“The white is hit harder by
apartheid than we are. It narrows his
life. In not regarding us as human, he
becomes less than human. I do pity him,”
said African National Congress president and Nobel Peace Prize recipient Albert
Luthuli when Studs Terkel met with him in South Africa in 1963. It was almost twenty years before Studs
published his book, Race: How Blacks
& Whites Think & Feel About the American Obsession, but Terkels’
meetings with South Africans had a tone that was similar to his 1992 book. His journey preceded the Boycott, Divestment,
and Sanctions movement against South Africa in the 1980s. While he did choose to visit South Africa at
the time, Studs questioned the morality of traveling to an apartheid state. Lufthansa Airlines asked him if he would join
four other journalists on their inaugural flight from Frankfurt to
Johannesburg. Ten years after the
junket, writing in his first memoir-type book, Talking to Myself, Studs recalled: “I was about to say, danke
schon, aber nein, auf Weidersehen (thank you, no, good-bye). I am not especially delighted by our de facto
apartheid, let alone Sou’frica’s de jure species.”
Terkel addressed
racism in the United States on his radio shows beginning in the 1940s and
continuing during his 45-year tenure that began in 1952 on WFMT in Chicago. Studs became a blues and jazz aficionado and
played both African and African American musicians on his 1945 radio show, The Wax Museum. Initially, the radio station collection
included neither jazz nor blues – Studs bought the records at the Concord
Record Shop – a local kiosk. At the time,
Studs Terkel befriended Mahalia Jackson, who hired Studs as a writer and stood
up for him when he was blacklisted during the McCarthy era. He was the Master of Ceremonies in 1948 at the
Chicago Civic Opera House celebration of Paul Robeson’s 50th
birthday. Robeson sang, as did Lena
Horne. Then in 1963, the same year that
Studs visited South Africa, he and his wife Ida rode on the Freedom Train from Chicago to the
nations’ capital for the March on
Washington. Later in the year, he
was publicly critical when Chicago’s mayor, Richard J. Daley, proclaimed in a
July 4th speech: “There are no ghettos in Chicago.” Studs Terkel’s long-time friend, journalist
Vernon Jarrett, capsulized Terkel’s understanding of American racism.
As much or more
than anyone else I know, he’s been for equality of treatment for blacks. In fact, I cant think of any other white
person I’ve ever met in my life who knows so much about black history – by which
I mean black feeling and black life. I
was aware of that quality in him from almost the very beginning of what’s now
been almost a forty-year friendship.
It’s true what I once heard somebody say, that being black in a
predominantly white populated area in any city in America you care to name, is
like wearing an ill-fitting pair of shoes – you look all right in them to
everyone else, and you know yourself you do – but its only you who knows the
discomfort you’re in when you start to move around.
Studs Terkel’s
anti-racist perspective, coupled with his propensity to explore in his
interviews; called both “investigative conversations” and “moral history” by
Victor Navasky, were magnified during his stay in South Africa. Unlike other journalists on the trip, Studs
carried his Uher[1]
everywhere he went. He had conversations
with black and white South Africans, the uncelebrated, authors Nadine Gordimer
and Alan Paton, and most importantly, Chief Albert Luthuli, 1960 Nobel Peace
Prize winner and the President of the African National Congress at the time. People who Studs has interviewed often
comment that they describe themselves in ways that they didn’t know
existed. When interviewees spoke with
Studs they went well beneath the surface.
He referred to his conversations as prospecting for gold. In South Africa, in spite of 1963 being one of
the most intense and contested historical junctures of the struggle against the
apartheid state, Studs Terkel, in a very short time, touched the heart(s) of
the people and their lives within the country.
When Studs Terkel
travelled to South Africa, Nelson Mandela was in prison and key leaders of the
struggle against the apartheid state had been forced into exile. In 1962, with the backing of Luthuli, Mandela
announced a move from peaceful resistance to armed struggle. “If the government reaction is to crush by
naked force our non-violent demonstrations we will have to seriously reconsider
our tactics. In my mind, we are closing
a chapter on this question of non-violent policy.” The government actually increased oppression
culminating in the 1964 Rivonia Trial where eight struggle leaders, including
Mandela, were convicted of treason and sentenced to life in prison. For all practical purposes, as Studs Terkel
travelled South Africa, the struggle against apartheid was made moribund for at
least a decade.
In Talking to Myself, Terkel describes
meeting people in what Bishop Desmond Tutu refers to as South Africa’s “Pigmentocracy.” Like his work in the United States, Studs
begins with the uncelebrated. Lufthansa
organized various tours for the American journalists and one those trips was to
the famous Kruger Game Park. The group
stayed at a lodge called Pretoriakop where Studs met Magwiana Hlachayo who was
assigned as the attendant for Studs’ room.
Moments after Studs entered his room, Magwiana appeared, wearing black,
servants’ shorts, one of many symbols of the oppressive and demeaning nature of
apartheid. Magwiana introduces himself
as John and explains to Studs that he will take care of him at the lodge. He calls Studs “Mastah” to which Studs
recoils and responds, “I’m not your master.”
Then, after a brief uncomfortable exchange, Studs asks Magwiana to talk
about his life. Studs Terkel learns
about Hlachayo’s family and his aspirations for his children to become
doctors. He learns that Magwiana works
seven days a week and travels home, a good distance, everyday, to be with his
family. And he learns that his name is
not John.
