produce an opus free in the knowledge that he, or she, does not need to be concerned about material matters.

The awarding of a scholarship is equivalent to any good writer who has qualified to do a Masters or Doctorate in Creative Writing, say. After reading The Slave Book, I asked myself whether Ms Jacobs would be a more worthy recipient of this scholarship. Culturally, she may have been. At this stage, I do not know whether she did apply for this scholarship offered by the University of the Western Cape. But, perhaps literary excellence was always the primary motif and Brink’s Philida, also published by NB Publishers, testifies to this. But, this also takes nothing away from Rayda Jacobs and her narrative interpretation of the history of slavery in the Western Cape. The central point of The Slave Book always remains the pivotal date of December, 1834, when the promise of freedom is given to all slaves of the Cape of Good Hope.

Before the novel begins, Ms Jacobs acknowledges in some detail those who contributed towards her research. I wonder if this was necessary, but much like Brink did throughout his career, it is laudable. What intrigued me about Jacob’s narrative was her own cultural heritage and perspectives as a woman writer. Slavery, still practised today, is grim enough, but Jacobs steers away from descriptions of the harsh, physical treatment meted out to both indigenous and indentured slaves by their oppressors, particularly the Afrikaners. Instead, she focusses on the psychology of it all and how relationships, particularly between the so-called baster (mixed-race) Harman and the Mahometan (Muslim) slave girl, Somiela, are affected by the oppression of slavery and racism. Religion is not spared either, and who better than a Muslim writer – Rayda Jacobs – to tell this story.

The debate surrounding religion is focussed on the sociological consequences of marriage which does not observe the dogmatic conventions of religious traditions and customs. It is always a good argument, and many enlightened spiritualists – including the story’s protagonist, Harman – will propagate that it does not matter which religion we inherit, because we are still serving the same God. A conservative reader may frown upon the comparisons drawn between the two religions portrayed in The Slave Book, but as Ms Jacob’s research has revealed, the Muslim faith was far more amenable than the Dutch Reformed practices of the Boers. Indeed, the Afrikaners’ version of Christianity is formed through a long history of colonial arguments in favour of racial supremacy.

The Muslims of the Cape do not have this history, but what they do have is the belief that their religion is pure and should not be tainted through other influences. What many Christians of today may not know is that much of what the Qu’ran teaches and many of the pious devotional practices of Muslims have at some point or another since its foundation been appropriated from the earlier Christian and Judaic teachings handed down since Abraham.

I enjoyed the textures of colour, taste and smell which are blended into the narrative. It serves as a beautiful metaphor for those who are able to experience life beyond racial, cultural and religious boundaries, no matter how difficult it remains. Traditional dress and cooking lightens the burdens of slavery, but never erases it. The landscape is familiar to any reader from Cape Town, but is sufficiently descriptive for the foreign reader. Either way, we are never far from the hearts and minds of the characters, even the villainous Andries who is stereotypically characterised as the arch-oppressor who inevitably provokes the conflicts between master and slave. In Cape Town, we could very well describe The Slave Book as a mixed bredie of characterisation, plot and story. While Harman and Somiela must always be our hero and heroine, we must also be aware of the supporting characters’ interpretations and emotions of life in the Cape during the eighteen-thirties.

It is a great pity that I began my reading of Rayda Jacobs with The Slave Book, only learning afterwards that it is part of a trilogy. The Slave Book follows Ms Jacob’s first novel, Eyes of the Sky. The trilogy is concluded with Sachs Street. Pity? No matter. Curiosity got the better of me. I found Eyes of the Sky in my library the other day. I also found Joonie and Confessions of a Gambler – both movie and novel. My introduction to Ms Jacobs’ work began a few years ago when I saw her independent and thought-provoking film which she co-produced. She also wrote the screenplay and directed the show. And what a show it was! Even while watching it for the third time, I remained absorbed in this story about a Cape Muslim woman dealing with the crisis of losing her younger, gay son to HIV/Aids, dealing with her past and facing up to the consequences of depression. I enjoyed the visual presentations of the Muslim practices of prayer and the cleansing and burial rituals of the deceased.

Confessions of a Gambler is an engaging and enlightening encounter for the first-time viewer, or reader. It offers an honest interpretation of what it means to be a devout Muslim in the truest sense of the word. For those who are not Muslim, Ms Jacobs’ work should also address the unfortunate ignorance of this religion. It has many spiritual and physical benefits for the devotee when it is practised in accordance with the teachings of the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him.

 

Gandhi Before India

 

“Gandhi’s message of peace and non-violence holds the key to human survival in the twenty-first century.”

