A Short Walk In A Long Journey
AN ESSAY ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN 1994 ELECTION
by Dr. Michael Reid and Zaire Reid
Skyhorse Publishing
Copyright © 2014 by Dr. Michael A. Reid, Zaire Reid
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Introduction
Almost 20 years ago, in 1994, leading up to the first truly democratic election in South Africa one of the greatest men of our age was about to become president. Nelson Mandela, one of the icons of the struggle for liberation and self determination of oppressed peoples, had been released after 27 years of imprisonment just a few years before on the 11th of February 1990. Mandela was imprisoned primarily for “sabotage and conspiracy to violently overthrow the government”, a brutally repressive government. His political party, the African National Congress (ANC), originally the South African Native National Congress, had been one of the leading forces in the struggle against an oppressive government and society in South Africa since 1912. The ANC was banned in South Africa from 1960 to 1990, when Mandela was released from prison.
The Philosophical Drive
As a child, I remember seeing the graffiti “Free Mandela” on the base of the Europaturm, a tower in Frankfurt, Germany and asking my mother about Mandela. I learned about apartheid then but couldn’t have imagined that destiny would put me in South Africa one day to witness a major chapter in Mandela’s life. Early in 1994 I was doing my studies in neuroscience with a slight sense of guilt, as it seemed somewhat irresponsible for one to be pursuing such a career when everywhere in the world that I had visited Black people, in general, were socio-economically suffering and the most oppressed. I thought that I should be more involved in the plight of Black people. I was well versed in some of the literature analyzing oppression and self-determination, including writings by Aimé Césaire, Patricia Hill Collins, Audre Lorde, and Frederick Douglas’1857 speech resonated deeply with me, where he stated:
If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation . . . want crops without plowing up the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters. . . . Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.
And Martin Luther King’s letter from an Alabama jail where he wrote:
Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial “outside agitator” idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds.
Since Black people were the subject of oppression everywhere the solution was obvious, it did not matter where I made some contribution but what better place to attack oppression than in South Africa. Mandela had been the symbol for the struggle of oppressed peoples in the world, as well as a constant personal inspiration for much of my life, so it was decided. I must go to South Africa.
Media coverage of South Africa in early 1994 increased as the election neared. The election was scheduled to take place 26-28th of April. The 26th was the Special Day of voting for the ill, the physically infirm, the disabled, and the pregnant. The 27th and 28th were the normal voting days for all those 18 years of age and older. I had decided several months earlier in February that I would go there. How would I go there? Under what pretense would I get into the country? Exactly what shall I do there? What if this? What if that?
In October 1993, the South African government had organized an International Election Commission (IEC) headed by 16 Commissioners with over 100,000 personnel who would run 9,000 polling stations and 1,191 counting stations. Over 22,339,000 people were expected to vote. Each polling station and counting station would have a representative from each of the parties that have candidates running for office. In addition, there would be observers who would observe the process and play some minor roles. These people were called “observers” and mainly consisted of people from the international community, including common people, former heads-of-state, celebrities, and other personalities. The role of the observer is to contribute to public confidence in the electoral process by maintaining strict impartiality; report any dishonesty, corruption, intimidation or violence; refrain from influencing voters on who they vote; and maintain discretion with information pertaining to voting or counting. All observers were registered with the IEC and the IEC had the power to ultimately determine whether the election was “free and fair”.
The election entailed 3 stages that required observation. First were the voting station activities, which included the general activities at the voting stations such as ensuring that the ballots and ballot boxes were handled properly. The Presiding Officer was required to seal each box with stamped candle wax and deliver the sealed boxes, along with the packets of unused ballots, with a statement indicating the amount of ballets used and not used to the District Electoral Officer. The second stage involved the delivery to the counting stations. The District Electoral Officer had to put her seal on the ballot boxes and the packets of unused ballots, provide a statement, and then deliver the materials to the counting stations. The third phase required that a Counting Officer at the Counting Station inspect the seals, the statements, and the packets of unused ballots. In addition, each ballot must bear the official mark. Irregularities were to be reported to the Chief Director of the Administration Directorate of the IEC.
