Ah But Your Land Is Beautiful

by Alan Paton

  Fat-bellied children shall play innocently

  Under the wide-branching trees of the lush country

  Where you yourselves were born.

  Boys shall go playing in the reed lagoons

  Of far Ingwavuma, the old names

  Shall recover old magic, milk and honey

  Shall flow in the long-forsaken places

  We mean nothing evil towards you.

  On this morning of this ninth day of August 1956, ten thousand women, most of them African, gathered near the statue of General Louis Botha in the grounds of the Union Buildings, the most majestic building in the whole continent of Africa, if one excepts the monuments of antiquity.

  These women gathered to protest against the issuing of passes to African women and against the pass laws themselves. Most of them were members of the Federation of South African Women and the African Congress Women’s League. Two of the most prominent were Miss Lilian Ngoyi, chairwoman of the Federation, and Mrs. Helen Joseph, its secretary. Both of these women were also prominent delegates to the recent Congress of the People.

  Mrs. Joseph said that today’s demonstration was the result of a three-thousand-five-hundred-mile journey through the length and breadth of the country. Asked to what organisation the white women belonged, Mrs. Joseph said they belonged to the white Congress, the Federation, and other organisations.

  At least ten thousand women, some claim twenty thousand, gathered at the Botha monument. It was one of the largest crowds ever to assemble at the Union Buildings, and probably the largest gathering of women in the country’s history. Just after noon the women, in ranks often, moved in a solid phalanx through the grounds of the Union Buildings, to the great amphitheatre. There they sat down, a vast chattering throng that fell silent immediately their leaders stood to address them. Miss Ngoyi announced that the Prime Minister had refused to meet the deputation, and the crowd gave a great shout of Mayibuye Afrika! Miss Ngoyi then announced that a delegation of nine women, including Helen Joseph, would take seven thousand petitions to the Prime Minister’s office, asking for the repeal of the pass laws. This announcement was also greeted with shouts of Mayibuye! and thousands gave the thumbs-up signal.

  Led by Mrs. Helen Joseph, the delegation threaded its way through the densely crowded amphitheatre. They were attended by photographers and movie cameramen. At the entrance door the delegation was told that only white persons might enter. Mrs. Joseph questioned this decision and was told that it had been made by the Head of Police. However, later Mrs. Joseph and four others were allowed to enter and to proceed to the office of the Prime Minister. They knocked repeatedly on the door and were at last admitted, but the Prime Minister was not there, and they had to leave their seven thousand petitions on the floor of his office.

  On their return to the amphitheatre the five women were received with shouts of jubilation. The women then stood for thirty minutes in absolute silence. The demonstration ended with the singing of Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. During the singing the women stood with upraised thumbs, the sign of the militant African Congress, and at the end of the anthem gave three rousing hallelujahs.

  A strong force of members of the Security Police, both white and black, mingled with the crowd. There were no incidents, and the women dispersed peacefully.

  Helen Joseph? She was born in 1905 in England, and came to South Africa in 1931 to recuperate after an accident. Although concerned with social questions, she was first moved to political action in 1952 by the Defiance Campaign. She helped to found the white Congress in 1952 and the Federation of South African Women in 1954. She has great gifts of organisation, and has won the deep respect of black women. She is in fact an extraordinary woman, and appears to be fearless. She herself records that she began her political career by taking part in a march to the Johannesburg City Hall and ‘was absolutely terrified’.

  Helen Joseph? She is not a South African but she presumes to teach us about justice. She is playing with fire, and is going to get burnt. She is regarded by the Security Police as one of the most dangerous agitators in South Africa. If she does not change her course, she will get into big trouble.

  Dear Philip

  The Chief was delighted to receive the message of goodwill from the party on the occasion of the expiry of his ban. He was behaving just like a schoolboy who has been given an extra holiday. He was laughing most of the time, a great laugh that you could hear all over the house and the garden. People were coming and going, and his wife Nokukhanya was giving them tea. Her name, as you know, means ‘a person of light’, and that is what she is.

