Ah But Your Land Is Beautiful

by Alan Paton

  He then gave the freedom cry in Zulu, Mayibuye! Afrika! Afrika! Afrika! Afrika! This was taken up by the crowd, after which Duncan gave them a few words in Afrikaans as well, Julle vryheid kom! Julle vryheid kom deur die Kongres. Your freedom is coming through the Congress!

  Duncan then led his party back to the gate, where they were all arrested.

  Mayibuye! Afrika! Afrika! Afrika! That means, Come back, Africa! Come back, Africa, to those from whom it was stolen, by the British and the Germans and the French and the Belgians and the Portuguese. But it also means, Let this country return; to those from whom it was stolen, by the Dutch and the British and the Afrikaner, by the Voortrekkers and the colonists of Natal.

  Have you heard Lutuli speak? He can coo like a dove and he can roar like a lion, he can call out for the return of Africa in that great resounding voice that can fill a black hearer with hope and a white hearer with fear, even one who wishes him and his cause well.

  Can white hopes and black hopes be realised together, in this southern land to which both white and black have given their devotion? Who knows the answer to that question?

  But at this moment there’s no need to worry any more about Prem Bodasingh and the old lady Perumal. Prem can go back to school, and the old lady can go back to her seat in the sun. The congresses have called off the Defiance Campaign.

  The reason for that is that Parliament has passed the Criminal Law Amendment Act, which now makes it a serious offence to break any law however trivial, if it is broken by way of protest. For this offence a person may be fined three hundred pounds or go to jail for three years or receive ten lashes or any two of these. It is even more serious to incite any other person to break any law by way of protest. For this a person may be fined five hundred pounds or go to jail for five years or receive ten lashes, or any two of these.

  The congresses have decided either that the people cannot be expected to pay such penalties or that they will be unwilling to do so.

  The return of Africa must be for a while postponed.

  . . . You will remember that I wrote to you in the strictest confidence that the Minister was considering what steps to take to bring the Defiance Campaign to an end. Well, of course you now know that they have been taken and the campaign is at an end. People like Lutuli and Dr. Monty Naicker talk very big, but the idea of paying up five hundred pounds or going to prison for five years has brought their big talk to an end. The liberal press has made a great deal of the ten lashes, but never mentions the humane provision that lashes will not be inflicted on any person over fifty. I can tell you that it was the Prime Minister who insisted on this.

  The provision would benefit both Lutuli and Naicker, but not Patrick Duncan. I think we shall not hear much more from this gentleman. He has quite lost his credibility. He was sentenced to one hundred pounds or one hundred days, and after twenty days he decided to pay the fine. He told the London Observer that his book business was falling to pieces, and that he and his wife and children depended on it. He should surely have thought of that before deciding to break the law.

  Others say that his leg was troubling him badly. It is sufficient to quote the Minister’s caustic remark that the young man must learn not to kick against the pricks.

  There are yet others who say that Duncan the great defier just couldn’t stand up to being in prison. He is what you might call a clean-living man, in a narrow sense of course, and it was exceedingly painful for him to hear the incessant filth and obscenity that poured out of the mouths of his fellow prisoners. He was also unprepared for their brutality. Perhaps he had hoped to raise the tone of prison behaviour and make it something like that of Winchester College, but he found that he was nobody, that no one respected him because of his ‘protest against unjust laws’, and that his particular part of the prison was ruled by an eighteen-year-old gangster who is reputed to have killed, even at that early age, a fellow prisoner who questioned his rule. Duncan’s views on racial equality absolutely disgusted his fellow prisoners, and it is reassuring to find among our white prisoners such sound views on racial identity and racial separation.

  The Minister was extremely annoyed when the State Prosecutor withdrew the charge of incitement. He is satisfied that Duncan meant to incite. He quoted to me Duncan’s words: ‘I ask you on the long road that lies ahead, not to make trouble but to do what you have to do with love.’ He asked what Duncan meant by the words ‘do what you have to do’. He regards them as hypocritically ambiguous, defiance masquerading as non-violence. He is also very dissatisfied with the sentence imposed by the court. I think you will find that the magistrate in question will not go very far in his profession.

  It seems to me, my dear aunt, that years of peace now lie before South Africa. With the Prime Minister at the helm, with Dr. Hendrik to plan the course, and with our Minister to deal with any attempt at mutiny, I do not see what can go wrong with the ship of State. The communists are on the run, and any preaching of racial equality will in future be regarded as an attempt to further the aims of communism. Our Minister is emphatic about that. Our Security Police are going to be greatly strengthened, and it is the aim of General Smit to know every subversive thought in the country, and to know every person who harbours such thoughts. I do not mind saying that I would not like to get into his bad books. He is, in a good way of course, a man without mercy.

  I tell you in confidence that the Prime Minister will retire soon. His obvious successor is Dr. Hendrik, but for reasons of sentiment the caucus is likely to choose Johannes Gerhardus Strijdom, the Lion of the North, who will receive his reward for refusing to join the Hertzog–Smuts alliance twenty years ago. He is one of the few leading Nationalists who is not afraid to say that he believes in white supremacy.

