Over the next few years it was all change. Walter, Nelson, and many others were released. The movement was un-banned and a great re-arrangement took place. I was caught up in the whirlpool and my freedom of choice was sorely taxed. Would I find myself in South Africa or in the UK. A job as an education officer for the NUM in SA was on offer but at that time indemnity was not automatic and there was still work to do in the UK. I more or less decided that I would go south, I bought a small lathe, exchanged the large Singer sewing machine for a smaller portable one, put my flat up for sale and was almost into packing. Then when I was in the process of taking the plunge the Vula operation, now called Eugene, decided that it still needed an operative in the UK. The choice was between Tim and I. Tim was young and keen to go home and suffered far less from inertia. I offered to stay in London. Again choices were made but by whom is still a mystery. The London end of Eugene was now in my hands, but it was more like the end of Eugene was in my hands. There was little or nothing to do. The main actors were fast leaving the underground stage without even saying good-bye. The rockets took off into the stratosphere leaving us with the smoke, and a smell of burning sulphur.
Then SACTU decided to hold a "final" NEC in South Africa and I went down on a visit. In all my travels I had used over a dozen different airlines but had last used South African Airways in 1957. I had just got on board and was settling down when a stewardess came up to me and handed me a message from the South African Communist Party. For over fourty years the passing of a message to or from the SACP was a criminal offense and here was the official government carrier doing it for us. Going back through passport control in South Africa raised no problems. My sister picked me up at Jan Smuts airport. I met some ancient cousins and a few nieces. Blood may be thicker than water but theirs somehow still contained incompatible "White South African" anti-black-bodies. The only things I recognized in Johannesburg was the topography and the street names. It was over thirty years since I had been "home" and it was no longer home. Then I was mugged.
On the way to the hotel in Hillbrow from Shell House I decided to walk up Hospital Hill. I passed the taxi rank and walked over the railway bridge. I carried a bag over my left shoulder with a book for Reoben Ruff and a few papers from the ANC and SACTU. I had my left hand in my trouser pocket where I had my wallet. There were lots of people around and on my left there was a barber on the pavement cutting hair. Suddenly two young men coming from behind grabbed me by both hands one on either side. They were well dressed and very polite. The one on my right said, "don't scream". I heard a click and saw a knife pointed at my lower ribs. I got the impression that he did not want me to scream because he did not really want to use the knife because it would be messy. My mind went blank. It was as if an iron curtain had come down on thought. I distinctly remember a blackness. The one on my left said in a quite voice "Give me your wallet". The curtain lifted and I slowly withdrew my wallet from my pocket. The one on my left followed my every movement. He grabbed my wallet and slipped the shoulder bag off my shoulder. I regained sufficient composure to shout, "There is nothing in the bag." Then I saw them disappearing down a side path. I was left standing feeling confused, helpless and alone. The barber and his clients saw it all happening and seemed as stunned as me. For a half minute I just stood. Then I walked on up the hill. There was a fifty Rand note, a credit card and little else in the wallet.
The next morning I got up early and went straight to the Bank to report the loss of the credit card. I walked along the road passed the white and black bodies sleeping in the shop doorways. Three black youths appeared just in front of me. One had an orange jacket with a hood like the boxers train in. They saw me and seemed to murmur amongst themselves. The hooded one then slipped across the road. It seemed to me they were plotting to ambush me. I held back, my nerves were on edge. Would all black youngsters raise the spectre of danger. But I was sure they were hunting me. But I don't want to be hunted I just want to be. They realized, or so I thought, that I would not be an easy touch and walked on. In the bank it seemed that my story was quite normal. This was Hillbrow. For me this was not life. I was too old for this. Me and my Angina could live together much happier in a quieter clime.
Perhaps "Home" is not a place. Perhaps home is an atmosphere, an environment, a sentimental attachment, relations, friends, a myriad of reflections that makes the mind and the body feel comfortable and secure. What are roots? Are they patterns of the collective extended family memory. If they are, my roots reach back in time to eastern Europe and extend in space to encompass half the globe. Perhaps because of this I have no roots, but like some climbing plant I get my nourishment from the air. I did not feel at all comfortable in Johannesburg. I chose the easy option to stay in the UK, near my immediate family and wearing old shoes.
Vula and it's successor Eugene evaporated in the heat of the sun of mass action and the mysterious moonlight of intricate talks. Those of us left in London found ourselves in an oxbow lake, cut off and historical. We became a supplier of finance, a subsidiary and finally a corner of a foreign field. The ANC office needed volunteers and it gave me something to keep me in mischief. I helped Nad with "Press and Information", (q) and generally kept the computers in working order. I helped with the Votes for Freedom campaign in which we collected over a million pounds for the ANC election fund. I also learned that collecting money for a "Charity" is more a business and a science than an art or an emotion. I never liked it much but it was necessary to be successful. Things changed so much that I, a Communist, was given a pass as an observer to the Conservative Party Conference, Brighton 1992. I remembered the lagoon in Ghana and never observed.
The leaders of the liberation struggle have occupied the cold rarefied atmosphere of the mountain peaks. I am much happier in the foot hills and valleys and I cannot see myself in Parliament or Provincial Council. Perhaps I am closer to the sediments in the delta. The peaks are but the sediments of years past pushed into prominence by unseen forces deep beneath the earth's mantle. On our shoulders or on our backs they stand. It depends on how well they do their job.
