The Truth Lies in the Ash
16 June 2016, forty years after the youth took up the cudgels to bring down apartheid, I found myself amongst a community in Bonteheuwel, celebrating the life of a fallen hero, Ashley Kriel. The screening of "Action Kommadant" a documentary film by Nadine Cloete, brought back many memories of that time, of which I feel the urgency to record the role I played during that time, a role which I felt was pretty much one that was in the background, until my dear friend and mentor, Marie-Louise Samuels said to me that I was never just in the background.
It made me think about the importance of my role at the time, and perhaps, for lack of wanting to be in the spotlight, I never paid much attention to it, contrary to what some people think. Just because I am vocal does not mean I want to be seen.
I entered the Catholic Youth Movement (known later as the Archdiocesan Youth Movement "AYM") when I was age 13 and a youth member at Holy Cross Church, Nile Street, District Six. It was not long before I got elected as youth leader and as a result got invited to attend many workshops on a weekend which Marie-Louise (Perez at the time) ran together with Joe Samuels and Famia Cana, the youth workers. Most of these workshops took place in the prefab buildings just behind the Zonnebloem Art School, but not limited to this area. We did go out to other areas, like Wellington, Manenberg, Bonteheuwel, Athlone, in other words the whole of the Western Cape.
These workshops were attended by the youth from the various Catholic churches across the Western Cape. One particular workshop stands out for me and that was the one where we had to describe someone we had met at the workshop without referring to their skin colour. I could probably say this was perhaps the first time I noticed that I lived in a country where the colour of our skin was an issue. The colour of one's skin never really bothered me, as I come from a family where one could say it is made up of the whole United Nations. Yes, as a family we were moved from District Six because of our colour. Yes, I and my siblings had to sit upstairs in the bus and grandmother was allowed to sit downstairs, because of our colour. Yes, there were separate entrances to shops and benches to sit on because of our colour. But, it was not one I noticed until that workshop.
It was at these workshops that, I became more and more committed to wanting a free and fair South Africa for everyone irrespective of our colour.
Through my on-going involvement in the Youth Movement, I got elected as Chairperson of the AYM which came with great responsibility of keeping the movement informed of various youth events etc.
From about 1986 to 1987, I found myself semi-unemployed, in other words I did not have a full-time job, so I was able to frequent the youth office at 12 Bouquet Street, Cape Town (the head office for all the Catholic offices in the Western Cape). I eventually had a job in the Justice and Peace office with Nicky Antonie and then moved over to the Cathectical office with Sr Joan Rafferty.
In the Youth Office, I had the opportunity to acquire many of the skills which I still use today. When posters, flyers, hymn sheets, etc were required for workshops, rallies, church services, I had the honour of designing them and then rolling it off from one of those old hand operated, stencil machines from Getstetner. We never had electric typewriters or computers at the time, so stencils were the way to go on that clickety clack typewriter. Unfortunately, the posters and flyers ended up on the ash after I called my mother one day from the Youth Office to say that we had word that houses were going to be raided. When I called my mother, I had to explain where she would find the original artworks of the posters and flyers I had hidden at home. Seems like yesterday - it was rolled up, hidden behind the sheets in the linen press, which also eventually ended up as ash.
The security police did not come around that particular time, but they had called on my home twice a few years earlier wanting to know from my mother, who her eldest daughter is. And even though my mother pointed me out, for some reason or other, they did not seem convinced, so just left. I probably just did not fit the description of someone who could have been involved in any activist activity. Well little did they know.
The security police did not come around that particular time, but they had called on my home twice a few years earlier wanting to know from my mother, who her eldest daughter is. And even though my mother pointed me out, for some reason or other, they did not seem convinced, so just left. I probably just did not fit the description of someone who could have been involved in any activist activity. Well little did they know.
Sometime during 1987 I, together with Imelda Davidson (who has since passed) went off to Durban (my first flight which my mother had no idea of, except that she knew I was off to Durban) to attend a meeting to plan the National Catholic Youth Conference, which would take place later that year.