• Nelson Mandela –

Ask any avid reader and lover of books. Books should be cherished. They are also frightfully expensive, particularly the longer and exceptionally good tomes. An earlier visit to my local library was the setting for a rare find. Public libraries are bereft of funds and worthy donors, but there are occasions when there is a rare spurt of generosity. Finding Gandhi Before India by Ramachandra Guha displayed prominently during my search for other biographical works, was a gift. While it was already published by Allen Lane in 2013, this book was resplendently brand-new when I clutched it for the first time. I had written some notes towards other essays where I touched briefly on the monumental contribution Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi made to human history over two centuries. I was already familiar with aspects of his life through the film medium, and re-watching Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi remains an occasion.

But, Guha’s work towers far higher than Attenborough’s award-winning opus. Attenborough was a director of note and as a life-long opponent of apartheid was well-qualified to produce such a tribute to the Mahatma. But, that is all it remains when compared with Guha’s contrite work. There is much to learn and gain after a dedicated reading of Gandhi Before India. Over five hundred pages long, it is merely the first part of an extensive biography of the life, times and philosophies of Gandhi. And Guha has already produced India After Gandhi: The History of the World’s Largest Democracy. By dint of that book’s title, I remain convinced that the legacy that Gandhi left us remains alive and well. Forget for a moment the ominous signs to the contrary. While most nations’ politicians and leaders have selfishly manipulated and abused their countries’ constitutions to the detriment of the citizens that they are designed to serve and aid, freedom and democracy still seems to be the better solution to a troubled and divisive world.

Today’s India is ruled by Narendra Modi, leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party, originally a Hindu Nationalist party. His realm stretches across twenty-nine states and a melting pot of many cultures and religions, particularly the sects of Hinduism and Islam. In comparison to previous years since independence from the British Empire, this country of over a billion people has enjoyed a period of relative peace and phenomenal economic growth. But, the MAN Booker Prize-winning author, Arundhati Roy will argue otherwise. The problems of inequality, poverty and religious and cultural oppression still run deep and won’t be overturned in the near future. But, comparatively speaking, Indians are slowly but surely growing more tolerant of each other. Gandhi, born into a relatively prosperous middle-class Hindu family, became aware of these blights later in his life. Perhaps it was fortuitous, or divine intervention itself, that Gandhi, a loyal subject of the British Empire as a newly qualified barrister, experienced racism first hand during his earliest travels through South Africa.

There is a famous scene in Richard Attenborough’s film where Gandhi, dressed impeccably in an English-tailored suit, is brutally thrown off a train by a racist conductor and his complaining passenger. Gandhi insisted that he had every right to sit in the first class compartment of that train’s car since he was the rightful owner of a first class ticket. But, little did he know at that time of how inherently divided along racial and economic lines South Africa already was. Guha writes that Gandhi would have to endure many similar train journeys before realizing just how bad it all was. But, before Gandhi’s awakening to the problems of racism, oppression and inequality, the reader must learn what shaped this mystical, unusual and eccentric man.

As we already know, Gandhi, through the prejudices of his Hindu religion and culture, had a premature marriage to Kasturba foisted on him. The peculiarities – as he would describe it – of his religion and culture would also affect his relationships with his children. It would trouble Gandhi throughout his life that he could never shake off the yolk of patriarchal traditions. Surprisingly we learn of who and what influenced Gandhi the aesthete, never mind the religious mystic. It was none other than the Russian literary giant, Leo Tolstoy, that would assist Gandhi in seeking out a life which is inherently harmonic and peaceful, if practised. One would have to travel all the way back to Gandhi’s time in England while studying law, to learn of his decision to become a life-long adherent of vegetarianism. While he may not have known it then, and Guha does not mention this in his biography, much of what Gandhi practised and preached is more urgently valid to us in the second millennium encumbered with the critical problems of global warming and environmental degradation, all consequences of inequality, mass production and over-consumption.

By the time Gandhi was a prominent activist in South Africa, the arch-colonist and oppressor of South Africa’s indigenous people, Cecil John Rhodes had already left the scene. But he made his mark. While his dreamed of Empire did not stretch across the whole of Africa, his dream of a Union of South Africa did come to be. Designed to rally white Anglo-Saxons and Afrikaners into a peaceful co-existence towards realising common goals, the Union of South Africa’s earliest years would be presided over by two Afrikaner Generals of Anglo-Boer War fame, Louis Botha and Jan Christiaan Smuts. These two men were Gandhi’s greatest rivals in the struggle for equality for Indian men and women originally brought to South Africa to serve the white population’s labour needs. Smuts was every bit the unusual aesthete that Gandhi was. This is peculiar, because he was inherently racist.

Safe from the vagaries of his own culture, Gandhi was free to do as he pleased during his years in England. He would, however, not be tempted by strange, foreign mores. He consumed much in a literary sense. After being introduced to the London Vegetarian Society, Gandhi immersed himself in  alternative thoughts on culture and religion. What was  illuminating to him at the time, would also profoundly influence his later years as an activist in South Africa and as India’s liberator was the Bible’s New Testament stories on Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. The young Gandhi could not believe that such generosity of spirit and servitude was possible given his own Indian background.

