Young Mandela

by David James Smith

  George Bizos prepared Fischer’s defense after his 1965 arrest and could not help asking him, had it all been worth it, sacrificing his career and his family to the cause?

  Fischer rounded on him.

  Had he asked Mandela that question? Didn’t he have a legal practice and a family too?

  Bizos had not asked Mandela.

  “Well, then, don’t ask me,” snapped Fischer.

  The Rivonia verdicts were delivered on June 11, 1964. Each of the accused was found guilty on all four counts, except Kathrada, who was found guilty on only one charge, and Bernstein, who was acquitted and discharged, only to be immediately rearrested. Sentencing would come the following morning. It was agreed that Mandela would speak for the accused if the death sentence was passed down.

  He made notes that night, five small points on a slip of paper that has been preserved, but are so unusually scrawled that they can no longer be fully deciphered, not even by Mandela himself, no doubt betraying the stress of their author as he contemplated how he could meet his fate. The fourth point is illegible and may well have been something else altogether. However, it seems like a forewarning of the bloodshed to come. The fifth point was also wrongly numbered the same as the previous point but was presumably meant to be separate.

  Statement from the dock.

  I meant everything I said.

  The blood of many patriots in this country has been shed for demanding treatment in conformity with civilized standards.

  That army is beginning to grow.

  If I must die, let me declare for all to know that I will meet my fate like a man.

  The writer and liberal activist Alan Paton had agreed to give evidence in mitigation (many other people had apparently refused). Mandela had insisted that neither Paton nor the lawyer, Hanson, should say anything that might imply the accused had regrets or were pleading for mercy. So Paton spoke of the sincerity of the accused and their deep devotion to their cause. He knew of Mandela as the likely successor to the Nobel Peace Prize winner, Chief Luthuli, as the leader of the ANC. He had come to testify, he said, because he loved his country and it seemed to him that the exercise of clemency in the case was important to the country’s future.

  None of the lawyers could ever recall a judge changing his mind after mitigation. This judge interrupted Paton when he tried to remind the court of the violence used by the Afrikaner people to defend their rights from the British. The judge said that many had not only used violence but had been convicted of high treason and executed for it. In the light of history they might have had legitimate grievances but that did not entitle them to break the law by force.

  That sounded very much like a judge who had decided to pass the death sentence. They waited while Yutar tried to have his way with Paton, taking the unusual step of cross-examining a witness called in mitigation, trying to humiliate or smear him.

  After a few words from Hanson, the judge called the accused to their feet. Mandela recalled the moment with Kathrada thirty years later.

  Well, it’s easy to say now I didn’t care. But we did expect a death sentence and in fact the moment before the judge delivered his judgment, the sentence, because he had already found us guilty, but before he delivered his sentence, you remember he was breathing… he seemed to have himself been nervous and we said, well, it’s clear he’s going to pass the death sentence… we were expecting the death sentence, resigned ourselves to that, but of course it’s a very serious experience where you feel that somebody is going to turn to you and tell you now this is the end of your life and that was a matter of concern but nevertheless we tried, you know, to steel ourselves for this eventuality, tragic as it was. My colleagues seemed braver than myself. I would like to put that on record.

  The judge quickly, briefly, told them that he had decided not to impose the supreme penalty. “The sentence of all the accused will be one of life imprisonment.” With those words, he got up and left.

  Many of those involved in the case could not understand why Mandela extended the hand of reconciliation to Percy Yutar after his release, three decades later. He “whitewashed” him, in the expression that was current at the time, with invitations to his presidential inauguration and once to lunch at the president’s home. Mandela shook Yutar’s hand for the cameras.

  Mandela told Joel Joffe that he was trying to rebuild South Africa and he could not afford the luxury of revenge.

  The prisoners went back to Pretoria, changed out of their suits and back into their prison clothes. They had some supper and were in bed by around nine. At about midnight they were woken and assembled at the reception area. The colonel came along and said, “Mandela, we are now taking you to a place where you can be free.”

  Kathrada asked, “Is this only Mandela who is going to be free?”