  But you must watch Dr. Hendrik. He is the intellectual giant of the Cabinet. It is he who will make the blueprint for the future. In truth he does not need to compete for the premiership. He is in a way the big man of the Cabinet already.

  I predict that his Department of Native Affairs will become the most powerful department of all. This year all Native schools will be handed over to him. He is determined to destroy the missionary hold over the Native schools by the non-Calvinist churches. He maintains that Native Education is first and foremost an instrument of policy, and only thereafter an educational affair.

  The future of our country is bright.

  PART TWO

  * * *

  The Cleft Stick

  Mr. Wilberforce Sibusiso Nhlapo, headmaster of the J. H. Hofmeyr High School at Ingogo, sat with his wife in the sitting-room of his house and listened with pain and resentment to the noise coming from the house of his senior Science master, Mr. Jonathan Dlamini. He knew that his younger members of staff were celebrating the election of Lutuli. After Lutuli had refused to resign either from Congress or from the chieftainship, he had been deposed by Dr. Hendrik and had immediately become the darling of Congress and the black people. He had been president of the Natal branch of the Congress, but now by acclamation they had made him the national president. Thus he replaced Dr. Moroka who had committed the unforgivable offence of engaging separate legal defence for himself when he had been charged with others for taking part in the Defiance Campaign.

  Mr. Nhlapo had a plain duty towards the Education Department to go to Dlamini’s house and stop the party, for according to regulation no political function could be held on school property. But how was one to prove that Dlamini’s party was political? In any event, whether the party was political or not, the headmaster could have done nothing more foolish than to interfere with it in any way. If he had tried to do so, the school would have been plagued with a series of strikes, not against him of course, but against the food, the peeling paint, the poverty of the library, even against the inefficiency of some teacher who had been invited but had not attended the celebratory meeting.

  If that had happened, the white inspectors would have come to find out what was going on, and they would have found nothin
g. They would never have found out that the strikes stemmed from the meeting in Dlamini’s house. They would have tested the food and would have conceded that it could have been better. They would have seen the peeling paint and they would have acknowledged the poverty of the library. They would have admitted that the teacher was in fact inefficient, and had long been a thorn in the Department’s side. But they would never have discovered that the whole thing was a demonstration for Lutuli and against the headmaster. They would certainly have interviewed Dlamini and his friends but they would have come up against an impenetrable wall. Then they would inevitably have come to the conclusion that there was something lacking in the control of the school, and therefore that there was something wrong with the headmaster. And if that happened, Dlamini and his friends would have scored a victory.

  It was a melancholy conclusion, but fully justified, that the police would have arrived at the truth far sooner. The police could set out to terrify a child, but an inspector could not. The police could also have terrified some of Dlamini’s friends, and the truth would have come out. They would not have been able to terrify Dlamini himself, partly because he was an intensely proud man, and partly because with his qualifications he could easily have had a job in the world of industry. They could have terrified Mazibuko in three minutes. They would simply have said to him, Did your mother obtain a permit to leave Eshowe and to come here and live with you?

  Mr. Nhlapo would not easily forget this night of the celebratory meeting. There was a great deal of noise, of singing and laughter, and one could occasionally, when the wind changed, hear the sound of a speech. It was one of those meetings where there prevails an extraordinary mood compounded of frustration, defiance, and joy. They would go round and round Dlamini’s dining-room table, holding their thumbs aloft and singing Sizomlandela Lutuli, We shall follow Lutuli. They would be lost to the outside world, intent on their song, totally unselfconscious, certainly with no concern lest they looked undignified or ridiculous. Mrs. Sithole, who weighed close on three hundred pounds, and had long since lost the figure of a dancer, would go round and round the table, with the sweat pouring off her cheeks and staining her clothes, and with that rapt expression that transformed the faces of the admirers of Lutuli.

  Someone would make a speech, Dlamini of course, and most surely Mkhize the Zulu master, who might have become headmaster when Mr. Nhlapo was appointed, and would now probably finish his teaching days as a master at the J. H. Hofmeyr High School. Dlamini’s speech would be bitter and forthright, but Mkhize was a planter of barbs.

  He would call them all to attention, and they would wait expectantly for his witticisms. He might start off full of melancholy, and tell them what a great and tragic day it was, great because Lutuli was now their leader, tragic because some of the foremost educational figures were not present. My English is very poor, would say Mkhize, whose English was very good. These foremost figures are not present. Is that because they could not be present, or because they would not be present, or perhaps because they thought they should not be present?

  Those who understood these nuances would be seized by fits of laughter, and those who did not understand would be seized just the same. For the barb was directed against Mr. Nhlapo and his assistant headmaster, Mr. Stephen Koza. Mr. Nhlapo could see the gathering in imagination, the bitter Dlamini and the bitterly witty Mkhize. He could see those whose enjoyment of Lutuli’s election was unalloyed, and he could see those who were afraid, because they knew that they were attending a meeting of a kind forbidden by the Education Department on any school property.

