THE BEAST
(An extract from a longer reflection on a pilgrimage to South Africa)
On our trip some people would try to convince us that Apartheid is over, chucked in the dustbin of history where it belongs. In an immediate and legal sense, of course that is true. The park bench isn’t reserved for Whites Only. Anyone can swim at Hout Bay. There was a liberation when Mandela walked free, and there is a sense in which the country is now in a post-Apartheid phase. The very week that I am writing this in April 2009 brings what some South Africans told us was the first post-Apartheid election, the first election not to be dominated by the slaying of the Beast and the subsequent mulling over of some Truth and a little Reconciliation.
But the liberation is a long way short of fulfilment. My friend Kitambaa and I had a very revealing visit to the JL Zwane Presbyterian Church in the township of Guguletu, out near Cape Town airport. The Reverend Spiwo Xapile is a charismatic and hugely articulate pastor who was at one point a student of ministry in Aberdeen. His parish is supported from Scotland by the Iona Community, and two or three Community members have spent some time there. Guguletu is a product of Apartheid – a sprawling slum where Xhosa from the impoverished villages of the Eastern Cape flooded in to seek work in Cape Town.
Spiwo had an interesting take on the continuance of Apartheid, presiding as he does over a major community support centre in a vast completely mono-ethnic township. Centuries of European imperialism, culminating in the control of South Africa by that imperialism’s bastard child of Apartheid, have led, the argument runs, to a profound sense of dependence and powerlessness among Africans. Liberation is very limited, because the removal of formal Apartheid has done nothing in itself to change the life experience of ordinary Africans. The culture of dependence persists, only now it is presided over and often manipulated by the ANC Government. This is true of the scourge of AIDS, the new Beast, which corrodes the townships and all the country.
It is only assertion, empowerment and self-reliance that will end the dependency culture and finally slay the Beast. And that is not going to happen soon, especially when the Government’s economic policies during the Mbeki years have focussed on growth, based on the minimum of disturbance of the existing South African economy and the trickle down of wealth, encouraged oh so softly softly. Radical noises only seem to show any reality in the sphere of infrastructure investment, including impressive progress in education and housing. But control of the economy remains where it always was, in the hands of white-run and international companies.
Conversations with white South Africans could be revealing about this. A drinking session in Dundee, in Natal, produced an interesting consensus of local businessmen and professionals: Never mind what views we may have had in the Apartheid days, the argument ran, those days are over. The white communities have lost the political game, and we recognise and accept that. The demographic arithmetic meant the situation was unsustainable, and specific events, most obviously the Angolan war, spelled the end. But we still control the economy. We are nervous about instabilities in the system that a Zuma government might introduce, but it is in nobody’s interest to bring the house down. Meanwhile, we the whites control the boardrooms. And most of the land.
Spiwo is doing his considerable best to promote the self-assertion that can and will end Apartheid. His church is a major community facility. With the help of significant outside contributions, the buildings are first-rate, and include an AIDS hospice. There is extensive outreach work in the community. Our brief time in Nancy’s house was deeply moving: this mother of a profoundly disabled child has opened her home as a residential and support centre for a dozen children with learning difficulties. Spiwo’s church is making this possible.
The moral authority of the JL Zwane Church comes from the fullness of the parish commitment to the quality of life before death. Spiwo told us his history of ridicule and opposition from the churches, and the Presbyterian Church specifically, when he started arguing some years ago for the need to support and stand in solidarity with the victims of AIDS. South Africa, and not just Mbeki and his government, went through a long and catastrophic period of denial of the problem. The churches were dominated by what Spiwo nicely calls ‘Evacuation Theology’, otherwise known as Pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die. Endure the horrors of township life and of AIDS in steadfast faith, and you will be promoted to glory.
Christian commitment surely means bringing the healing touch of Christ’s example to the real world of people’s lives. JL Zwane became known as a centre where those affected by AIDS were welcome, and would be supported. Slowly, others came round, and now the church is considered exemplary within the Presbyterian community and more widely, with others coming to see and to learn. After we had time at the church, Spiwo was off to the Eastern Cape to lead a training session for pastors there in the community development techniques that mark his own church.
It will take long years, very probably generations, to eradicate the reality on the ground of Apartheid and the centuries of racism upon which it was based. PW Botha, when President, thought that the fostering of a black middle class would allow Apartheid to continue, as a significant number of Africans would then have a stake in the system. The recent politics of South Africa seem to suggest a counter-thesis. Mbeki’s acceptance of pre-existing capitalist structures and of IMF constraints seems to assume the formation of a black middle class in business and the professions as the engine-room for the development of a post-Apartheid multiracial democracy. But attitudes, perceptions of others, and self-perceptions will take a long time to change. At this point, it is almost inconceivable to imagine a South Africa in which the colour of one’s skin is truly irrelevant to the person you are talking to. As it is, the colour of your skin is still the key to where you live, what your prospects are, whether you own land or capital. The one thing that might be shifting a little is access to education.
