by Dr Christopher Merrett, UKZN
Why does understanding the religious convictions of powerful resisters in South African history matter? By understanding the formative influences and convictions of Nobel Peace Prize winner Albert Luthuli, we can better appreciate where both our ANC leaders and our religious communities have gone astray, and recall the principles and commitments necessary to enact the “long view” of justice and equality.
The name of Albert Luthuli is often paraded in current political conversation, usually amongst a representative list of those who championed national liberation. The politically correct version of his life is that he was fully committed to the ANC’s programme, including armed struggle (so much so that those involved in the first incursion from Zimbabwe into South Africa were named the Luthuli Detachment); and that his death in July 1967 on a railway bridge over the Mvoti River was probably a covered-up assassination. Furthermore, some powerful ANC officials maintain that no one outside the party has a right to comment on Luthuli. We should ignore such illegitimate attempts at censorship; and I would go further to argue that the common contemporary view of Luthuli is largely myth, neglecting his spirituality and ethical beliefs.
To deal with the myth: first, Luthuli almost certainly knew of the ANC’s decision to turn to violence at the time he accepted the Nobel Peace Prize in 1960, but he was not part of Mukontho Mesizwe (MK, the military wing of the ANC), nor was he aware of its launch. If there was any embarrassment about the prize it was the ANC’s, not Luthuli’s. He was increasingly only the nominal head of an organisation effectively led by Nelson Mandela who of course went on to claim the same prize in 1993 (with de Klerk). Second, in spite of conspiracy theories around his death, accidents happened even in the bizarre world of apartheid South Africa – he was an ageing man in poor health in a dangerous place. Had the State planned his death, some clue or admission would have emerged by now from what would have been a complex plot. There is no shred of evidence.
By the early 1960s Luthuli was marginalised threefold. His health was poor and he was becoming forgetful. The State had served on him a series of four, increasingly severe, banning orders since 1952 and proscribed his book Let My People Go. And he was gradually sidelined by new leadership and less democratic ways of operating within the ANC. In other words, while its titular president-general he was ideologically, geographically and medically isolated. Indeed, one could argue that the State had no good reason to bother him further.
Luthuli’s ambition was one of service to the people: his politics was an extension of religious conviction and he drew no distinction between the spiritual and the secular. Bishop Alpheus Zulu maintained that Luthuli would have wanted above all to be remembered as a Christian. His kholwa roots at Groutville were deep and went back to his grandparents, although he was born at Bulawayo (Zimbabwe) in 1897 and raised by his uncle. He was a reluctant chief from 1935, deposed in 1952 after being elected ANC president. His membership of the ANC arose from frustration with gradualism, such as his experience on the Native Representative Council (known as the toy telephone). Like another neglected figure, Walter Sisulu, Luthuli abhorred the lack of respect and indifference that underlay apartheid, which, in his Nobel Lecture in December 1961, he described as ‘debasing the God factor in people’.
In a number of senses Luthuli never left the mission station. He belonged to the Congregationalists, whose democratic roots went back to the Puritans with beliefs that included a strong work ethic and independence of the State. Luthuli’s personal priorities were democracy, education, non-racialism, unity and egalitarianism; and above all inclusivity. This meant that his instinct was to be charitable until facts demanded otherwise. In turn this resulted in a rejection of racial nationalism, a belief in non-racialism in principle and practice, and an abhorrence of violence. By the way, he was not a pacifist: as someone famously commented, woe betide anyone who tried to steal Luthuli’s chickens. This did not prevent Luthuli, however, from promoting nonviolent action throughout his life.
So belief and a practical Christian way of life informed Luthuli’s politics through that key biblical question: shall we obey God or man? For him there was never any doubt about the answer. The title of his book was no coincidence and he was indeed a Mosaic figure, a leader of enormous stature who reached across the ethnic spectrum befriending South Africans of all communities. This leadership was most obvious during the Treason Trial that started in 1956.
But he was in turn a fierce critic of complacency and rejected collaboration as futile. In practice he was radical and a militant: he organised sugar farm workers, was an enthusiastic defiance campaigner, advocated the breaking of unjust laws (‘laws that debase human personality’ as he described them), burned his pass in March 1960, and at the time of the Rivonia convictions called for economic sanctions. He had faith that God would ensure that right would triumph, but was concerned about the path to liberation and feared extremism and violence. His response to frustration was not to change tactics, but double his efforts – in the spirit of Jesus’ advice to Peter to cast his net again. He was one of the early advocates of church involvement in social justice issues and engagement with ordinary people and their struggles around everyday matters. His prophetic role meant that initially he found greater support for his moral causes outside rather than inside the church. As his latest biographer Scott Couper describes, he was more courageous than his church.
Luthuli is one of the most misrepresented figures in South African history because in popular perception his personal convictions have been subordinated to his supposed public role. So what is the lesson of his life for us today? First, he was a man of timeless virtues increasingly out of touch with his own times: as Couper puts it, ‘Luthuli’s people had let him go’, an error we continue to commit by failing to remain loyal to principles and succumbing to current assumption and fashion. Second, he was unwavering in his principled and unconditional belief in non-violence and non-racialism – faith was always more powerful than any political consideration or expedience. And he was adept at distinguishing between ends and means, never making the mistake of confusing the latter with the former. Third, Luthuli is a wonderful example of moral and practical convergence with an ability, like Nelson Mandela, always to think beyond the immediate but rather in the long term.
Moral conviction, unerring loyalty to principle and the long view: that I think is the legacy of Luthuli to our world and indeed anyone concerned about the ethical foundations of society today.