  It is a solemn thought that this joy and exuberance and downright gaiety is the gift of the Government. It is also a solemn thought that the effect of a ban is so powerful. The Chief has found the isolation, the absence of communication, the ban on all gatherings, very painful to bear. Now that the ban has expired, he has opened out like a great flower, a giant sunflower I would say. He radiates light and joy to all around him. I have never seen anything like it. Of course in another way the ban is powerless. Its influence on the Chief’s beliefs and aspirations and courage is exactly zero.

  He and Z. K. Matthews are in striking contrast to each other, the one exuberant and spell-binding, the other massively self-contained. Lutuli is the fire, and Z.K. the brains. The comparison is not perfect, but they remind me of Botha and Smuts. Botha was a true man of the people, and commanded the affection and respect of his soldiers, whereas Smuts after a day’s march withdrew from them with Kant and the Greek Testament. After Botha’s death Smuts called him the ‘cleanest, sweetest, soul of all my days’. Matthews could well say that of Lutuli.

  Lutuli is waiting for Conco and Yengwa to emerge from their bans and then they and Nokukhanya and Mrs. Conco plan to take a holiday trip to Swaziland. His eagerness has a kind of innocence about it, and his joy is infectious. I did not know he was a poet, but he told me that he could not wait to have ‘a shake in the air of freedom’. I have never heard that phrase before. At first I thought it described the shake given by a horse setting off on a journey after a long spell in the stables, but the Chief says he is no horseman. He gave his great laugh and said to me, ‘Robert, I am too heavy for a horse.’ I think he has forgiven us about the Congress.

  Yes, I am worried about the car. How can one stop an ill-wisher from forcing open the bonnet? He did just that, and poured oil into the brake fluid. That is fatal, or rather it could be fatal, for if after the oil had done its work I had been faced with an emergency and jammed on the brakes I would have got no response at all. Luckily for me I put on the brakes on a level piece of road to give a chap a lift, and the results were not fatal, though it was an unnerving experience. I was much more worried about Naomi and the children. I have had to tell them of course, and have had to ask them to be on the alert for any unusual situation. They took it well.

  I had a good meeting in Underberg, and they all sent their good wishes to you. How you with your offhand bantering manner win the confidence of people is a mystery to me, but you do. Their situation is distressing. Most, if not all of them, were given their land by the British government after the battle of Isandlwana, because they remained ‘loyal’. That is more than seventy years ago. The land was good, and they were able to keep some cattle and to grow mealies and pumpkins and a few fruit trees. But the Government is determined to wipe out every such place. The people are likely to be resettled in the Impendle district, parts of which consist of rocks and shale and kranses. Emmanuel was there of course, and manages to radiate confidence and courage in what seems a hopeless situation. He is an incredible fellow.

  See you Tuesday.

  Yours

  Robert

  In June 1940, when the Allied fortunes were low, a peace procession of white women, most of them wearing Voortrekker dress, marched from Church Square to the Union Buildings to present a petition bearing signatures to the Prime Minister, urging the withdrawal of South Africa from participation in the war. Smuts passed th
e job of receiving them on to Hofmeyr, who performed the task gallantly, offered them refreshments, and was thanked by them for the excellent police arrangements. With the Prime Minister’s permission the women held a religious service in the grounds of the buildings.

  . . . You are quite right to correct me, my dearest aunt. I should certainly have remembered the procession because I saw it myself. I told you how my own present Minister got stuck in the mud at Westville trying to avoid the Black Sash, but Smuts was no less anxious to avoid the Voortrekker women, and he passed the job over to Hofmeyr, who, though he never got married, because of his mother of course, could handle women with the greatest charm and courtesy. There was one difference between Hofmeyr and myself. If it hadn’t been for his mother, he would certainly have got married, whereas I would have not. There was one difference between our mothers too. They both possessed their sons, but Mrs. Hofmeyr ruled hers and mine did not. People used to tell the story of how Hofmeyr, when he was Administrator of the Transvaal, hurt himself on the tennis court, and was rushed off by his mother to a nearby chemist’s shop; and when he jumped at the iodine, she called out, ‘Jantjie, don’t jump like that. How can the lady help you if you jump like that?’ And Jantjie replied, ‘But it hurts, ma, it hurts.’ My mother would certainly never have said that to me, and I would certainly never have said that to her.