  The colonel said, “No, all of you.”

  Sisulu was upset with Kathrada for asking that question and, speaking quietly, so the colonel and the warders would not hear, he said, “No, that was not proper. When they are talking about Madiba they are talking about all of us. It was not proper of you to ask that question.”

  Thirty years later, Mandela and Kathrada talked together about the night they went to Robben Island, struggling through failing memory to recall precisely what had happened, arguing over which of them was correct.

  They were taken to the military base and put on a military plane. They were handcuffed and put in leg-irons. At least, that was how Kathrada remembered it. Not Mandela. He was insistent that they had not been handcuffed. But Kathrada had it right there in his notes, he insisted, they were handcuffed and in leg-irons.

  “No,” said Mandela.

  “Hey,” said Kathrada.

  “No,” said Mandela.

  “Handcuffs certainly,” said Kathrada.

  “No,” said Mandela.

  “Yes,” said Kathrada, because he remembered that he had been tied to someone who wanted to vomit on the plane and he had to walk with him.

  “Oh, I see,” said Mandela. But finally he remembered how they used to handcuff the others going to court, but never him. He had not been handcuffed going to the airport and had not noticed that the others were handcuffed.

  Kathrada said, “Maybe not leg-irons.”

  “I don’t think so at all,” said Mandela. ”Because they were being very friendly, they gave us sandwiches and so on?”

  “Ja,” said Kathrada. “Biltong they gave us.”

  “Yes, quite,” said Mandela. “We were heavily escorted by the warders and I think by the military. It was a long escort.”

  They remembered that Van Wyk, the Special Branch officer, had said, “Well, you chaps won’t be in prison very long, the demand for your release is too strong. In a year or two you’ll get out and you’ll return as national heroes. Crowds will cheer you. Everyone will want to be your friend, women will want to know you. You chaps have made it.” However, Van Wyk had also added that they would be released, not because of any victory on their part, but because the Nationalist government would change its attitude and they would release them.

  Mandela and Kathrada then fell to arguing about the journey from the prison. Mandela thought it was an oddly quiet journey without the usual escort of police vehicles and screaming sirens. They were departing quietly, secretly in the middle of the night in a single van.

  “Now, I’m saying here you are wrong,” said Kathrada. “We were heavily escorted, in fact by police and warders. In fact, the police, the security police, Dirker and the rest of them had gone right to the island with them.”

  “Yes, quite,” agreed Mandela. “And in less than half an hour we found ourselves at a small military airport outside the city. We were hustled into the belly of the plane. There were no seats, we crouched on the floor.”

  “That’s not so,” said Kathrada.

  “There were seats, said Mandela.

  There were seats, said Kathrada, we sat on the seats.

  They disputed the engines of the plane. Was
it two, was it four? They agreed it was a Dakota. A large plane. Hard seats. Wooden seats and no heating.

  “We were very cold, if you remember, on the plane,” said Kathrada. “These chaps were sitting with their big overcoats, the warders, in jerseys and overcoats. We just had our prison clothes.”

  It was very cold on the plane.

  At Robben Island, Kathrada, because he was Indian, was issued with long trousers while Mandela and the other black South Africans were handed shorts. Mandela complained. A few days later some long trousers were left in his cell.

  No pin-striped, three-piece suit had ever pleased him as much.

  His African comrades, however, still had shorts, so he complained again and his long trousers were taken away.

  It took him three years to achieve long trousers for all.

  Three years to win long trousers.

  Twenty-six more years to be free.

  Acknowledgments

  In February 2009 I was ushered, nervously, into a vast office in the Johannesburg suburb of Houghton. There was only one person in the room as I entered, sitting formally behind a substantial desk, and he did not stand up but apologized instead, for his impoliteness at remaining seated. “My knees will not allow it,” he said by way of explanation, extending a hand for me to shake. The knees were 90 years old and belonged to Nelson Mandela. I was not there to interview him—age and natural decline had put him beyond interviews—but he had agreed to meet me, the very welcome outcome of my many months of research into Mandela’s early life.

