We engaged in many philosophical discussions while there and one man tried, unsuccessfully, to explain to me how he was not an African because his grandfather on one side was a White man from England. Therefore he was a “Coloured”, one of the recognized ethnic groups, even though he was as dark as one can be. As confident as he pretended to be, while hiding behind this brittle “coloured” armor, when entering an elevator with only White people on it he dropped his head, referred to one of them as “boss” in the most servile expression I had ever witnessed. Taken aback I quickly rebutted “BOSS!?” and told the “Boss” that he was no boss of anyone and told the “Coloured” to stop this unnecessary behavior. It was a culture shock that I had not been prepared to encounter. As an African American, one has an intimate knowledge of the psychology of the oppressed, by default, but that egregious display of psychological dependency elicited images of a time when African Americans enjoyed very few human rights while fear and hatred informed our day-to-day behavior.
Journey to the Eastern Cape
We had to decide upon which region we would go to observe the election and I chose to go to the Eastern Cape, along with David, Miguel, and Loretta. I wanted to take the train or the bus instead of flying because the average South African was not flying and I wanted to show solidarity. However, I was told that neither mode was safe. Loretta invited me to ride in the car that she had rented. She had rented a small white Mercedes and so off we went. Loretta, with her long locks; Miguel, a Mexican American; David, an African American businessman; and me, the young African American- also with long locks- were off; pass the many homes with the ubiquitous “24-Hour Armed Response” signs along their gates.
Johannesburg to Durban
I didn’t feel comfortable driving in South Africa (or any place that has traffic directed opposite of most of Europe and the U.S.) although the roads were comparable to Germany and much of the architecture and infrastructure planning was very similar to what I was accustomed. I had 2 friends die in head-on collisions in both Japan and the U.K. and I preferred to avoid driving on the opposite side of the road, when possible. Pietermaritzburg, the second largest city in the Kwazulu-Natal Province, was a town we stopped in. The colors of the buildings, the architecture of the banks, the clock towers, and overall city layout were all so reminiscent of a German town, perhaps Nuremburg. There was an actual State of Emergency in Kwazulu-Natal Province and we had been cautioned not to go there, particularly since the Inkatha Freedom Party had issued lethal threats against anyone involved in the elections and they were based in this province. We originally planned to avoid Kwazulu-Natal since it would be a likely assumption that any foreigner there, at that time, had to be involved with the elections, in some capacity. Somehow we got lost and found ourselves heading directly into Durban, the largest city in Kwazulu-Natal. The city seemed calm so we decided to find some place to eat and we found an Indian restaurant in a shopping mall with the some of the best Indian food I can remember ever having. We separated in the mall for a period and I decided to step outside. After all, I didn’t travel all of the way to Africa to be in a Mall. There happened to be an anti-election march taking place right outside. Hundreds of young men were in the front of the march. A tall spindly guy with no shirt on and a rather long machete was walking right towards me and I thought, for the first time in my life unequivocally, that if I had a gun I would shoot this man. Perhaps this is one time in my life that I benefitted from being from an urban American environment because I thought not to show fear, albeit I had never been more terrified in my life. Also perhaps, my locks may have saved me that day, as the Rastafarian community were known to be apolitical and were boycotting the elections. I just kept my American accented English to myself and stood there in silence as if I belonged there until they passed.
