Running the race with determination

Change is unpredictable, often seemingly impossible, at other times moving with startling and unexpected speed. The Civil Rights Movement in the United States may have seemed shockingly rapid to those who reluctantly experienced the change (and painfully slow for those anticipating it), and yet in the overall course of history it is a blip in time. Between 1945 and 1970, a mere 25 years, America was changed forever.

America was changed by the courage and persistence of those who would not accept the status quo, who were prepared to risk their lives, and even those of their families, to stand up for what was right - no matter the cost. As America has become a true melting pot let no-one doubt that those victories have been won on the backs, and in some cases with the blood, of those who had the courage to stand for what was right more than fifty years ago.

I grew up in an unjust society. Born a white South African under apartheid in the 1960s, I benefitted as a child from beliefs and policies that increasingly became repugnant to the world, partly because the Civil Rights Movement raised awareness of racial inequality.  In the 1970s, as a teenager, I became increasingly aware of the injustices around me, and in the 1980s as a student I made an active choice to become a part of the anti-apartheid movement.

It was not a choice without risk in a society where the state could detain you without a warrant on suspicion of supporting terrorist activities, and detain you indefinitely without trial. We knew many people who disappeared never to be seen again, who were detained only to die after “slipping on a bar of soap”, or who came out of detention (never having been charged) changed forever by what they saw and what was done to them.

One (at the time) young man, comes to mind, Sandile Thusi. Sandile was an incredibly vibrant and charismatic young man, a natural leader in the struggle, a role model that drew others around him. Articulate, charming, smart and intelligent, I met Sandile while working at University of Natal. He was a community organizer of extraordinary skill, and we became friends.

In June of 1988, Sandile, a co-worker at the time, was detained  by the South African security forces. Arrested with no charges and no chance of a trial, and harshly treated in prison, Sandile chose one of the few options available to those in his situation, and he and a number of other detainees went on a hunger strike. He had been in detention for 8 months when his strike began.

Sandile began his strike on February 18th. My wife at the time, Sue, was pregnant with our first born. By the time Sandile was on the 35th day of his strike very few people had been allowed to visit him, and we were preparing for the likelihood of his death. On an off-chance Sue and I went to the hospital and asked if we could visit with him, explaining that Sue was almost due with our child, and we may never have a chance to see him again. I am still unsure why they allowed us to see him, whether our story struck a chord, or whether the sight a white couple asking to see him flummoxed them, but miraculously they agreed.

Sandile was semi-conscious.  An athletic man of 26 years with very little body fat before his detention, he had lost over 50 pounds, his skin stretched like paper over bones. I sat next to him and took his hand and greeted him, and he recognized me, turned and smiled at us. He spoke so softly we had to bend over the bed. I asked him how he was doing and he said “Well”, and asked Sue when she was due. Sue was a nurse, and was crying by this time as she leaned down and whispered in my ear that he wouldn’t last 48 hours. We left our friend, a ghost of the man he had once been, believing we had seen him for the last time.

We were wrong. The next day the state announced that Sandile was quitting his hunger strike and his case would be reviewed once he started eating. Many months later he was released and came back to the University of Natal, not returning to work but to study. The toll had been extreme. Even after many months the impact on Sandile’s body was clear, the scars on mind still apparent. His spirit, however, was strong as ever, his commitment to the struggle unwavering.

Sandile started his hunger strike on February 18th and finished it on March 27th. Sue and I visited him on March 26th, and my eldest son, Ben, was born on March 28th. Each my children has a Zulu second name, and we wanted to honor Sandile by naming Ben after him, however the name Sandile means “we are many now”, is the name you given to you 7th or 8th child. Instead we gave him the middle name Sindile, which means “Born in difficult times” or “Saved by grace of God” depending on your outlook. We felt it was appropriate.

Like the United States, South Africa has changed, but both countries and societies run the same risk, that as some changes have occurred we settle for less than best. Complacency is truly an enemy of changes, and as I have traveled around the United States and visited South Africa again, I see similarities that are troubling. I sense an attitude in many that we have arrived, and yet I do not myself see the full promise of the vision birthed so many years ago.

We can choose to become complacent, or we can push forward, always striving for a truly equal society. As we celebrate Black History Month, let us not forget the courage of those who went before us, not allow ourselves to settle. Rather let us honor the courage of those who gone before us, running to complete the race they began many years ago.

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Sandile Thusi died on October 29th 2004, as a result of kidney complications following a long struggle with Non Hodgkins Lymphoma, eleven years after South Africa’s transition to democracy.