  The noise from Dlamini’s house filled Mr. Nhlapo with resentment and pain. He had been excluded from the celebration. His pain was increased by the knowledge that if he had been invited he would not have gone. How could he have gone? He was the senior African headmaster in the Education Department, and his pension day was drawing closer. How could he attend a meeting of a kind forbidden by the Department? And for this loyalty he must pay this painful price of being treated as an outcast and a traitor to his people, and of sitting in his own house and listening to the noise of their defiance and joy, and of the speeches that would contain open attacks and barbed innuendos. All through his teaching life he had enjoyed the confidence of his pupils and colleagues, and in these later years much respect. It was when he came to the J. H. Hofmeyr High School that he had met the first two men who had ever treated him with contempt.

  His wife looked up from her knitting, and said,

  – There’s someone coming. I think it’s Koza. I’ll let him in.

  – Good evening, Koza. Come and sit down. You’re up late.

  – The hostels are restless tonight, headmaster. They have all heard about Lutuli. And they can hear the noise of Dlamini’s party. Some of them asked me why they cannot celebrate.

  Mr. Nhlapo steeled himself to hear the worst. He was in that state of mind where one wants to hear no more and yet one wants to hear it all.

  – Who asked you, Koza?

  – Malinga and some of his prefects. And Constance Mtshali for the girls. They want to know why no announcement has been made.

  – And what did you say?

  – I said Lutuli’s election was a political matter, and that we did not make political announcements.

  – And what did they say?

  – They did not agree. They said it was a national event, and should be announced.

  – Are they now in bed?

  – Yes. I did not force them. I thought it would not be wise.

  Mr. Nhlapo digested this news in silence. He would have remained silent if Koza had not said,

  – Headmaster.

  – Yes.

  – I had to make them a promise.

  – What did you promise?

  – I promised to bring their request to you. I thought it wise to do so. I said I could not promise what you would do, but I would certainly bring their request to you. I thought it wise to go further. I told them I would bring their request to you this very night. Headmaster, I must also tell you that on the way here I met Mbele. He left the party early because his wife is not well. You know he is friendly to us. He told me the staff are sending a deputation to you tomorrow.

  – What for?

  – Headmaster, it is very difficult.

  Mr. Nhlapo roused himself from his depression, and showed a touch of anger.

  – Yes, I know it is difficult, Koza. But I am not a child. I did not get where I am by shutting my ears to difficulties. What do they want?

  – They want you to change the name of the school.

  – They want to call it the Albert Lutuli School, I suppose.

  – No, they want to call it the Chief Albert Lutuli School.

  – Indeed?

  – Dlamini quoted the old saying, A chief is a chief because of the people. He is not a chief because of the government. Therefore Lutuli is still a chief.

  – Tomorrow will be a hard day, Koza. You must meet me in my office half-an-hour before school starts. And when you come, bring good advice.

  – I’ll be there, and I’ll try to bring good advice.

  – I am lucky to have you, Koza.

  – Headmaster.

  – Yes.

  – I must tell you one thing more. That man hates you.

  Mr. Nhlapo nodded heavily.

  – Yes, I know.

  When Koza had gone, Mrs. Nhlapo said to her husband,

  – Father, you must pull yourself together. You have sat here the whole evening and you have not spoken a word. I know things are difficult, but you told Koza you have not got where you are by shutting your ears to difficulties. You think too much about this Dlamini. It is not like you to be afraid of a man like that.

  – I’m not afraid of him.

  – All right, you are not afraid of him, but you think too much about him. You are not firm enough with him. I know that man. If you are not firm with him, he will spoil your school, he will spoil your teachers, he will spoil
your children. Why don’t you ask Inspector Anderson to move him away?

  – Do you know how difficult it is to get a Science teacher? And a good one like Dlamini?

  – All right, keep him. But what is more important, your Science results or your school? I do not like to see you like this. It is not your true nature. You have one of the best schools in Natal. Look at the troubles some of your friends have had. Majola’s whole school was burned down. And Zondi still cannot walk after that attack.

  – Mother, you’re right, I must pull myself together. I shall announce to the school tomorrow that Lutuli has been elected. They can shout and clap if they want to. And I’ll tell the deputation I do not decide the names of schools. However, if the members of the deputation put down their suggestions on paper and sign their names, I shall send it to the Department.

  Mrs. Nhlapo gave a little cry of delight.

  – That’s the way to talk, Father. They won’t do it.

  – They make me angry. It was J. H. Hofmeyr who every year while he was Minister increased the amount for African education. And every year he was opposed by the men who are governing us now. They called him a kafferboetie. I don’t mind a school being called the Albert Lutuli School, but they must not take Hofmeyr’s name away in order to do it. Mother, I am going to Newcastle after school tomorrow.

  – To see Robert?

  He smiled at her intuition.

  – Yes, to see Robert.

  – That’s a good thing to do. He’s the right man to see in a time like this. Tell him from me that I had a husband who was a jolly laughing man, but I have lost him. Robert must help me to get him back again.

  – Mr. Mainwaring, you remember the last congress of the National Union of South African Students, what you call NUSAS. The congress was held in July 1953.