Read Online Honorary White by E. R. Braithwaite - Free Book Online Page A

ownership of a home thousands of miles away, my security in the knowledge that I had the right to defend it against all comers, supported by the full weight of the law.
    My guide now promised a big surprise and we drove to the Bantu Council Building. It was much more than a surprise, the sight of that modern red-brick building, graceful in its simple lines against a dramatic background of neatly trimmed lawns and darkening sky. A macadam driveway circled in front of the building before coming to rest at the base of a wide wooden stairway which led upward to carved wooden doors. A uniformed doorman led us inside and then hurried away to find the Secretary of the Council. My guide proudly showed me the large Council Chamber, paneled in wood and thickly carpeted, and the smaller offices of the President and Secretary of the Council.
    We found the Secretary in his office in conversation with someone, so we waited for him in the Council Chamber. My guide told me that members of the Council are mainly drawn from the small business community of Soweto. The Council is supposed to oversee Soweto’s health and educational and social welfare, and make recommendations to the white Johannesburg Council which has the final decision as to which, if any of them, are expedited.
    When the Council Secretary finally joined us, he proceeded to give me a very careful review of the Council and its work. He seemed primarily concerned with impressing my guide whom he knew to be a Government official. Smiling broadly, he invited me to ask him questions.
    â€œHow much freedom can your Council exercise in the management of Soweto’s affairs?” I asked.
    â€œWell,” glancing nervously at my guide, “we have a pretty free hand. We’re on the spot, we know what the township needs, and our recommendations are generally honored.” Nodding his head affirmatively all the while.
    â€œDoes the Council collect the rents on the houses?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWould you tell me about subletting and how it works here?”
    â€œWell, I couldn’t go into that. That’s the Council’s business. I can’t discuss that.”
    â€œI understand you maintain supervision of the schools.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’ve just been looking at your high school. From the outside—”
    â€œThe schools are still out for the Christmas holidays,” he interrupted.
    â€œI know. But could you—”
    â€œThe Chairman of the Schools Committee would be the best person to talk to you about the schools.” Again he interrupted me, anticipating my question, meanwhile looking at my guide as if to assure her that he would say or do nothing contrary to official policy.
    Unexpectedly we were joined by a little man, hardly over five feet tall, shiningly bald, and spry. On being introduced to me, he seemed surprised.
    â€œI thought you were a plainclothes policeman,” he said. “I was planning to ask you to help me get a new pass.” Grinning meanwhile.
    â€œAt your age, why would you need a pass?” I asked him.
    â€œEvery black man needs a pass,” he replied, the smile vanishing. “I am a member of this Council. I live and work here in Soweto. Been here nearly all my life. I’m seventy and still I need a pass.” His watery eyes staring balefully at my guide, he continued, “Blacks are not human, so they need passes to move among the humans. What about you?”
    â€œI’m a visitor from overseas. This is my first visit to your country and this lady is guiding me around Soweto.”
    â€œBefore people try to guide others, they should try guiding themselves,” he replied, looking at me. “How can you guide when you don’t know Soweto yourself? Blacks live in Soweto. Only Blacks. They’re forced to live in Soweto. They know what is Soweto. The white man comes here and says to us, Come. Go. Fetch. Carry. Live. Die. Show your permit. Show your