  In any event the women’s demonstration at the Union Buildings passed off in the most dignified way. I still would not compare them with the Black Sash. They did not carry placards, and they did not attempt to picket the Prime Minister. They behaved indeed as you might expect Afrikaner women to behave.

  My Minister is in a very bad mood. He is now quite satisfied with the Appellate Court as it has been reconstituted, and reckons it can now be relied upon to give reliable and impartial judgments. But Mr. Justice Olivier is to him like a red rag to a bull. A representative of the Opposition appealed against the Senate Act, and asked the court to declare it invalid, but only one judge supported the appeal and that was of course Judge Olivier. He said that although Parliament had acted within its powers by enlarging and reconstructing the Senate, the motive was not to have a better Senate but to amend the Cape franchise and to remove coloured voters to a separate roll. He therefore presented a minority opinion, but the court voted ten to one to reject the appeal.

  I remember writing to you that I would sometimes play a little game with the Minister and mention the judge’s name quite innocently, just to watch the Minister’s reaction. Well, I don’t play it any more. His hatred of the judge has become almost pathological, and he would be extremely angry with me.

  My own legal knowledge is now getting a bit rusty, but I was taught by the late Professor Streicher that of course Parliament had motives and the question was not whether you liked the motive but whether Parliament acted constitutionally in passing the legislation. It is the Appellate Court that has kept on telling Parliament that it cannot amend the Cape franchise without a two-thirds majority, and now that the Government has obtained the two-thirds majority, Judge Olivier wants to tell Parliament that the motive is bad and therefore the law is invalid.

  I once prophesied to you that Judge Olivier would never become the Chief Justice. It seems now more certain than ever.

  I can tell you in the strictest confidence, my dear aunt, that you will hear and read of the heroic steps that will shortly be taken to crush for ever the forces which oppose and try to obstruct the Great Plan for the creation of a society of separate and peaceful coexistence.

  The trip to Swaziland was a great success. The joy of being able to move again through the country went to their heads. They laughed incessantly, the Chief loudest of all. They called in at Nongoma to pay their respects to the King and the Royal House.

  Not long after that they entered the white farming country with mile upon mile of mealies, running in their measured lines across the countryside, and lush orchards of pawpaws, oranges, bananas, avocados. Here they fell silent, awed by the richness and beauty of man’s achievement, and dumb with the realisation that there was not one black farm in the whole expanse of South Africa that looked anything like this. Into their minds, certainly into the minds of the three men, came the memory, though it was only the Chief who actually remembered it, of the Natives Land Act of 1913 that took away from the African people the right to buy land outside their own pitiful Reserves, where only by one chance in a thousand or one in ten thousand could people buy any land at all, because it was held, by immutable custom, in community. So this richness and this beauty of man’s achievement was the white man’s achievement, because no black man had the land on which to achieve them.

  Lutuli and his party would have liked to say, ‘Ah, but the land is beautiful’, but the words would not come out of their mouths because it was the land that was taken from them. ‘By right of conquest’ — those are the words, but they can be used only by the conqueror. The Chief’s mind went back ten years, to 1946, the year that he was elected to the Natives’ Representative Council, the council that was the white man’s reparation for the taking away of the common-roll vote in 1936, the council that Mosaka called the toy telephone. The Acting Prime Minister, the Right Honourable J. H. Hofmeyr, came to open the seventh session of the Council and made them a speech which was meant to be friendly and conciliatory. Dr. James Moroka, seconding the vote of thanks, said to Hofmeyr, ‘In your speech you say that we must love our land . . . We love it and we shall always do so. We only hope it will be made possible by the rulers of this country that we may have some land to love.’