The Lead Up
Fortunately, there was a contingent of “observers” leaving from Atlanta, Georgia with Tandi Goabashe, the daughter of Nobel Laureate and ANC leader Albert Luthuli. I decided that I would join this group. I began fundraising in earnest immediately. I needed to raise enough money for my flight and to maintain myself while there. The trip would last 2-3 weeks. The flight would cost $1150 round-trip. I couldn’t go to my family members, as this trip was to be a secret from them. I didn’t want them to worry about me while I was there. I began trying to raise some capital amongst the student bodies at the Historically Black Colleges (HBCU) in Atlanta, including Clark Atlanta, Morehouse, Morris Brown, and Spelman University. This was a rather unpleasant experience. I appealed to the student body in a variety of ways from speaking directly to classes to setting up a table on campus sidewalks asking people to contribute a dollar for a stick of incense, “A Scent for Freedom”, I called it. It seemed reasonable at the time but that effort only raised $65. I went to a few churches in the Atlanta area and raised $200- mostly from Reverend Simms, which I used to buy books (in addition to the ones from my own library) to give away in South Africa. I was a long wa
y from the $1150 for the plane ticket and it was becoming increasingly clear that I may not be able to go.
Yet still, I was determined to go and, more importantly, to return alive and intact. Each week there was some headline highlighting the violence leading up to the election. There were bombings, ambushes, shootings, and any number of scenarios detailed in the media- with all of the gruesome details of the many imaginative ways to kill and be killed. There was speculation that South Africa may erupt into large scale civil conflict. Before the election, nothing was certain. We must remember that a peaceful and fair election in Africa would have been the exception not the rule, historically speaking. The election was a dream until proven otherwise. I decided that I should begin training to prepare myself for whatever I was destined to face. I began running, first 4km, then 10km, then 20km every day. Several times I ran 33km but had to take several days off afterwards to recover. Running through the streets of Atlanta, with the smell of the Dogwood Tree in the air was not very pleasant. I still hate that tree which was the bane of my runs with its scent and pollen. I remember times when the particulate in the air was so substantial that the skin on the inside of my arms and my body rubbed raw from the friction created. I was 6kg lighter than my normal 92kg as a result of the training. I had been training in martial arts as well, in which it was made clear to me that my best assets were my legs- for running away.
I raised about $750 and gave that to the travel agent, an Ethiopian service, far short of the $1150. I was able to get another $200 and the Ethiopian owners just gave me the tickets at a discount. In retrospect, it seems that they had already purchased the tickets for me and were prepared to give it to me no matter what. They believed in what we were trying to do.
London for the Day
I took a British Airways flight from Atlanta to London. I spent the day in London, where I met Deloyd Parker from Houston, Texas. Deloyd had a community center called S.H.A.P.E. (Self-Help for African People through Education). He took me to two bookstores in London and we visited with one of his friends. The bookstores in London had a completely unique body of geopolitical and philosophical works that I had not known from New York or Atlanta. I had been going to London since I was 11 years old but I had never recognized that face of London, as a source of intellectual rigor and political dialogue. After some time in Brixton, we headed to Heathrow to catch our long flight to Johannesburg. I contacted my friends in the U.S. before getting on the flight, as I wasn’t certain as to what my communication situation would be in South Africa. This was 1994, before the ubiquitous connectivity that technology offers us today.
Arriving in “Africa”
Having lived or travelled extensively in Asia, Europe, and the Americas, I didn’t know what to expect as I arrived in my first African airport. Johannesburg’s (also Jo’burg) airport was comparable to any airport servicing a mid-size city in the U.S. As such, it was probably running near capacity with all the press representatives, coupled with an extraordinary amount of camera equipment, from everywhere in the world. In contrast, I arrived with one bag containing 3 weeks’ worth of Ramen noodles, a canteen, books, maps, notebooks, a few outfits, and $27 or about 90 Rand. Jacqueline “Jackie” Howard Matthews, a Clark Atlanta University professor, who was supposed to meet me at the airport didn’t show up but I met a reporter from Boston, Massachusetts who offered to let me join his news crew if I couldn’t find my contacts. After a couple of hours of calling around, I found out that the “observers” from Atlanta were at meetings being held at the Great Hall of the Central Block, University of Witwatersrand campus. University of Wits, as it is called, is one of the premier universities in South Africa. Their facilities are actually on a par with any world-class university, if not better. I jumped into a taxi and gave the driver the address. The driver began to tell me about “her” country and what it is like being an “African” in South Africa. I listened and wondered what country or planet I landed in where a middle-aged White woman would speak in terms of being an “African”. I explained that to me, and most of the world perhaps, she might be considered European, not African. She retorted that her grandparents were even born in South Africa and she had never been to Europe. What could I say? She was right. She was an African. En route to Jo’burg, I was struck by the similarity in the architecture of the commercial buildings along the route were to buildings along Autobahn 5 in Hessen, Germany.