So that year a group of us from the Western Cape, representatives of various Catholic churches, headed off in a bus to Durban to attend the Youth Conference. It was on this bus that, I got connected with someone very special, who is no longer with us. In many ways Ashley Kriel reminded me of him. Very few people knew that we had a connection and when I received a call on my birthday 26 July 1989 from Marie-Louise (who I thought was calling to wish me) to inform me of the persons who were killed in the explosion behind the Athlone Magistrates Court a few days earlier, it was the saddest birthday ever. One of my memories of that trip to Durban, was when Robbie and I were sitting together on the bus and we got tapped on the shoulder to say there is a roadblock ahead, we should get ready to get off the bus, I remember Robbie taking his ANC coloured pen and sticking it down the back of the seat in front of us. When we got to the roadblock manned by the South African Defence Force (now known as the SA National Defence Force), we got off the bus so that it could be searched, and I can remember hoping and praying, they did not find Robbie's pen in the seat. I guess my prayers helped, as we were allowed back on the bus to complete our journey. It was at this point, I decided that I think I best sit upfront with the driver in the passenger seat and keep him company until we got to our destination, now-and-then passing a glance back to Robbie who was sitting a few seats behind me.
We had a very memorable experience in Mariannhill, Durban, from meeting new people of all races, learning to screenprint, to being asked to leave the beach because we were the wrong colour even though we were a mixed group. Thankfully our "white" friends left with us, but not without first saying something to the beach security.
When we got back to Cape Town, Robbie and I continued to stay in touch for hours via the telephone (not mobiles) and at every youth get-together opportunity. The Ashley Kriel story reminded me of how secretive things were kept, and I now understand why Robbie never did tell me of how involved he was. When I playback our telephone conversations, which have become a lot more clearer now, I understand now why some things were never spoken about when questions were asked. Our telephone discussions consisted of us sharing our happenings of the day, to him playing his guitar and me reading my poetry to him. I think my writing of poetry died when I received the news of his death. Robbie Waterwitch, will forever remain in my memory.
Then there was another youth mate of mine from Pinelands who sticks out, the brother of a well known SA singer, who decided that he was going to join the army. I can see him so clearly standing in the doorway of the youth office at 12 Bouquet Street telling a very disappointed Marie-Louise and the rest of us that he decided to join the army in the hope that he could influence the thinking of the guys in the army that apartheid was not the way to go. This was the time of the End Conscription Campaign, so for our fellow "white" youth mate to decide to do this was in some ways a little disappointing I guess. On the other hand, I thought that it was very brave of him to want to do that. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to him.
Coming back to being a youth in South Africa in the 80s and 90s was not a time for having fun and games, especially if you were involved in bringing down the apartheid government at the time. However, I think that I have more than made up for it now. Sometime during the late 70s or early 80s I remember going on some military training camps which were organised by the SADF, which were held in Manrisa on the West Coast. I never thought anything of it, as we went with the permission of our parents and it was organised in co-operation with Father Basil Van Rensburg, our parish priest at Holy Cross. It seemed like a fun time, learning about the stars, shooting with rifles and exercising in the mornings. Still not sure today, what the purpose of that was, I hope it was not some plan to get us into the army to fight our people. I cannot imagine that Fr B would have agreed to something like that. Anyway that was at least two weeks of training on two different occasions.
When I look back, I can see that that era has conditioned me into the person I have become.
I still get very angry with the assumptions that some people make by judging me by the colour of my skin. The racism in South Africa is alive and well and it is not just about white or coloured on black, but it is black on black, white on white, coloured on coloured and a whole lot of mixing up, all because people assume that because you look a certain way, you think in a certain way. We could not be more far from the truth than this. We spend too much time on the blame game, when we could be focusing on what we have in common.
It is about time that we all take a look in the mirror and say that "Racism Stops with Me" and let that become ash to set the truth free.