  The meeting was arranged by the Nelson Mandela Foundation and I want to emphasize my gratitude to the people there, not just for that “audience” with Madiba, but for their support and enthusiasm for this project and their kindness and hospitality to me. This is not in any way an “authorized” biography, but it certainly reflects the open attitude of the Foundation and its staff. No doubt this, in turn, reflects the open attitude of their namesake.

  The Foundation knew from the outset that my plan was to rescue the sainted Madiba from the dry pages of history, to strip away the myth and create a fresh portrait of a rounded human being, setting his political achievements in the context of his natural character, while also considering the impact of his involvement in the struggle on his personal and family life. For a variety of reasons, perhaps, much of this aspect of Madiba’s story had not been subjected to much scrutiny in the past.

  Verne Harris and Sahm Venter at the Foundation especially made me feel welcome and opened so many doors, generously sharing resources, patiently offering advice and guidance. Their friendship means as much—if not more—to me as their help with this book. Others at the Foundation, such as Ruth Muller, Zanele Riba and Razia Saleh were also unselfish, sharing contacts and information.

  I think some people at the Foundation were feeling sorry for me that February. I had returned to South Africa for one last interview, with Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. No sooner had we met briefly for the first time than Winnie was hospitalized following a minor accident. As days turned to weeks, her daughters Zindzi and Zenani were sympathetic and friendly and assured me it would be all right in the end, and so in the end it was, as I finally sat and talked with their mother at Zenani’s home one Sunday afternoon towards the end of the month. Both Winnie and her daughters and some of their grown children showed me warmth and kindness, accepting me briefly into their lives. I am indebted to them all.

  Equally, the family of Mandela’s first wife, Evelyn, were open and generous, their grandson Mandla showing me a regal welcome in Mvezo, and their granddaughter Ndileka speaking eloquently and sensitively about difficult personal issues. I hope they will feel I have respected the trust they gave me. Researching this book was sometimes a poignant exercise, the pain of the past still very much alive in the present.

  Any writer is lucky to find someone who not only shares their passion for the subject but is prepared also to share their own knowledge and research. I met Sarah Haines, a heritage consultant for Haley Sharpe, while she was developing the site at Liliesleaf Farm. She later went on to play a leading role in transforming Mandela’s old home in Soweto, number 8115, Orlando West, into a thriving museum. Her wisdom and expertise on Mandela’s early life were an unexpected gift, as too were the resources of Liliesleaf which Nic Wolpe was kind enough to put at my disposal.

  Special thanks are due to all those people—see the Notes—who gave up their time to be interviewed. Many were old. Not quite as old as Madiba, perhaps, but even so, interviews are a tiring business and I was especially grateful for their willingness to talk. Ruth Mompati in Vryburg/Naledi, the late Fatima Meer in Durban, AnnMarie Wolpe in Cape Town, and in Johannesburg, Ahmed Kathrada, George Bizos, Nat Bregman, Mosie Moolla, Amina Cachalia, Peter Magubane, Esme Matshikiza… all of them alert and sometimes brilliant with their thoughts, stories and analysis. Mac Maharaj, a mere stripling by comparison, spent many hours sharing ideas and illustrative anecdotes. I was glad to have the benefit of his keen intelligence. In London, Paul and Adelaide Joseph cooked curry and talked, just as they used to sometimes with Madiba. So many people were so hospitable and I am very thankful to them all.

  Others were generous with research, information, recommendations and advice, such as Albie Sachs, Richard Stengel, Mark Gevisser, Nandha Naidoo, historians Tim Couzens and Phil Bonner, the writer Anna Trapido, filmmaker Joe Menell, Stanley Sello—sound archivist—and the staff at the Mayibuye Archive, University of the Western Cape, Diana Madden who steered me through the Percy Yutar papers while they were still held at the Brenthurst Library, Michele Pickover, curator at the Historical Papers Library, Wits University, Mike O’Brien at Haley Sharpe, the staff at GALA, the Gay And Lesbian Archive at Wits, the staff at the various branches of the Nelson Mandela Museum in Mthatha and elsewhere in the eastern Cape, the staff of the National Archives of South Africa and the National Archives of the UK, the staff of the Standard Bank Archives.