Particular things can seem to have changed miraculously. One example is the police force. Only 20 years ago, this was the armed enemy to close on 90% of the population, and now it is a police service no more or less an Enemy of the People than anywhere else in the world. But making a comment like that would doubtless be disputed by many South Africans, and the point is that it is a comment about a structured unit. It doesn’t affect the underlying reality of segregation in people’s domestic lives.
I’m still not sure whether Kitambaa picked it up the way that I did. We stopped in Bredasdorp, a little Afrikaaner town in the dry wheatfields. Our experience to that point had been confined to cosmopolitan Cape Town. Thirsty, and hallucinating a sandwich, we walked into the only apparent café. I rapidly came to the conclusion that no African had ever walked in there other than to do the washing up. The Afrikaans yatter at a couple of tables stopped for a few seconds. Kitambaa’s disarmingly Candide-like smile and greeting of all and sundry worked wonders, with everyone realising we were dumb tourists, and the yatter picked up again. We got our sandwich – but it took an hour to appear, when all the Afrikaaners had finished their massive meals. The café owner confided that he had come to Bredasdorp the better to bring up his daughters. Johannesburg, surrounded by so many of ‘them’, just wasn’t the right place for a decent family …
Danus Skene
Danus Skene is a Member of the Iona Community.
NON À TOUTES VIOLENCE (NO TO ALL VIOLENCE)
Reflecting on NATO’s 60th anniversary and the methodology of
people’s opposition to the military industrial machine
Where were the voices of peace in Strasbourg this weekend whilst NATO ‘celebrated’ their 60th anniversary? We were there, but we were not sufficiently organised and ready to act. We were too few, and too silent.
Some friends of mine spent Saturday morning peacefully blockading one of the entry points to the venue for NATO’s sixtieth anniversary summit. Over two hundred people closed the road for five hours, making visible the fact that many people are concerned by the actions of NATO, and living the change they wish to seek in the world by resisting non-violently. Were it not for other commitments, I would have been with them. Nevertheless, I arrived in Strasbourg in time to join with the international demonstration, and it is my experience of that day that I would like to share with you.
I went to Strasbourg to support my European partners in peace because NATO now compromises 28 countries, and continues to expand, and I believe that the only way in which they can be stopped is through the strengthening of our international coalition of peaceworkers. Whilst NATO share military support and nuclear weapons, so we will share support for life and pool our collective resources for peacework and a sustainable future for all people, not just a privileged few.
My friends and I arrived at Strasbourg’s temporary peace camp to the sight of smouldering barricades and shards of broken glass. We slept to the sound of helicopters overhead, and early the next morning gathered ready to walk to the meeting point for an international rally and demonstration. Needless to say the agreed route missed out the centre of Strasbourg as well as the location of the summit. The French Government were hell-bent on keeping our opposition quiet lest NATO be disturbed.
It was clear from the very moment groups lined up and marched out of the camp, shouting their various self-defining slogans, that this demonstration was unlikely to unravel peacefully. Before we even reached the start point for the rally there was a standoff between protesters and police – exchanging rocks, bottles and debris with tear gas, sound grenades and rubber bullets, pushing the largely peaceful crowd back and forth. In light of this, three friends and I switched into semi-direct action mode. And one of our party wrote ‘Anti-Violence’ on a piece of card to make visible our voice. But we were too few to risk striding into the foray and sitting ourselves down, so we stuck together, sung a song or two to strengthen our purpose and resolve, and breathed through our onions when the tear gas hit.
Make no mistake – police provocation was present, and tear gas wildly overused. And without doubt, too, some of the masked rioters were ‘undercover’ police officers. But there were some people, too, who thought that violence was the only way to get through the police blockade. But how shall we show NATO alternative ways of engaging with the world if we respond by throwing rocks and stones? Are we any better than Bush and Blair in their apparent belief that they can bomb a country into peace?
Eventually we were allowed passage, and some people seemed to think that violence had won us this small victory, but they were mistaken. If the police wish us to pass, the police will let us pass, and if they do not wish us to pass, then their might is greater than our own, however many crash barriers are thrown in their direction. The police kept that road blocked until the whole of the NATO delegation were safely tucked up in their meeting room. What would have happened, I wonder, if we had approached the police block peacefully and, in our thousands, sat down to face the police in their illegal suppression of our right to protest?
