by Alan Paton
I should add one thing. Some people say he is not humourless, but that on the contrary he has a great wit. I think that is possible. Wit can be very cold, humour never. For my part, I have heard neither humour nor wit from him.
They are walking again in Alexandra. They walked there twelve years ago, and for the same reason. They have been asked by PUTCO, the Public Utility Corporation, to pay five pence for the daily journey to Johannesburg. That means tenpence a day, two extra pence every day. They say they cannot afford it.
– You cannot afford two pence a day?
– No, I cannot afford it. It’s a loaf of bread less every day. That’s what we eat, mister. Yes, take my photograph. My name is Samuel Bukosini.
– Where do you come from?
– I come from Ingwavuma. It’s a far place, there in Zululand. But there’s no work there. So I came to Johannesburg.
– What are your wages?
– I get eight pound and sixteen shillings a month. Now I shall have to pay one pound and two shillings for a bus. So I rather walk.
– What do you eat?
– We eat bread, mister, and we drink tea. We have sugar with our tea, and milk when I have overtime. And the big luck is meat. And jam. You should see my children when I bring meat.
– Are your children here?
– Will you put that in your paper, mister?
– If you say no, no.
– I must say no. Because if you put it in your paper, the police will come, and they will send my wife and children back to Ingwavuma. and what will they do there?
– I see you carry your shoes.
– Yes, I cannot buy new shoes, so I carry my shoes.
– What time do you leave home, Mr. Bukosini?
– I leave home at four o’clock. My wife wakes me at half-past three and gives me tea and bread and mealie-meal with milk. I am the only one who always has milk. My wife says it must be so because I have to do the walking. I get to work at seven o’clock and I leave Johannesburg at four o’clock and I get home at seven o’clock. Then I talk to my children. A man must talk to his children, otherwise he will lose them.
– Mr. Bukosini, can I ask you a private question? Not for the paper.
– Yes, ask it.
– Do you get time to make love to your wife?
– Well, sometimes I do. But sometimes I am too tired. You can’t always make love when you have walked for six hours and worked for eight hours. At lunch time we all sleep.
– Well, thank you, Mr. Bukosini. It has been an honour to me to talk to you.
– Listen, mister. You can put my name and my picture in the paper, but you must not put my wife and children, and you must not put my street in Alexandra. But you can put this. I am strong. I can walk every day. Now you see that woman there? How can she walk twenty miles a day? She was last year in hospital for her chest. Do you see how she breathes? But she has four children, and her husband has left her for another woman.
– Why don’t they let her take a bus?
– They do not let anyone take a bus, mister. If she took a bus they would hurt her.
– Do they let her take a lift?
– Yes, they let her take a lift. But she has had no luck today.
– Who are these white people who are giving lifts?
– I don’t know. They come every day. They have ubuntu. Do you know what that is?
– No. What is it?
– It is . . . well . . . they see a woman, and she is breathing badly, but they do not see a black woman, they see a woman breathing badly so they take her to Johannesburg. That is ubuntu.
– Yes, I see. Thank you again, Mr. Bukosini.
– Thank you, mister. Don’t forget. No wife, no children, no street.
The leaders of this boycott do not want disturbances. The people are asked to walk in twos and threes. Otherwise the police will catch you for attending riotous assemblies. The people were also asked not to assault those who used the buses. Some of those who work in Johannesburg are old, and some are crippled, and some are ill. It would not be right to assault them. This injunction is by no means always obeyed.
Members of the white Congress and white members of the Liberal Party and other white people have taken their cars to Alexandra, and there they choose their passengers from the old and the sick and the crippled. Their actions are approved. Often a black man or woman who is preparing for the ten-mile walk to Johannesburg will, according to an ancient custom, thank the giver for the gift that is being given to others. Laura de Kock is there every day, and her husband Hendrik comes when he is able.
The Minister of Transport has announced that the boycott is a political movement, and that the Government will not be intimidated. Representatives of industry have asked for legislation to require employers to meet the increase in fares. But the Minister will not intervene. The boycott must be broken. Employers could help by refusing to pay for time taken up by walking. If they wanted to increase wages, that was their own concern. In the meantime he would give instructions to take action against any person who contravened the Transportation Act.