We had planned on continuing to Umtata (now Mthatha), the capital of the province of Transkei, just west of Natal, but someone in our party decided that we should stay in Durban for the night. We ended up staying at a “Coloured” family’s home in a Coloured neighborhood. The idea of race designations in South Africa is more complicated than in the U.S. but much less complicated as in Brazil. In the U.S., the definition of Black is most broad whereas in South Africa and even more so in Brazil there are many designations to categorize people into separate groups. Where South Africa is unique is that these designations were more systematically codified into law beginning in 1948, as apartheid or “separateness”, thereby institutionalizing racial segregation and domination by South Africans of European ancestry more than it had ever been. To be clear, there were already laws in place prior to 1948 that could be classified as “apartheid”. The populace was divided into four basic groups, including Black, White, Coloured, and Indian, with some sub-categorization as well, particularly socially. Based upon these designations, clearly stated in the identity card of everyone over the age of 18, the different groups were regulated in their education, residence, amenities, access, labor, and rights pertaining to every aspect of their lives. We had the fortune, from a cultural anthropological perspective, to stay with a Coloured family for one night. The politics of the family were as varied as their many complexions. One of the family members was especially anti-Black, which made him interesting as a social phenomenon. He had been fired from a job as a forklift driver because he “accidentally” ran over a Black person, who by the way “deserved it”; although his defense was that it was an accident. This young man also refused to sleep in the room with either David or myself. David had plenty of humor to share on that point. This Coloured young man also explained to me how it is written in the Bible that God made South Africa for the Whites. He gave me a bible in Afrikaneers but I never got the chance to have those passages translated to verify his claims. The rest of the family was actually quite pleasant although we did take issue with them for referring to their elderly Black house staff as “boy” and “girl”. This traditional Colored neighborhood was significantly better than the areas set aside for the Black population. In this home they had a walled in compound with a garden, with avocado trees; working staff; electricity, plumbing, TVs, and all of the luxuries of modern living. Note that apartheid had been largely deconstructed by 1994 although the footprint of apartheid was still quite evident then and still is today.
The Transkei
The next morning we resumed our circuitous trip towards Umtata. A definite sense of relief was felt once we finally left Durban and saw the dancing grass of sugar cane fields amidst the rolling hills along the route. There was something therapeutic and beautiful about the sugar cane fields. But alas, of course this romantic image runs in diametric contrast to the sweat, blood, and toil between the field and the mill. We arrived in the small town of Umtata and checked into a small hotel, perhaps a 2-Star hotel. I was fortunate enough to find another U.N. security briefing to attend. This one was being offered by a hardened retired U.S. military officer. “Avoid large groups, especially if they appeared almost spontaneously and don’t go out at night.” We were also told to wear our blue IEC Observer arm bands and hat because if we get into trouble others are more likely to help or get help if they know that we are involved with the election. Since it was impossible to know who was for or against the election I thought it would be unwise to wear any of the IEC paraphernalia when not doing the observer work. In fact, I could never get my big head full of hair into those tiny hats anyhow.
Pietermaritzburg, Durban, and Umtata (Mthatha)
We met an amazing woman named Tozama in Umtata. Tozama gave us information on the region and any significant developments, as well as logistical support so that we could do our job. I had never encountered such a woman, who was both feminine and still a determined lethal force in the struggle for humanity in South Africa. In speaking about security, I asked if we were safe and she responded with this mellifluous femme gravitas tone, “don’t worry, I will protect you” as she showed with what she would protect me. The central role of women in the South African story
was consistently evident throughout the elections.
During the days leading up to the election we travelled to different towns. One day we had travelled in a minivan and passed by Mandela’s home in Qunu on our way to Msobomvu Hall in Butterworth. We visited areas that were more than an hour from a paved road and found traditional homes with thicket roofing; where the women walked about 5km to get water every day. On rainy days they had massive containers to catch the water. It was clearly a difficult life. The mountains weren’t characterized by peaks like the Alps but wide and accessible. It was such a place of tranquility and peace. They were, to some degree, cut off from the modern world with its cacophony of billboards, cars, buses, and other mind clutter. The people didn’t have much in the way of material but they were abundantly wealthy in mental peace. I thought that if I could visit such a place 2-3 weeks every year for the rest of my life then I would live a longer healthier life. We had to head back to the main road before dark and I can say with some regret that I haven’t had the pleasure to visit such a peaceful place since.