We finally gathered for the rally – a breath of fresh air and a turning point, we hoped. We sat down, ate our sandwiches, listened to some live music and danced in the sun. An international delegation of Women In Black lined the front of the stage, bringing a smile to our hearts. But before long, a great plume of smoke rose behind us. A building was clearly on fire. I gazed between peace flags towards this blackened sky and wondered how the rest of the day would unfold. I was glad to be with my friends. Shortly afterwards a second plume of smoke rose from another direction, and before long some tear-gas canisters were thrown into the, thankfully, open-air rally as members of the ‘black block’ ran our way. Thousands gathered and marched swiftly away from this absurdity of burning buildings for peace, and walked together to say: ‘NATO – change your ways – another world is possible.’ I felt that our message had been deeply undermined.
A few hours of trudging, standing, sitting and becoming increasingly enclosed followed the rally – presumably the police were keeping us penned whilst the NATO delegates were chauffeured away, sadly oblivious to the thousands (representing millions) who deeply oppose their methods. Frustration boiled up and, gradually, destructive methods were again employed by the ‘black block’, but there was no way for us to escape. After a short period of general panic and stringent keeping an eye on each other, we found ourselves penned into a factory which was being taken apart by masked strangers, with little awareness of the effect flying debris can have on thousands of trapped people. There was only one thing to do, so we gathered with some other colourful-looking people and sat in a circle to reclaim some peaceful space for ourselves. After a short time, however, word passed through that the police were opening up an escape route for pacifists, and, not having time to explain that we were in fact non-violent activists, off we went.
As we moved through the crowds, one of many young masked men clenched two stones in his hand, and my wise friend took her hand and put it on his heart, looked him deep in the eyes and told him that this was their language, not ours, and that he was better than this. And he faltered. He didn’t drop his stones, but he faltered. And he would no doubt remember this moment long after the factory had been torn down. But he was one person, and had we been more, we could have reached more people. It was at these moments that I was glad to be on this demonstration, glad that peaceful voices were present, however limited our song.
We finally reached the line of police and, with thousands of others, filed towards relative freedom. But the escape route was closed when one police officer, entirely unprovoked, began beating a member of the pacifist retreat. My friends and I knelt ourselves down with open hands and peace signs, facing the police. They were scared, and the people around us were scared, and both sides were tired and angry as well. I looked into the eyes of the police officer who had used his baton – this is no way to behave, I tried to convey, as I shook my head at him with a sad heart and a very firm ‘No’. He was pumped up to the eyes with adrenaline, and quite obviously scared as well. And I looked around me too at the protesters, most of whom were standing aggressively facing the police lines – falling again into this trap of ‘us and them’ so enabled by uniform and apparent power discrepancies. But how would these police officers have felt about their role if every person had knelt down, showing the palms of their hands, or the universal symbol of peace, and looked these people in the eyes? Would the protesters have felt so scared? Would the police? Would it have been so easy for the leaders of NATO to disregard our voices? Would the police have more readily questioned their orders – to subdue the democratic voice of the people? If we dehumanise the police, so the powerful have won, and we have dehumanised ourselves as well. The police are not my enemy, they are part of this global nation of humanity for whom I work to oppose NATO. They have been pulled further still into this cycle of violence, and it is our job to at least try to pull them out of it by offering them our hands, by showing them our humanity. How dare these governments pit citizen against citizen for the benefit of the few, and how stupid we are to fall for it.
The next day we attended an alternative peace conference, gathering together with representatives from that broad diaspora that comprises the international peace movement: A summit that could have focused our collective energy upon alternatives to NATO’s methodology, that could have sprung fresh and exciting ideas of how we can dismantle this military machine together. But in the smouldering ruins of the previous day’s demonstration, we spent much of the conference chewing over how to address this use of violence amongst supposed peace people. It was a debate that mimicked the vision of protesters and police from the previous day, the back and forth. Therapeutically, a few of us gathered as an international delegation of peaceful people to reclaim the Europa Bridge for ourselves, passing a still smouldering customs office, holding our peace flags and saying and singing to all who passed ‘Non à toutes violence, refuson toutes violence’.
If the tactics of those in power was to divide and conquer, then on these two days they succeeded. And we will not stop NATO, nor the other powers perpetuating the military industrial machine, until we stand united in resistance to the use of all violence, to challenge the very foundations upon which this militarism stands.
What would have been the outcome, I can’t help but wonder, had the peaceful thousands gathered to non-violently block all of the entry points to the summit, as my friends had so successfully blocked one of them? And what of the other thousands of peaceful protesters who gathered in Strasbourg? Some will never demonstrate again. Others may continue to protest but with an increased uncertainty about those around them, and perhaps with a greater feeling of powerlessness. Others may themselves turn to violence, so filled with despair we who see and feel the injustices of this world can become. If there is one thing that this weekend has shown us, it is that we must work harder. We must continue educating, engaging in dialogue and sharing ideas, and roll whole-heartedly into action. This world needs us, we who believe that the cycle of violence can be diverted through peaceful and creative means. And our voices will be heard – sing it loud: ‘Non à toutes violence, refuson toutes violence.’