The voting in April 1994 for South Africa's future involved the exiles and I was given the option of where I would like to act as an ANC observer. I chose Jersey. Why Jersey? Well I had never been there, but why indeed? When I arrived I booked into a small cheap hotel in St. Hellier and wandered around until I found the States Building where the voting would be held. I phoned a Stella Perkins, an Anti-Apartheid supporter on the books in London and next morning early, voting got under way. Then I knew why Jersey. The man in charge, appointed by the High Commission in London was a right bastard. He was a vicious anti-trade union exploiter. Clearly he had been active in the sanctions busting era and was working to preserve the smell if not the substance of his outpost of the disappearing apartheid kingdom. At the polling station I found my friend Mervyn as the "unbiased" observer, Stella as the international observer and the pretty Pirret Grobler from the High Commission. What was so pleasing was that polling station manager was so arrogant, so sure of his own importance and so clearly un-likeable that all of us in the end ganged up against him. Pirret, Mervyn and I, the three South Africans, ended up having a celebratory drink together.
Nearly 200 voted of which I am sure at least two were for the ANC, and the rest for the Nationalists. But we won anyway.
Mendi was the Chief representative of the ANC in London. He is now the High Commissioner of South Africa. Ronnie Press was for a brief period the administrator in his office in London. For those who knew me I am a memory with memories.
In 1955 in Liberation I wrote.
"The struggle is not of black against white, but of justice against tyranny, peace and friendship against war and hate. The Freedom Charter against Apartheid. The Congress of Democrats shall inherit the leadership of European South Africans. Although the majority of anti-Nationalists, anti-fascists, may not now, nor in the near future, see their way clear to stand with us, and may, when the final struggle draws close, stand aside in apathy, born of individualism: when freedom is won, when democracy is achieved, we shall inherit the leadership of white South Africans and show them the way mapped out by the Congress movement and the Freedom Charter."
Future History is unpredictable but I didn't do a bad job, either in the prediction business or in moving it forward.
In my lifetime the process of change in South Africa has been from fragmentation to recombination. From the pursuit of individual prejudice to common objectives. The trade unions were divided with the majority, the Africans, mostly excluded. The government represented the Whites and the political opposition was composed of different Congresses representing different 'racial' groups. The different philosophical threads were represented by separate organisations. The Trade Unions, the Communists, the African Nationalists, recognised their differences as much as they felt the common cause. Slowly we progressed. The Congress of the People summoned into it's embrace all those who opposed racism. The ANC opened it's heart to all humans. The Alliance bound them together. The CODESA talks demonstrated that we were after all one species. The election set the seal on a unitary South Africa. Will the future confirm this trend?. Will the Reconstruction and Development Program be the basis for the Government of National Unity to build a new society which will eliminate the final division, the exploitation of the majority by the minority?.
We spoke of power to the people, never of power to the leaders. SACTU's slogan "Organise or Starve", meant for those who organised, "Organise and Starve". The Congress of the People invited all the people and their organisations, including the Nationalist Party, to draw up the Freedom Charter. Let us not forget our roots. The role of government is not to govern but to ensure the framework which will allow the people to govern.
That is where I came in.
Publications - Science
1)Journal of the South African Chemical Institute, 1952, V (1), 31-43, With Murray, K.A. 2)Journal of the South African Chemical Institute, 1952, V (1), 45-54, With Murray, K.A. 3)Journal of the South African Chemical Institute, 1953, VI (2), 17-21, With Murray, K.A. 4)Journal of Applied Chemistry, 1964,14,240-244 5)T.A.P.P.I. ,1965,48 (8), 464-466 6)J. Appl. Chem. ,1969,19,247-251., With Hardcastle D. 7)Journal of Chemical Education, 1970. 8)Int. Biodetn. Bull., 1976,12 (1),27-30. 9)The Chemical Electron, Longmans, 1969 10)Law , Computer Science, and Artificial Intelligence, Editors, Narayanan Ajit & Bennun M. Ablex, 1991, 62-72
a)Liberation Dec.15,1955
b)New Age Oct, 17, 1957
June 14, 1956
c)Textile Unity Oct, 1958
d)Fighting Talk 13 (8), 1959.
e)Ghanaian Times April 23, 1964
f)Marxism Today July 1969
g)Marxism Today April 1975
h)Marxism Today Sept 1976
i)in Workers Unity 1978-1982
j)African Communist 47. 1971
52, 1973
57, 1974
72, 1978
81, 1980 (Labour)
103, 1985 (Dr. Reed)
102, 1990 (Dr. Reed)
112, 1988 (Dr. Reed)
k)Sechaba Aug, 1979
Dec, 1980
May, 1984
May, 1989
l)SACTU Basebetsi Mekoting 1976
m)SACTU The South African Worker's Struggle,1980
n)SACTU Two underground organising pamphlets, 1980's:
How to Organise
What is a Trade Union,
o)U.N Center Against Apartheid, April 1980
p)I.C.T.U Third World Committee, 13/14 April 1984
q)ANC London Info Disk (Maps, graphs, statements. (On Floppy Disk) 1992,
r)Forum Marxism, Science and Philosophy, 4. 1994
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