“Observing” the Election
Loretta, David, Miguel, and I met with IEC staff in a 2nd floor office to determine the strategy for the coming days of elections. While surveying the map of the polling station locations we discussed when, who, and how we would observe the electoral process. I distinctly remember how it was explained to us for one particular route (of the 4-5 that she was suggesting) that had several Afrikaneer roadblock attacks in recent days. Within a week one truck driver was shot in the leg. Some passengers in another vehicle, who did not escape, were killed by amputating their fingers and bleeding them to death. Apparently these sorts of occurrences were difficult to prevent because the attackers would appear and disappear in all terrain pickup trucks, with few hints as to whom they were and from where they came. The routes to the other destinations were perceived to be much safer. I should reiterate that I was there, not as a Westerner, but in solidarity with the people of South Africa. This statement does not imply a commitment to take any more, nor any less, risks than the average South African. However, Loretta immediately volunteering us for the most dangerous route of the several suggested, thereby volunteering us to take more risks than the average person, was unnerving! I nearly lost my composure but bit my tongue just long enough to pull Loretta aside and ask what in God’s name was she doing. Loretta admonished me to pull myself together! Wow! Everyone that I had encountered had admitted a point during their stay where they seemed to have a panic attack, everyone save for Loretta. She knew no fear and was a constant inspiration. Pre-election violence had been significant with 3,794 political killings in 1993 and it had accelerated in the few months leading up to the elections in April 1994. The threat of violence was real.
IEC hat, armband, and ID card.
The infamous route in question was to Matateile, 3 hours from Umtata. We spent several days before the election going to areas such as Tabankulu and to Msobomvu Hall in Butterworth, pass Mandela’s home in Qunu, and on the first actual voting day I found myself scheduled to go to Matateile to observe voting. Before we discuss Matateile, we should digress to discuss exactly what it means to vote in 1994 South Africa.
The Vote
Each voting area was to consist of an Election Centre, surrounded by an area with controlled exits and entrances known as the Inner Perimeter. The entrances opened at 7:00 and closed at 19:00. No weapons were allowed inside of the inner perimeter. Once a voter entered the Inner Perimeter they were to queue outside of the entrance to the Election Centre. An IEC official had to make sure that the person had the appropriate identification (ID) documents. Acceptable IDs were an ID book or temporary ID certificate; a temporary voter’s card; or a reference book (the old “pass” book). Temporary IDs could be supplied up to 24 hours before voting at any of 400 issuing offices throughout the country, free of charge. Two IEC officials at the entrance of the Election Centre would make sure that the voter was ready with their documents and direct them to an usher to begin the voting process. Ushers would take the voter to the first of 9 tables for ultra-violet scanning of their hand. Voters had been stamped with an invisible ink, visible in UV light, and this step helped keep anyone from voting more than once. If no ink showed up on either hand, the voter was sent to Table 3 to get the ink put on their hands. Once marked the voter would go to Table 2 to have their documents checked again. [If the person was found to have the ink on their hand he was sent to the Presiding Officer and summarily shot. That is a joke. The person would be escorted off of the premises.] Voters would go from Table 2 to Table 4 to receive a stamped National Ballot Paper and then taken to a voting booth. Up to 33 observers were allowed in a voting station at a time. Representatives from each Party could have a position behind Tables 1 to 4. I never saw more than 3 or 4 observers at a time. After filling out the ballot the voter would go to Table 5 to be deposited into the Ballot Box. The voter can then proceed to Table 6 to get a Provincial Ballot and head to the Provincial voting booth. Table 7 had the ballot boxes for the Provincial Ballots. Table 8 was there for voter assistance and dispute adjudication by the Presiding Officer. Table 9 was the Control and Reconciliation Table. This was the strategy but like all best laid plans they were bound to go astray. One week before the elections there were over 700,000, of the 3.1 million, people in the Transkei without proper IDs.