The Minister said that the boycott was the work of the African Congress. It was testing its strength. He appealed to ‘all the thousands of law-abiding Natives’ to repudiate these leaders. But the ‘thousands of law-abiding Natives’ did not listen to the Minister. On 20 January 1957 twenty thousand Africans from Moroka, Jabavu, and Dube joined the boycott of the PUTCO buses. This brought the number of boycotters to forty-five thousand. The people are talking of boycott in Randfontein, Brakpan, Port Elizabeth, East London, Bloemfontein, even in faraway Worcester in the Cape. The Minister has asked what further proof is needed that agitators are the real cause of the boycott. He would countenance no concessions whatsoever. Law and order must be maintained. Agitators must be rooted out. Peaceful natives who appreciated that the apartheid laws were made for their advancement must be protected. Communists masquerading as liberals and defenders of freedom must be rooted out. Liberals would be closely watched. They were the ones who led you into ambush so that the communists could kill you. There was no difference between liberals and communists except in the names they gave themselves. Last year the Government had closed the Russian consulate, but let no one deceive himself — the aim of the Russians is to gain control of South Africa, of its gold and its platinum and its coal and its chromium. And if they do so, black boycotters will not be able to march daily up and down Louis Botha Avenue because they will be dead. The Minister received a standing ovation.
– Kindly draw over here, lady.
– What do you want with me, officer?
– It’s a safety check, lady.
– Will it take long?
– It will take as long as it needs to take, lady. Not a minute more, not a minute less. If everything is O.K. it won’t take long. But if everything is not O.K., it may take a very long time.
– But I was checked last week.
– Last week is last week, lady. And this week is this week. This week is not the same as last week, lady. Can I see your licence? Laura de Kock, housewife. Are you Afrikaans-speaking, lady?
– That has nothing to do with you.
– That’s in order, lady. I see you have passengers. Where are you taking them?
– Are you entitled to ask me that question?
– If I suspect a crime has been committed, yes, lady. There was a big robbery in Johannesburg this morning and we are checking all traffic.
– But my passengers are women.
– I don’t suspect they did the robbing. But we are looking for the stolen goods. Will you please open your boot, lady?
So the boot is opened. The three women passengers are used to such treatment, but they have never seen a white woman treated like this. The officer finds nothing in the boot and turns his attention to the passengers. He asks for their passbooks. His manner to the white woman has been covertly insulting, but towards the black women he shows an open contempt.
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bsp; – What are you paying this lady?
– We are paying nothing.
– Why don’t you use the buses?
– Because of the money.
– Because of one penny?
– Yes.
– Who is paying you to do this?
– Nobody.
– That’s what you say. But we know it is the Congress.
A woman of spirit says to him,
– Then you know more than we do.
– You cannot speak to a policeman like that.
– I can say to a policeman that he knows something I do not know. There is no law about that.
– Your lawyer is clever, eh?
– I have no lawyer.
– When are you going to use the buses?
– When they bring back the fare to four pennies.
– But they are not going to bring it back.
– Then we are not going to use the buses.
– Are you going to walk for ever?
– If we have to, yes.
– You kaffirs are getting too cheeky. But one day we’ll get you. Then many of you will die. And I warn you, be careful when you speak to white policemen. We like to be called baas.
I do not call anyone baas. My employer will not let me call him baas.
– What’s he? A Jew?
– He is an Afrikaner.
The policeman spat on the ground to show what he thought of such Afrikaners.
– Well, you can go. But don’t let me catch you again in a white car. Lady, you can go.
– Before I go, officer, will you give me the name of your commanding officer?
– Why do you want it, lady?
– I want to report you for the way you speak to my passengers. What do you mean when you say that one day you’ll get them? What do you mean that many of them will die?
– So you do understand Afrikaans?
– I understand it well.
Well, my commanding officer is Captain Smith of the Hillbrow station. And I wish you luck, lady. You’ll need it when you talk to Captain Smith. No, don’t go yet, lady. I want to have another look at your tyres.
This time the officer spent a long time examining the tyres. Then he came back to Laura de Kock.
– I suspect that the tread of your right front tyre does not conform to the requirements of the regulations drawn up under the Transportation Act. But your tyres must be examined by an expert.
He wrote an address on a leaf of paper from his book and handed it to her.
– Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, lady, at the inspection centre.
– But I’m teaching, officer.
– I’m sorry for that, lady, but most of the people who have to report there are in employment of one kind or another. The inspection centre doesn’t work at nights, lady. They also have homes to go to.
– Can’t you make it Saturday, officer?
– I’ll do you a favour, lady, I’ll make it Saturday. Let me give you a warning, lady. Every white car that carries boycotters is going to be stopped in future. It is going to be checked for defects. Its passengers are going to be checked too. Our orders are that the check must be very thorough.
He looked at his watch.
– You have been here an hour, lady. And if you are stopped tomorrow, that’ll be another hour.
– But I’ve been checked today.
– Tomorrow’s officer won’t know that, lady.
– Can’t you give me a piece of paper, anything, to show that I’ve been checked?
– We don’t do that, lady. Lady, you must move on. There are hundreds of cars on this road.
– But you’re stopping only the ones with white drivers and black passengers, isn’t that so?
– It might be so and it might not be so. Drive on, lady.
– Good morning.
For a moment he thought she would not reply. Then she replied.
– Good morning.
A wave of excitement went through him. The chase was on. At least she had answered him.
