Read Online Playing the Enemy: Nelson Mandela and the Game That Made a Nation by John Carlin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Carlin
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political resistance had dwelled underground. During Justice’s first weekend back, on Sunday, November 10, his township erupted. The “unrest” followed the grim choreography that was by now familiar to viewers of television news everywhere in the world, except for South Africa, where such images were censored. A group of black people gathered in an open space in Paballelo to denounce the latest litany of social injustices. The local police had been fearing for some time that their hitherto tame blacks (“our blacks” was the phrase they would use, ignorant of the rebellious thoughts that swirled inside their heads) were in danger of following the violent lead of their uppity cousins in Johannesburg and Cape Town. Certain now that the dread day had finally come, they followed the script of their unrest-hardened metropolitan peers and fired tear gas into the small crowd of protestors. Justice was not actually present that day, but there was no shortage of other angry young blacks around to respond by hurling stones at the police, who replied by hurling themselves into the crowd, setting their dogs on the stone-throwers, chasing them, and beating those they caught with their truncheons.
The police were unprepared to cope with the ensuing mayhem, in which rioters burned houses and vehicles owned by those perceived as black collaborators, people such as the black town councilors paid by the regime to give it a veneer of democratic respectability. The police opened fire, killing a pregnant black woman. They said later she had been throwing stones at them. But the truth, as far as Paballelo was concerned, was that she had simply stepped out of her house to buy some bread.
The revolution had finally come to Upington. Over the next two days, Monday and Tuesday, Paballelo residents engaged in running battles with the police, this time with Justice at the forefront.
On Tuesday afternoon, police reinforcements arrived from Kimberley, the nearest city, 180 miles away. At the head of them was a certain Captain van Dyk, who proposed peace talks. That evening Justice and other local leaders met with him in the township. No resolution was reached, but they agreed to meet again the next morning, this time with the whole community present, at the dusty local soccer field. The idea, to which Captain van Dyk assented, was that the residents of Paballelo should air the grievances that had occasioned all the trouble in the first place. If the police captain were able to provide some sort of satisfaction, some sense that the matters raised would be addressed at a political level, then tempers might cool and they would avoid the violent confrontation that loomed. Justice and his fellow leaders were encouraged by Van Dyk’s reasonable manner. He was a different breed from the uncouth variety of policeman they had grown accustomed to in Upington.
The next morning, November 13, thousands turned up at the soccer field. Again, the choreography followed a familiar pattern, replicating the sequence of events at thousands of other such protest meetings nationwide. Observed by a phalanx of riot police in gray-blue uniforms and a column of clunky yellow armored vehicles with huge wheels called Casspirs, an orderly crowd of black people gathered at the center of the football field. The proceedings began, as always, with the official anthem of black liberation, “Nkosi Sikelele iAfrika.” The words, in Mandela’s language, Xhosa, meant :
God Bless Africa
May her glory rise high
Hear our pleas
God bless us
Us your children
Come Spirit
Come Holy Spirit
God we ask you to protect our nation
Intervene and end all conflicts
Protect us
Protect our nation
Let it be so
Forever and ever
It was generous, mournful, defiant, and had the iterative power of an ocean wave. To black South Africans and those who sympathized with their cause, it was a call to courage. To the apartheid authorities, and in particular to the young white policemen whom the anthem had in
The police were unprepared to cope with the ensuing mayhem, in which rioters burned houses and vehicles owned by those perceived as black collaborators, people such as the black town councilors paid by the regime to give it a veneer of democratic respectability. The police opened fire, killing a pregnant black woman. They said later she had been throwing stones at them. But the truth, as far as Paballelo was concerned, was that she had simply stepped out of her house to buy some bread.
The revolution had finally come to Upington. Over the next two days, Monday and Tuesday, Paballelo residents engaged in running battles with the police, this time with Justice at the forefront.
On Tuesday afternoon, police reinforcements arrived from Kimberley, the nearest city, 180 miles away. At the head of them was a certain Captain van Dyk, who proposed peace talks. That evening Justice and other local leaders met with him in the township. No resolution was reached, but they agreed to meet again the next morning, this time with the whole community present, at the dusty local soccer field. The idea, to which Captain van Dyk assented, was that the residents of Paballelo should air the grievances that had occasioned all the trouble in the first place. If the police captain were able to provide some sort of satisfaction, some sense that the matters raised would be addressed at a political level, then tempers might cool and they would avoid the violent confrontation that loomed. Justice and his fellow leaders were encouraged by Van Dyk’s reasonable manner. He was a different breed from the uncouth variety of policeman they had grown accustomed to in Upington.
The next morning, November 13, thousands turned up at the soccer field. Again, the choreography followed a familiar pattern, replicating the sequence of events at thousands of other such protest meetings nationwide. Observed by a phalanx of riot police in gray-blue uniforms and a column of clunky yellow armored vehicles with huge wheels called Casspirs, an orderly crowd of black people gathered at the center of the football field. The proceedings began, as always, with the official anthem of black liberation, “Nkosi Sikelele iAfrika.” The words, in Mandela’s language, Xhosa, meant :
God Bless Africa
May her glory rise high
Hear our pleas
God bless us
Us your children
Come Spirit
Come Holy Spirit
God we ask you to protect our nation
Intervene and end all conflicts
Protect us
Protect our nation
Let it be so
Forever and ever
It was generous, mournful, defiant, and had the iterative power of an ocean wave. To black South Africans and those who sympathized with their cause, it was a call to courage. To the apartheid authorities, and in particular to the young white policemen whom the anthem had in
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