So that year a group of us from the Western Cape, representatives of various Catholic churches, headed off in a bus to Durban to attend the Youth Conference. It was on this bus that, I got connected with someone very special, who is no longer with us. In many ways Ashley Kriel reminded me of him. Very few people knew that we had a connection and when I received a call on my birthday 26 July 1989 from Marie-Louise (who I thought was calling to wish me) to inform me of the persons who were killed in the explosion behind the Athlone Magistrates Court a few days earlier, it was the saddest birthday ever. One of my memories of that trip to Durban, was when Robbie and I were sitting together on the bus and we got tapped on the shoulder to say there is a roadblock ahead, we should get ready to get off the bus, I remember Robbie taking his ANC coloured pen and sticking it down the back of the seat in front of us. When we got to the roadblock manned by the South African Defence Force (now known as the SA National Defence Force), we got off the bus so that it could be searched, and I can remember hoping and praying, they did not find Robbie's pen in the seat. I guess my prayers helped, as we were allowed back on the bus to complete our journey. It was at this point, I decided that I think I best sit upfront with the driver in the passenger seat and keep him company until we got to our destination, now-and-then passing a glance back to Robbie who was sitting a few seats behind me.
We had a very memorable experience in Mariannhill, Durban, from meeting new people of all races, learning to screenprint, to being asked to leave the beach because we were the wrong colour even though we were a mixed group. Thankfully our "white" friends left with us, but not without first saying something to the beach security.
When we got back to Cape Town, Robbie and I continued to stay in touch for hours via the telephone (not mobiles) and at every youth get-together opportunity. The Ashley Kriel story reminded me of how secretive things were kept, and I now understand why Robbie never did tell me of how involved he was. When I playback our telephone conversations, which have become a lot more clearer now, I understand now why some things were never spoken about when questions were asked. Our telephone discussions consisted of us sharing our happenings of the day, to him playing his guitar and me reading my poetry to him. I think my writing of poetry died when I received the news of his death. Robbie Waterwitch, will forever remain in my memory.
Then there was another youth mate of mine from Pinelands who sticks out, the brother of a well known SA singer, who decided that he was going to join the army. I can see him so clearly standing in the doorway of the youth office at 12 Bouquet Street telling a very disappointed Marie-Louise and the rest of us that he decided to join the army in the hope that he could influence the thinking of the guys in the army that apartheid was not the way to go. This was the time of the End Conscription Campaign, so for our fellow "white" youth mate to decide to do this was in some ways a little disappointing I guess. On the other hand, I thought that it was very brave of him to want to do that. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to him.
Coming back to being a youth in South Africa in the 80s and 90s was not a time for having fun and games, especially if you were involved in bringing down the apartheid government at the time. However, I think that I have more than made up for it now. Sometime during the late 70s or early 80s I remember going on some military training camps which were organised by the SADF, which were held in Manrisa on the West Coast. I never thought anything of it, as we went with the permission of our parents and it was organised in co-operation with Father Basil Van Rensburg, our parish priest at Holy Cross. It seemed like a fun time, learning about the stars, shooting with rifles and exercising in the mornings. Still not sure today, what the purpose of that was, I hope it was not some plan to get us into the army to fight our people. I cannot imagine that Fr B would have agreed to something like that. Anyway that was at least two weeks of training on two different occasions.
When I look back, I can see that that era has conditioned me into the person I have become.
I still get very angry with the assumptions that some people make by judging me by the colour of my skin. The racism in South Africa is alive and well and it is not just about white or coloured on black, but it is black on black, white on white, coloured on coloured and a whole lot of mixing up, all because people assume that because you look a certain way, you think in a certain way. We could not be more far from the truth than this. We spend too much time on the blame game, when we could be focusing on what we have in common.
It is about time that we all take a look in the mirror and say that "Racism Stops with Me" and let that become ash to set the truth free.
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