The most important aspect of Gandhi’s many philosophies was surely the adoption of the practice of satyagraha, passive, non-violent civil disobedience and resistance. In view of the oppression meted out by the South African regime, this was a just cause, but it was never violent. The extent of Gandhi’s charisma and influence over the many people who chose to follow his example remains astounding because of Gandhi’s modest stature, both physically and personally. It was always difficult for him to speak before large crowds, but they heard him and listened to him. They would willingly go to prison in the hope of contributing towards their eventual emancipation. During Gandhi’s time in South Africa, it never came, but it took root and had a profound effect on Indians living on the sub-continent and it reverberated across most parts of the world.

A painful aspect of Guha’s narrative is the detailed narration of the continuous trails of letter writing and meetings with Smuts which were all to no avail. But, it is necessary because it is evidence of how resilient both Gandhi and his oppressors were. Neither would budge. While Gandhi represented the interests of the Indians in South Africa, Smuts always argued that his reluctance to concede to their demands was in the best interests of his white English and Afrikaans-speaking constituents. The popular belief, still to this day and with justification, was that most white South Africans were racist. But within Gandhi’s entourage of many helpers and followers were a number of white men and women, Christian and Jewish, who would influence Gandhi immeasurably. Much like Mandela in later years, Gandhi learned that there was much that was good about the so-called white race and there was much to be gained and learned from them.

A critical aspect of Gandhi’s saintly and mythological life in South Africa often spoken about among South Africans is his ignorance of the indigenous Africans who were regarded as lower in status and class by his own followers. The excuse is always bandied that Gandhi was “a product of his times” and this much is clear in Ramachandra Guha’s biographical writing. The emphasis on the Indian population is necessary to tell the true story of Gandhi’s growth as a human being and leader. But, Guha does mention Gandhi’s belated awareness of the Africans’ plight. Gandhi’s forthright decision to leave South Africa for good and return to his motherland to address the – at that time – greater cause of the liberation of India was understandable and necessary. It was also welcomed by Smuts who famously hoped aloud that Gandhi had indeed left South Africa for good.

But, by the time Gandhi had left South Africa, the seeds for practising passive resistance among the African people had already been planted. No-one can argue that Gandhi would fail to address the injustice against all South Africans had he stayed longer in the country. Even to this day, Gandhi’s legacy remains alive for many South Africans who argue in favour of peaceful co-existence and equality. The consequences of those alternatives are also clearly felt today. A new debate has surged, arguing for the re-writing of South Africa’s history since long before the first European settlers arrived. But the danger of erasing it entirely remains alive while there are those who wish for it. No-one need be a saint like Gandhi to realise that it only requires common sense to at least begin to follow the example laid at the foot of Africa by Gandhi. In recent years, it was Nelson Mandela who came closest to emulating the Mahatma, but like Gandhi, both history and time was against Madiba.

Conflict in any form always sows contempt and hate. Mediation and co-operation, fair and just, equal no matter what the citizens’ circumstances and status is the only solution. During the National Party’s rule of the country after defeating Smuts at the polls in 1948, the practice of Gandhi’s passive resistance continued mainly under the leadership of the Pan Africanist Congress’ Robert Sobukwe and the African National Congress’ Albert Luthuli, the first of four South Africans to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Around the time of the ANC’s fateful decision to abandon peaceful protest against apartheid, Luthuli remained firm in his belief that non-violent forms of protest remained the better option towards gaining emancipation from oppressive rule. When Mandela took the decision to take up an armed struggle against the NP regime, he remarked that it was not taken lightly and it was no doubt taken with a heavy heart.

There will always be those who favour armed resistance as the ultimate and most effective measure for overthrowing an oppressive regime. But, long after the dust has settled when this measure has succeeded, more conflicts, old, unresolved problems and new issues, will arise. And where armed or violent conflict as a means to an end is contemplated elsewhere, it is quickly suppressed by a militarily strong government. At the time of South Africa’s formal emancipation from legislative apartheid, the South African regime had one of the strongest military forces in the world. Today, while South Africa’s military structures corrode, its police force, corrupt and inefficiently managed, is used to suppress the physical manifestations of anger and frustration felt by many impoverished South Africans.

Had South Africans decided to take advantage of the lessons and actions of Mohandas Gandhi, I am certain that a better and brighter future would beckon for their children in a land as rich as Gandhi’s homeland. While I believe in Gandhi’s way, it seems to me that at this present time, the legacy of Cecil John Rhodes is alive and well. And this is not the fault of the newly oppressed minorities.