There were many parties, over a dozen, running under many banners, such as sports (the Soccer Party with James Mange), the environment (the Green Party with Nathan Grant), nationalism (the PAC with Clarence Makwetu), separatism (perhaps the Freedom Front with Constand Viljoen), etc. The election was to elect a regional and national interim government that would serve for 4 to 5 years and formulate the Final Constitution. The following election would determine the permanent governing structure. Importantly, the elections were conducted through proportional representation. The amount of seats that a party gets would be determined by the amount of votes they received.
Matateile
It was the first day of the elections, the Special Day, and we left very early for our 209 km drive. “We” is being defined as the local driver, Katrina Mayfield (now Medjo-Akono), and another unknown South African person. We took a rickety old rusty white car that suited us just fine although the owner wasn’t absolutely sure that it could make the entire trip. Good enough!
We arrived after 8:00 in the morning to one of the Voting Stations near Matateile to find a queue lined up waiting patiently. The station was to have been ready by 7:00 but none of the ballots had arrived. The ballots were supposed to have been delivered by truck from Umtata by the 25th of April. Maluti, a town outside of Matateile, was the central voting station for the rural areas of Matateile. We also visited Zazulwana and after some investigation we found that the only station with ballots was the station in Matateile proper. It was 10:35 and we had found out that the trucks still had not even left Umtata. Another amazing woman with the IEC named Yvonne was working with us there to try to resolve these challenges. Yvonne was of Indian ancestry and I didn’t know what to expect from her, considering the recent experiences with the other apartheid defined categories. We brainstormed on solutions. It was 11:05 and we were in Yvonne’s office. Three of the 5 stations in the area were closed. We thought of trying to fly the ballots from Umtata but that wasn’t possible. We finally decided to bring the rural voters into Matateile to vote. How would we do this? What were the risks versus rewards of this effort? Time was passing fast so we had to decide. We decided to get the voters into the Matateile Voting Station.
We returned to the rural stations. We began pulling cars over, asking anyone with a car or pickup truck, to help drive the voters into town . . . and they did it. En masse, the community came alive and after a few trips more and more and more vehicles appeared to join the effort to drive people to the open Voting Station. Katrina and I positioned ourselves at the Voting Station and, in retrospect, it would seem that Yvonne was the reason so many people were able to make
it to the Voting Station because of her organization of vehicles to pool the voters into town. Throughout the day there were people saying that they were told by their employers that if they were seen voting they would be fired. Some told stories of physical threat but in spite of it all thousands of people were transported to the Voting Station and cast their votes. Inside of the Voting Station they carried the ballots like a precious child.
It was a warm day. I still had more than the equivalent of $20 in Rand. The equivalent of $3 was able to purchase enough fruit for 20 people. I noticed that Katrina had been buying fruit for people in line as well. Many of the people seemed so weak but I remember trying to “help” some of the elderly women off of the back of pickup trucks and, amazingly, some of these little old women were jumping off of the back of the trucks! They might walk to the edge with their cane and then jump, landing solidly with a thud and a smile. Thank goodness because some of them were so heavy. Certainly, some of the behavior by Afrikaneers could have been perceived as intimidating but I can’t say that there wasn’t any overt intimidation. A U.N. representative named Souren Seraydarian approached me and stated that the people in the line didn’t look infirm or ill to him and suggested that we should stop them from voting. I told him in no uncertain terms that he was seriously mistaken. There was also talk of possible attacks on the voters, perhaps bombings, and this thought was never too far from the surface of one’s mind. Katrina and I took turns going in and out of the polling station. I preferred to be outside. There seems to be an enlightenment or clarity in thought that frees one from fear, fatigue, and confusion when one is clear on what is their purpose. Standing outside surveying the hundreds and hundreds of people (some handicapped and being carried on blankets like a hammock, refusing to let fear, hunger or thirst, discomfort, or confusion deny them their right to take this critical step towards their “liberation” with the vote) enlivened a theretofore never experienced spirit within me. The innate fear of death, momentarily abated, as I knew what my purpose was and if I were to die that day then so be it- it was ok, I/we were free, in the deepest sense of the word.
A Short Walk in a Long Journey Page 2