– I am glad to see you.
– You can be glad. I cannot stop you.
– Are you glad to see me?
– I see you. I am not glad. I am not sad. But I see you.
– I want to tell you something.
– Tell me then.
– I think you are beautiful.
He could see a slight sign of pleasure. But she was frowning also. She looked this way and that. She spoke in a low voice.
– Don’t you understand? Are you so foolish? Don’t you know I am dangerous to you?
– Yes, I know. But if I think you are beautiful, how can I help that?
– You are not supposed to think me beautiful. Don’t you know the laws?
– Yes, I know them. Will I ever see you?
– You can see me now.
– I mean some private place.
– Don’t you understand? I am dangerous to you, and you are dangerous to me.
– Will I ever see you?
– Don’t talk to me. I am going.
– Will I not see you here?
– Anyone can see me here. The shop is open and anyone can see me.
And she was gone. He found that he was breathing hard, as though the chase had been physical. He was trembling too, with excitement and with fear. Of course it was dangerous, but she was one of the most beautiful of women. When he came out of the shop, she was already far up the street. He stopped and thought that she might perhaps look back. But she did not.
The people have been walking now for nine weeks, and they are still walking. The Minister has said that they must first stop the boycott, and then he will consider what steps can be taken. The boycotters say that the Minister must announce what steps will be taken, and then they will consider whether to stop the boycott. Meetings are held day and night, employers whose output is declining, PUTCO which is losing thousands of pounds a day, boycotters who are prepared to go on walking, church leaders who believe that the boycotters’ cause is just, police whose patience with these do-gooding white motorists is almost at an end, city councillors who feel that the whole thing is a disgrace to one of the richest cities in the world. And of course Government officials, who maintain that the boycott is political, that it is not the twopence a day that is the cause of the trouble but the agitators, that the Government will not yield to intimidation. The officials smell a rat, a red rat from Moscow.
The Minister has introduced a Bill which provides that if any transportation service is discontinued, he may prohibit the Transportation Board from licensing any substitute service. When the bus boycott started in Lady Selborne, outside Pretoria, workers began to use the trains, and the South African Railways augmented its service. But the Minister of Transport protested to the Minister of Railways, these two Ministers being one and the same person, whose right hand obviously did not know what his left hand was doing, and the augmented service was withdrawn.
Nine weeks is a long time, and the sick and the weak and the cripples have dropped out, and a fund has been started by white women of Johannesburg and Pretoria to provide them and their families with food. This has enraged the National Party member for Pretoria South-West, Mr. Louis Smith, who has urged the Minister ofjustice to introduce immediate legislation to make such assistance illegal, punishable by fines not exceeding five hundred pounds or imprisonment not exceeding five years. His fellow members have asked him to withdraw his proposals; they do not tell him that they think they are extreme, because that would only enrage him further, but that they will be publicised abroad and will harm the country and, as is well known, no true Nationalist wants to harm the country; Mr. Louis Smith certainly doesn’t want to harm the country, but the trouble is he does not know what will harm the country and what will not. However, he withdraws his proposals, but it doesn’t really help because they have already been publicised abroad, thanks of course to the press, which believes in some mythical value known as the freedom of information.
The Institute of Race Relations has of course been interfering in the boycott. They have urged the Commissioner of Police to stop acting against white motorists. They have challenged the view that the boycott is political. Two pennies a day was a lot of money to people who could not balance their budgets anyway. It simply meant they had to eat less bread. Or do without a cup of milk. Or eat less mealie-meal. The Institute urged the restoration of the old fares. The director of the Institute reports that he senses a new factor in the racial situation, and that is a determination on the part of African people to act for themselves, a new awareness of a common interest and a common passive strength.
What does he mean, a passive strength? Does a passive strength ever become an active strength? He could have added that white South Africa could go down on its knees and thank God for this passive strength, for this unbelievable patience, and this unbelievable courage that enables not only the strong, but also the weak, the lame, the old, to walk fifteen miles, eighteen miles, twenty miles, twenty-two miles a day, week after week, and when they reach work, to work as hard as they are able. Ah, but your land is beautiful, and what in it is more beautiful than those who walk to their work, along the hard pavements of Louis Botha Avenue, day after day, week after week, in sickness and in health, because they think their cause is just?
– There’s nothing wrong with your tyre, lady.
– I didn’t think there was.
– People like you come here every day. They’re clogging up the whole works. There’s most often nothing wrong with their cars. Their trouble is like yours, lady, they’ve been giving lifts to black people. I see them every day in Louis Botha Avenue. Lady, it breaks my heart.
The Minister of Transport has increased the levy that employers must pay for every worker, and this will be used to increase the subsidy to companies like PUTCO. The fare from Alexandra to Johannesburg has gone back to fourpence. The long battle is over, for this time at least.