  And when they did find some land to love, as Emmanuel Nene’s father did at Ethembeni, and in all the other blackspots, then laws were passed to take it away. These sombre thoughts intruded on the shake in the air of freedom, and in a way they were glad to enter the country of Swaziland, where everything was less rich and less alien, and where the Swazis spoke a language that is as close to Zulu as any language could be. Here in Swaziland a great honour was shown to the Chief, when the King paid the party a courtesy call.

  Then they returned to their own country, and as they crossed the border they experienced what all such travellers feel, a sudden tension within themselves, a premonition, no, rather a certitude, of trials ahead, which would call for a stiffening of the will, and a strengthening of the determination to die for the cause of freedom if that should be asked of them. They still had their legal freedom, not quite the same as the freedom of Swaziland. But even that did not last, for on the morning of the fifth of December, the police came to the Chief’s home in Groutville and arrested him on a charge of high treason.

  One of the policemen greeted him with the words, ‘Yes, the day has come.’

  . . . The great step of which I hinted to you has been taken. No fewer than 156 people have been arrested on charges of high treason. They include ex-Chief Lutuli, Professor Z. K. Matthews and Dr. Naicker of the Indian Congress, all of whom have repeatedly flaunted their disloyalty to the lawfully constituted authority. It is indeed lamentable that there are white people among them, including Mrs. Helen Joseph who led the impertinent march to the Union Buildings last August.

  This step has been taken only after my Minister was satisfied that the chances of a successful prosecution were good. It is possible that the Department will build a new security prison to house those found guilty. It is expected that there will be at least a hundred, and it would be undesirable to place them with other prisoners. It is unlikely that the death penalty will be imposed; it is more likely that the guilty will receive life sentences. In any case it is fairly well known in responsible circles that neither the Prime Minister nor my Minister wants the death penalty. The hostility of the United Nations, and of the outside world in general, is bad enough already, but it would be immeasurably increased if the death penalty were imposed.

  The real test that faces the State is that of proving that the 156 accused were co-conspirators in a plot to overthrow the State by violence. The evidence t
hat will be led will be unique, for it will be the evidence of philosophers, political scientists, and scholars rather than that of policemen. As I wrote to you before, Dr. Andrew Munnik, Dr. Willem van Amstel, and Dr. Koot Wollheim are probably the greatest experts in the world on communism. Dr. Munnik’s works in particular are said to be so profound that the number of people who understand them is small.

  Now I am a lawyer, not a philosopher, but I am going to try to explain the argument to you. You know that the science of identifying handwriting is highly advanced. You can say that the chances are ninety-nine out of a hundred that this particular piece of writing was done by this particular person, even if that person has changed from right hand to left or has tied a handkerchief round his writing hand, or is not looking at the paper at all but into a mirror. The characteristics of a particular piece of handwriting are like fingerprints; they belong to this person and to no one else.

  Now this is also true of thinking, and particularly of ideological thinking. You can try to disguise your ideology, as indeed people tried to do in the Freedom Charter, but the profound expert will identify the Marxist elements and will prove that they come from Marx or are inspired by Marx. You can be a Marxist and you can try to speak or write as a Christian, but you will not be able to disguise the ideology. And this is the task of the prosecution, to examine the writings and speeches of all these 156 people, and to identify the ideology common to them all, and to prove that it is communist and could be nothing else.

  Take for example these clauses from the Freedom Charter:

  Every man and woman shall have the right to vote for and to stand as a candidate for all bodies which make laws;

  All people shall be entitled to take part in the administration of the country;

  The rights of the people shall be the same, regardless of race, colour or sex.

  Now these demands are in direct contradiction to the policies of separate coexistence. We do not have one country, we have many countries. We do not believe, to use the jargon of the day, in a common society. There is no way in which a common society could be realised, except by the violent overthrow of the lawfully constituted authority, and this could be done only by revolution, and such a revolution could succeed only with the help of hostile forces from outside.