Penny Stone
Penny Stone
Penny is the author of 'Now More Than Ever, Here More Than Anywhere: 50 Years of Scottish Songs for Nuclear Disarmament' (available through Scottish CND via www.banthebomb.org).
There is a goldmine of material here: from classic protest songs by Woody Guthrie and Hamish Henderson, to songs that have grown out of demos at Greenham Common and Faslane, to the Wild Goose Resource Group's 'Stand Firm' …(Ed.)
www.banthebomb.org
EARTHED SPIRITUALITY
(An extract from a longer reflection on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela)
Early in 2008, I found myself wandering the great medieval pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. It was officially some study leave, and I set out with very clear plans as to how this was going to be a time for great reflection and for deepening my sense of the spiritual. Like many, I assume, who set out on this route, I imagined that I would spend a great time reflecting and writing, even praying. Yet, as always with such processes, God has a brilliant ability to turn our greatest plans into something far more interesting and challenging.
On leaving my first shelter for the night, I set out with a few folk – a father and son from Newcastle, Naz, a lad from Canada, who was in fact Iranian-born, and an Armenian Orthodox Christian. We headed into the Pyrenees and after a few moments of light-hearted fun we began to climb … The climb lasted for six hours and took us to a height of Ben Nevis, and Naz and I nearly wept when we finally reached the top. By the end of the day we were pretty shattered and our feet were in a mess – blisters galore! Over the next few days we were to come to the realisation that this route was hugely physically demanding, and there were times when we thought we might not make it!
As the days wore on a small group of us really began to form a bond of care and love for each other. There was Naz, there was a hilarious woman from Cork called Mary, a lovely young woman from the Midlands called Abigail and there was a budding writer from Australia called Jimmy. In the process of struggling through our distance each day we managed to get to know each other very well. We discovered that there were very deep reasons behind each person’s coming on the way: for one it was to reflect on the unexpected death of their father; for another it was to cope with redundancy and the question of whether they were really on the right pathway for the future; for another it was about the challenge of a new future and career after a tough period of illness.
The sheer physicality of the route and the beauty of the landscape worked an amazing transformation on my plans. By simply sometimes trudging on through the pain of yet another blister; or dealing with the stress of shin splints, or the steepness of another hairy, muddy descent – in all of this each of us was taken deeper within ourselves, and our lofty goals and ideals were transformed to much a more basic sense of the wonder of life. For we celebrated with simple cheap food each evening and a well-earned beer, we shared honest truths about our fears and our dreams about life. In one conversation with a fellow pilgrim I remember a very moving moment where, having discussed the very successful life the person had had up to that point, they confessed that they really didn’t love themselves, and that no list of achievements in life – no matter how great – would mean a thing if they couldn’t come to love themselves.
In each of the conversations, I was reconnected to a deeper understanding of finding God in the everyday. I saw those with whom I walked as my sisters and brothers in Christ and I deepened my sense of empathy for so many others within the world. I didn’t spend as much time consciously sitting and praying as I might have thought, but I did reconnect with the God who surrounds each day with love and promise. I received news of a new job having climbed the mountains of Galicia, I shared food with others throughout our wandering and I conversed deeply about faith. The process was one which, in some ways, many might imagine not to have anything to do about faith – for the walking each day was demanding – but throughout the journey I heard echoes of George MacLeod’s famous phrase ‘a demanding common task alone builds community’.
In all of these experiences I rediscovered the importance of how our faith must be connected to the everyday connections of our lives. How somehow, the environment in which we find ourselves, the people whom we meet, the off-chance observations, are from where in life we truly begin to pray. How such prayers are born out of our sense of interconnectedness with the bigger issues that surround us each day; that is, we begin more and more to see how each choice that we make is connected to the wider choices of politicians and local authorities wherever we are. One of my complaints about the route to Santiago was that throughout the journey the worship provided in various places failed to connect those travelling with the wider world’s issues. I only found out about the horrendous loss of life in Myanmar and southern China by reading some online news when I went to catch up on email and write my blog.
Since returning from Santiago, I have begun a new journey into another land and another continent – one which is vast and broad in a way that I have difficulty in conceiving. Yet, on this new journey I am seeking to make the daily connections between myself and my environment. I am seeking more and more each day to try to integrate my environment and conversations into my daily desire for prayer, and seeking to follow the illusive voice of the ever-leading Spirit …
Scott Blythe
Scott Blythe is a Member of the Iona Community.
www.sauntertosantiago2008.blogspot.com
