by Dr. Christopher Merrett
The CIHA Blog presents the last of a series of reflections that have looked at four eminent South African thinkers: Richard Turner, John Colenso, Albert Luthuli and now this one that centres on Steve Bantu Biko. You could not find four more disparate characters: even the two close contemporaries, Turner and Biko, came from totally different backgrounds. They have in common the fact that their beliefs and ethics are, if not forgotten, then largely disregarded. But on a more positive note what values did they share that might inspire us today?
Le blog du CIHA présente la dernière des séries de réflexions sur quatre éminents penseurs Sud-Africains : Richard Turner, John Colenso, Albert Luthuli et présentement celle-ci qui porte sur Steve Bantu Biko. Signalons-le, ces quatre personnalités présentées sont très différentes. Même si l’on prend les deux qui sont proches par leur contemporanéité : Turner et Biko, l’on se rend compte qu’ils sont finalement très éloignés de par leur origine. Ils ont cependant en commun le fait que leur croyance et éthiques sont, sinon oubliées, largement rétrogradées. Mais sur une note plus positive portons-notre regard sur les valeurs qu’ils partagent et qui pourraient nous inspirer aujourd’hui.
All of them demonstrated determined hope, in spite of incredible odds stacked against them, for greater justice that they believed could be achieved through logical thought and rational argument rather than rhetoric that descends into violence; in other words, the sovereignty of the power of ideas. In all four cases this pitched them into conflict with the establishments of their time, in two cases with fatal consequences. Their belief in transcendent morality showed itself the most potent weapon against intolerance and exploitation even though its propagators often seemed like voices crying in the wilderness as they confronted the powerful and sinful. Their ideas marked them out as true revolutionaries.
All of them showed a concern to distinguish ends from means and the need to think about the bigger picture in the long-term.
All of them were basically concerned about the nature of power and where it lies in society – who wields it, and to what end and effect. All of them recognised that legitimate power cannot be exercised without a firm ethical basis, delegitimising those biblical sounding villains of South African politics – false prophets and messiahs.
All of them, one might argue, nurtured Utopian hopes, although Turner was the only one to articulate this directly. Their individual ideas of a more just society took on different forms. But all believed in the possibility of redemption of unjust political, economic and social orders. For that reason they deserve the consideration of all South Africans today.
Given the significance of his political thought and the philosophy of Black Consciousness (BC) to modern South Africa, reminders of the life of Stephen Bantu Bikoare few though his end is well remembered. Seriously assaulted by Port Elizabeth security police, he died of extensive brain injuries in Pretoria on 12 September 1977. BC structures and organisations were then banned and their cause marginalised, just as the apartheid state desperately desired. The armed struggle of the African National Congress was less feared and much easier to contain.
Biko had harsh things to say about the colonial history of South Africa, about the role of missionaries and Christianity, and about oppression and exploitation. But he drew a clear line between his view of past and present, and his hopes for a radically different future. He left behind a significant body of writing and the evidence he gave at the Black People’s Convention- South African Students’ Organisation (BPC-SASO) trial of May 1976.
His concern was not power, but empowerment. Brought up as an Anglican, Biko believed it was a sin to be oppressed. As a rugby player, he used a suitable metaphor: black people were standing on the sidelines when they should have been playing the game. His view was that after 1948 black South Africans became a defeated shadow of themselves; and their sense of self, of pride and of dignity needed restoration. The apartheid system produced people who needed to rediscover their own initiative and emancipate their identity. The struggle was a matter of finding true humanity, of psychological liberation; which of course applied in equal measure to all South Africans. This was not new: the Transkei clergyman and hymn writer Tiyo Soga had in the mid-nineteenth century extolled the virtues of self-reliance. Ironically, the roots of BC lie in the very mission-inspired education that was criticised so severely.
Biko emphasised practical day-to-day struggles. And the BC movement lived up to this belief through its local projects: the most famous, the Zanempilo Health Clinic at King William’s Town, was dedicated to curative and preventative medicine and community building. It operated openly and strictly within the law, challenging injustice through communal effort.
BC philosophy rejected the immorality of the apartheid system as a matter of principle, withdrawing into a separate and parallel realm where psychological rehabilitation could be achieved and a modus vivendi established. SASO’s famous break with the National Union of South African Students (NUSAS) in the early seventies was a strategic necessity of a particular time. Critics, especially liberals and radicals aspiring to non-racism, saw it as reactive racism. (The South African government saw it as a hopeful development.) But this was a serious misjudgement all round. Biko strongly opposed any form of racial monopoly. He examined critically the Martinican writer Aimé Césaire’s inspiring maxim – ‘there is room for all of us at the rendezvous of victory’ – and his speeches and writings clearly reflected that hope. In other words one world view, that of racial supremacy, had to be dismantled before a better world could become possible.
He did not believe that a true consciousness of self could or would be emancipated from the mental imprisonment of apartheid through the barrel of a gun. Real change could emerge only from non-violence. The year before his death, he affirmed a belief in the power of ideas and persuasion in pursuit of justice. His rationality was of course met by deaf ears, although he apparently continued to believe that the government would eventually negotiate and was eventually proved correct. His aim was not to turn the tables, but provide South Africa with a more human and humane face; one open, shared society to which everyone would contribute on the basis of free participation and equal opportunity.
In a letter to American senator Dick Clark, he expressed his desire for a non-racial, just and egalitarian society. And in one of his last interviews, he repeated his hope that race would be eliminated from any future political dispensation. His friend and editor, the Anglican monk Aelred Stubbs, saw Biko as a selfless revolutionary, a martyr for righteousness and the embodiment of hope for South Africa. Indeed, Biko’s version of BC places great stress upon hope and its rekindling: to a significant extent his credo was a matter of faith as much as practical politics and much of that faith rested on Christian principles. Therein lay its great appeal; and perhaps also its potential defeat and Biko’s early death. Another close friend, the journalist Donald Woods, felt that South Africa became irrevocably a different place the day Biko died.
History is cluttered with unanswered and unanswerable questions about what might have been. Had Biko lived and BC thrived, what would South Africa be like today? There is too little trace of his political faith to be found now in a country in which racial nationalism and Leninist practice have squandered skill and goodwill, nurtured corruption, and, worst of all, continued to devalue humanity. That stirring ambition of a victorious rendezvous seems as elusive as ever.
L’histoire regorge de questions sur ce qui aurait pu se passer. A ces questions, on n’a pas et on ne saurait apporter une réponse. Biko avait-il vécu et la conscience noire se serait-elle développée à quoi ressemblerait l’Afrique du Sud d’aujourd’hui ? il n’y a qu’une toute petite trace de sa foi politique que l’on retrouve jusqu’à présent dans un pays ou le nationalisme racial et le léninisme politique ont galvaudé la compétence et la bienveillance et ont nourri la corruption et, le pire de tout, ont continué à dévaluer l’humanité. Cette noble ambition d’un rendez-vous victorieux semble plus insaisissable que jamais.