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My Background
When I look back at those activities of 1980, I think of it as the time when I got introduced to the realm of political activism. I had first come to South Africa ten years earlier in June, 1970, as an undergraduate student, mostly looking for a travel experience. I chose South Africa because my high school had an exchange student from there, whom I became good friends with. When she left the US, we agreed that the next thing was for me to visit her – which I did!
I knew a fair amount about the apartheid policies before I came, as I did quite a lot of reading up in preparation. But the harsh realities of what I saw and felt, once here, could never have been anticipated. I often think of how closely related my first landing in South Africa was to the Kent State shootings of May 1970. For students in the US, like me, that marked a turning point and signalled the importance of taking a stand against injustices.
I was in Durban in 1980 to work on my PhD research on black women’s struggles against pass laws. By then, I had been married for several years to Neville Choonoo, a Durbanite of Indian descent, and had met many black South African activists in New York City, where I lived. All these factors had combined to make me choose my history PhD topic.
How the 1956 Anniversary Projects got Started
Over the years, I have thought many times about how ‘fortunate’ it was that I was unable to get any funding for my research. What it meant was that I had to rely totally on the help and support of networks of people to get the job done. The fact that so many relevant and influential people believed in the importance of the research is the only reason why it happened. Frene Ginwala and Hilda Bernstein helped me make connections with people inside South Africa. Being passed on from one person to the next via word of mouth actually worked amazingly well. In this manner, I met the likes of Helen Joseph, Lilian Ngoyi and Josie Mpama, to name a few.
By early 1980, I was based in Durban, still doing research. As part of that supportive networking system, Fatima Meer offered me the use of her office at the University of Natal (Howard College). That placed me in the Sociology Department, where I soon met Heather Hughes, who was also keen on women’s studies. When I asked around for a person to help with translations and interpreting work, I got introduced to Doris Skosana. Both became key role-players in the unfolding events.
In my way of remembering, I would say that our work together started the day Lilian Ngoyi died. I had received a phone call from Helen Joseph to inform me of the sad news. Once in Fatima’s office, a small gathering of women academics and students began to grow. We all shared our deep sadness that one of the icons of the women’s struggle had passed away, and that so few people in Durban would even know who she was. I recall someone saying, ‘Someone ought to do something,’ And then someone else saying, ‘why don’t we?’ So, we started chewing around ideas about what might be possible. In a short space of time, several more people had been roped in, including many quiet activists. It was a time of severe state repression and no one was sure what would be tolerated. A plan was laid to hold a memorial service for Lilian at the Beatrice Street Congregational Church. We had the help of Rev. Wesley Mabuza and were thrilled when we secured MaLuthuli – Albert Luthuli’s widow, as our special guest speaker. That gave the event political visibility and legitimacy beyond our wildest imaginations!
It soon appeared that I might have been the only person in that group who had actually met Lilian. By 1980 she had been under severe restrictions for decades. But I had done a substantive (and secretive) interview with her and also met her several times when she came to visit Helen Joseph. I had the distinct honour of taking Helen to visit Lilian at home after the conclusion of Josie Mpama’s funeral. So, for our memorial services, I searched through all my notes to see what was most important to say.
But how was this going to shared? It was clear that having me stand up as a visiting researcher from the US was not a great strategy. It would probably get me deported in a flash, besides which, I was a total unknown. After much discussion, an ingenious solution emerged. I was to write up about a paragraph each on a handful of topics. Then people would be handed the paper at the door as they entered and asked to read it out when called upon. Again, the idea was to hide who was involved in planning the event so that they would not be punished by the security police.
I was a bit terrified by this plan, most of all wondering if people would cooperate. The first person to stand up with his piece of paper was Nhlanhla Ngidi, at that time a law student. He started out by waving the piece of paper around and making a big thing out of what he was supposed to do with this little piece of paper, which he had just been handed as he walked in the door. I sunk nearly to the floor, fearing the worst, that the whole thing would be a huge flop. But then he shifted gears. His topic was how Lilian had first learned about racism and inequality by going along with her mother to her job as a domestic worker. The unwelcome little child had to sit in a corner and only get a few scraps of food, treated worse than the dogs. Well, Nhlanhla went to town on that one! ‘Which of our mothers haven’t suffered this kind of indignity?’ he thundered. And so it went. The memorial service had turned into a rare political rally with plenty of veiled speech-making! Later I found out that it had all been pre-planned by the ANC underground!
For those of us involved in the planning, that service was a very exciting success, leaving us wondering what might be done next. Somewhere along the way, some of us attended a NUSAS conference in Pietermaritzburg. I recall sitting on a grassy slope with women student activists from all over the country, discussing the possibilities. Eventually it was agreed that everyone should go back to their home bases and try to organise some kind of event to commemorate the 1956 women’s march on 9 August. I don’t know what the others did.
That gave our team a fresh mandate. But how and what? Due to rising levels of student and community unrest, the government had imposed new restrictions which prohibited any gathering of over ten people. We struck upon the idea of mounting a photo exhibition of the original women’s march. This combined the photos that I had gathered as part of my PhD research, with the skills of Omar Badsha, a professional photographer (and husband to one of our active members). This time, I wrote the captions to go with each image, so that the exhibition told the whole story.
I don’t remember much about the details of how we implemented this idea. But I do remember going to planning meetings in the student’s union, where we had to take turns in coming and going to ensure that the number of people never exceeded ten. I can still recall pacing up and down the empty hallways, waiting for my turn to go back in.
When the day finally came, 9 August 1980, all was in place. The exhibition in the Catholic Church hall in central Durban was up and ready. For the first time since 1956, the story was told and illustrated. Part of the genius of that concept was that it did not involve any speeches or anything that resembled a meeting – which were illegal at the time. Of course, our team spent the whole day there, watching and waiting to see what would happen. It was eerily quiet, with a steady flow of people coming through, until about 4 in the afternoon. I recall I was standing at the exit point of the exhibition, but we got word that the security police had arrived. We all bravely stood our ground, waiting for the consequences. Finally, the police emerged, and addressing one of the seated husbands who had been detained a number of times, said something to the effect of, ‘Very clever! You outsmarted us this time, but we will get you again later!’ And then they stormed off in frustration. There was nothing they could do because we had not violated any regulations. But Women’s Day was resurrected, never to be forgotten again.
As I look back, I think of how young and brave we were for those times! Most of us who were involved were still students at one level or another, including several from the medical school. For me, it was an unforgettable lesson in how the research that we do could actually be put to work, furthering a political agenda for change. I had already been privileged to meet so many of the old-time activists, so I had picked up that spirit of unshakable determination to persevere regardless of the costs. But this was the first time I got drawn into being an activist myself. Even now, in my retirement, I run an ‘Applied History’ Unit, dedicated to making sure that academic history never rests quietly on the shelf, but gets out into the world to get to work. Those experiences of 1980 cemented my respect and admiration for those many people of such high calibre who worked tirelessly for the end of apartheid and the ushering in of a new order.