  High Life, the BA in-flight magazine, were kind enough to support my first research trip, when David Crookes was a good traveling companion and William Ross of Wild Coast Holidays a knowledgeable guide and driver. Further thanks to Corlien and the staff of Ginnegaap, the Melville guest house where I lodged and worked. Back in the UK the Mount Pleasant Writers’ Retreat in Reigate was a welcome bolt hole in which to work uninterrupted. Edith Stokes, the former housekeeper, now retired, will be much missed.

  I thank Alan Samson at Weidenfeld & Nicolson for the opportunity to write this book, his colleague Lucinda McNeile for her work on the text and my agent Georgina Capel for her representation. As in the past, the Sunday Times Magazine showed admirable patience at my absence. Heather Wood, my transcriber, was reliable and consistent as ever.

  A nonfiction book can be a massive undertaking requiring full attention, and inevitably places strain on the home life you temporarily opt out of, or leave behind. Thanks to all those who supported, encouraged and helped where they could: Jamie Bruce, Tim Lott, Steve Mason, Anthea Barbary, Ashok Prasad, Allan Nazareth, Chris Williams, Ted Nixon, Sarah Hinks, Jo Nixon, Andy Saunders, Simon Yates, Sarah Jackson, Mark Robertson, Jo Charlton, Pete Luetchford, Helen Chappell, Geraint Roberts, Mamta Patel, Mark Birbeck, Sara Clifford, Sheila and Paul Cullen, Charlotte Blant, Julie Parsons, Dominic Lloyd, Kamella and Ryan Emmanuel, my parents Pat and George Smith and many other friends and colleagues too numerous to name, in Lewes and beyond.

  Of course it’s the family who suffer most, especially when you are away for months at a time. They know I hope that their love and support matters more than anything, and I hope feel loved and supported in return: Sitira, Kitty, Orealla and Mackenzie Felix-Smith, and their mother, the incomparably wonderful Petal Felix.

  Timeline

  July 18, 1918 NM born

  1927 or 1930 NM’s father dies

  1930 Bloemfontein conference

  1933 NM goes to Clarkebury, aged 15

  1943 NM completes BA at beginning of year and graduates from Fort Hare

/>   April 19, 1944 formation of ANC Youth League

  July 17, 1944 Sisulus marry

  October 5, 1944 NM and Evelyn marry

  February 23, 1946 Thembi born

  December 1946 NM leaves Witkins to become full-time student

  1949 mixed marriages outlawed

  1949 Slovos get married

  December 1949 NM has been studying for LLB for 7 years

  August 1950 Makgatho born

  June 26, 1950 national strike called

  June 26, 1952 Freedom Day (start of Defiance of Unjust Laws campaign)

  September 1953 NM gives “no easy walk” speech

  1954 second Makaziwe born

  June 26, 1955 Freedom Charter drawn up at Congress of the People

  July 1955 Evelyn alleges assault by NM

  August 1955 ditto

  October 1955 ditto

  late 1955 NM leaves for trip home to eastern Cape

  February 1956 NM gives Evelyn a week in which to leave 8115

  March 25, 1956 Evelyn leaves 8115 permanently

  May 1956 Evelyn lodges petition for divorce

  November 5, 1956 Evelyn withdraws from divorce case

  December 5, 1956 Treason Trial begins/mass arrests

  March 19, 1958 divorce from Evelyn finalized

  June 14, 1958 Winnie and NM married

  June 1958 Winnie moves into 8115

  February 2, 1959 King Kong

  March 21, 1960 Sharpeville

  March 30, 1960 NM arrested

  April 1960 PAC inaugurated

  December 1960 secret meeting of Communist Party to discuss armed struggle; NM present

  March 29, 1961 Treason Trial ends; everyone discharged

  March 1961 NM writes “arrogant” letter to Verwoerd

  end March 1961 NM becomes a fugitive