I finally found the “observer” group at the university and was greeted by Tandi Goabashe and others. Jackie was there as well. Others from Atlanta were also there including Loretta Ross and David Smalls. President Olusegun Obasanjo of Nigeria, with an entourage of perhaps 8-12 people, was also there. I had never seen such a well dressed man as Pres. Obasanjo. We saw Pres. Obasanjo several days in a row and each time he dazzled everyone with his incredible attire. We heard lectures on the legal framework for the elections, the role of observers, the deployment plan, security issues, emergency procedures; speeches from at least 6 of the 18 parties running, etc. by the likes of Commissioner Gay McDougall, Justice Johan Kriegler, and Peter Harris. Cyril Ramaphosa of the ANC; Ghora Ebrahim of the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC); Roelf Meyer of the National Party; Peter Saol of the Democratic Party; and Dr. Tk Molepi of the Dikwankwetla Party of South Africa also presented. I want to emphasize that the entire world provided observers, from Russia to Brazil.
The first night a few of us stayed at one of the University of Wits administrator’s apartments. We made jokes and did more laughing than sleeping. We actually did quite a bit of laughing, mostly because David Smalls was so hilarious when he wasn’t waxing on about some poignant political point.
While in Jo’burg we visited Soweto in a kombe, a sort of minivan taxi service that operates under the business model of filling the vehicle to capacity and then adding 5 more people. There was a certain grace to this mode of transportation. People would pass their money to the front without the faintest concern, from person to person, and then receive their change. I doubted that we could have such a system in New York City. Initially I was a little disappointed to see that most people were not wearing any traditional African clothes. Many of the youth were wearing second-hand Western clothes, e.g. t-shirts with fading Coca-Cola logos etc. I wondered to what extent apartheid had realigned the cultural compass of the Black population.
We visited a home in Soweto. There wasn’t any electricity or plumbing. It was a 3 room cinder block house for 7 people. I had to use the bathroom and was directed to a room, without a roof or a floor. In the corner of the “bathroom” was a massive drum instrument, the universal symbol for African culture, and therein I found some inspiration. The drum had survived apartheid whereas the drum had not always survived. The drum had been banned amongst African Americans during the enslavement process in the United States but not everywhere in the Caribbean or South America. When I returned to the living space I was offered a drink and I had declined because they had so little. Our escort told me that it could be more offensive to not take their offer. I picked up the cup and had spilled the tea on my hand. The elderly matriarch of the home had rubbed the tea into my skin while laughing and telling me that spilling a drink upon one’s hands is a sign that the ancestors approve! She was a Zulu. We were told that Soweto was dangerous after dark so we left at dusk, amidst the smell of burning trash and human waste, a smell that reminded me of South Korea circa 1981 when South Korea had open sewers running through major cities.
Back in Jo’burg we had the opportunity to explore the city. We visited a “pharmacist” who gave me a bracelet made of goat intestine and urged me to wear it for protection while in South Africa. I needed all of the help I could get so I gladly wore it throughout my stay. Apparently it worked. Jo’burg seemed to me to be a fusion of London and Köln and on occasion, perhaps as a kombe drove by playing the latest dance music, I had to remind myself that I was not in Europe but in Africa. Interestingly, there was also more aggressive advertising there than in the U.S. or Western Europe. T
he billboard space in many US cities is highly restricted. The copious billboards were full of American cosmetic product advertisements for women. The Nigerian and American businesspeople were very pervasive during this time. The elections brought all sorts of people to the shores of South Africa with dreams and strategies to make a fortune and such ideas could be heard any place foreigners gathered. In any event, it was important to keep an open ear and eye for any useful information. I had overheard some U.N. personnel talking about a meeting that they were having near a small lion park (where 4 Taiwanese students were eaten 3 weeks prior, as they got out of their car against park rules) so I made my way there. The U.N. seemed to have the best intelligence and the most food, both of which I was keen to acquire.
We visited the Shell House (now the Chief Albert Luthuli House), which I knew from the massive gun battle just weeks before on the 28th of March when the ANC repelled an armed attack by 20,000 Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) supporters which received a lot of media attention. We ran into a very friendly New York Mayor David Dinkins in the lobby as he was leaving with his entourage. The American business community was buzzing all about for opportunities and there were people there at Shell House brokering all sorts of deals. One of the men there asked if we could provide him with a supply of whitewall tires. Unfortunately I had just fired our family’s long-time whitewall tire supplier just before travelling. He offered us a firearm to purchase- one of his own since he had two. I actually would have bought one, if I had the money and the wherewithal to use it properly. Not far from the Shell House there was a bombing just days before the election that killed 9 and injured 92. The crater looked like it was about 1.5 meters deep.
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