‘What is your
name?’ I ask. ‘John,’ he says, as though speaking to a
retarded child. ‘I told you.’ ‘No, no,’ I say. ‘What is the name your father gave you?’ He looks at me intently. Who is this guy, anyway? He smiles.
‘Magwiana.’ He whispers it. I take out a piece of paper. Slowly, he spells it out for me. Slowly, I write it down. I show it to him. He laughs.
There is a touch of surprise to his laugh. ‘Is that your first name or your family
name?’ I ask. ‘My name is Magwiana
Hlachayo.’ He pronounces it
deliberately. I repeat it and get it
wrong. Patiently, he enunciates it
again. He spells it. Slowly, I write it down. He laughs.
‘John is not my real name. The white people gave it to me because they
can’t say Magwiana Hlachayo.’ We
both laugh.
The following day
Studs and the other American journalists go on an excursion to view zebras and
wildebeests and elephants and lions, an experience that awes almost anyone who
has such an opportunity, including Studs Terkel. Before they leave on their outing, he
observes, with an ethnographic eye, a scene that corresponds to Magwiana
Hlachayo being renamed John. A black man
is sweeping the floor and two white men stand near him conversing on the
childish nature of black South Africans.
He had come from
Swaziland, he told me. As a small boy,
he took care of his fathers’ cow. Of
course he understood the conversation across the room. God knows it was loud enough… One of the men
let me know there was no point in talking to the boy: ‘He doesn’t understand a
word you say… Might as well talk to yourself.’
Later in the day Studs spoke with
Magwiana about what he had seen.
“Softly, Magwiana Hlachayo says, ‘I’m feeling bad on it. My heart is sore. I am also very cross because it is not very
nice.’” Studs writes of his new friend’s
dignity, in spite of the fact that he lives in a country where culture and law
work constantly to demean black people.
Because he had been asked his name the day before, and had told the
story to his 12-year-old daughter, he comes to Studs with a gift – a plant of
multi-colored paper and wire stems that his daughter has made for his fathers’
new friend.[2]
‘I told her about
the white man who asked for my real name,’ he says. I hold the plant in my hand like a hockey champion
cradling the Stanley Cup… ‘It is the first time a white man asks me these
questions,’ he continues. ‘As long as I
have been in this park, I have never seen a European sitting together with a
native.’
Magwiana Hlachayo then asks Studs
if there is anything else that he can do for him, before Studs leaves. Terkel “surreptitiously” hands over some
money but notes that Magwiana needs something else. And what he wants is a letter – he wants to
see in writing not only his name, but also the name of the white man who sat at
his side.
Whites in Apartheid South Africa
While Studs Terkel
spoke with white people throughout his South African journey, his primary
conversations were with his Durban driver, George Jones. Corresponding to Studs Terkel interviews in
general, his dialogues with white South Africans revealed their humanity, but
also their privilege and the conflicting reality that within apartheid all
people are dehumanized – blacks, whites, Indians, and coloured – all people. Besides Jones and the man at Pretoriakop
Lodge, Studs met people at parties and other public places. Shortly after arriving in Johannesburg he and
his fellow travelers were invited to a reception hosted by one of the Lufthansa
Airlines directors and his wife. Someone
informed the woman that Studs had spoken disparagingly of apartheid and she
approached him and said, “Nobody likes apartheid… When people first come here,
they’re against it. But when you live
here a while, you see that it is right.”
The same message came via an advertising man who had emigrated from
Amsterdam five years earlier. “You’d
feel the same way if you lived here for awhile.” And the English immigrant piano player at a
hotel in Durban expanded on the laurels of the country.
South Africa has
been very kind to me indeed… There are
so many million black people here all looking for jobs, brought in from the
jungle. They work for absolutely
nothing. You can get a very good servant
for nine pounds a month. They’re not
really downtrodden, these chaps, don’t get that idea. The average house provides them with
civilized amenities they’ve never really had.
Really, life out here couldn’t be better. It’s a wonderful, wonderful, life.
Internationally
acclaimed artist, Cecil Skotness, a resident of Johannesburg in 1963, also
spoke with Studs and explained that South Africa was “a happy society for
whites.” He added, however, “one mustn’t
think too deeply, of course.” Sometimes
George Jones, Studs’ Durban driver, made that mistake, he thought too deeply. Almost as soon as Studs and George meet, the
latter is talking about his life and his family. He tells Studs of an experience that conflicts
with apartheid commonplaces. Centered
around George and his family’s car running out of gas on a road trip, Jones
explains that the only person willing to stop and help was a black man.
The European is
so full of himself. He’ll drive past and
see a stranded motor car… He’ll drive past, smoking his pipe, cigar, or
cigarette and not care a blow about anybody else… It makes one so really
against your own. You’re really sorry to
be a European at times.
Yet, George Jones enjoys the
benefits of apartheid for white South Africans.
White only privileges like movie theaters and beaches for example.
Sir, you can’t
let him marry your daughter… That is the trouble with apartheid. You are friendly with the native but you
can’t hobnob with him. You can’t bring
him into your home as a neighbor. And –
how shall I say it? – you can’t allow sexual relations. If you allow that, you will in time create a
bastard race.
George
Jones chauffeurs Studs for a couple of days and in spite of Terkel’s certainty
that his driver was well aware of the fact that the visit with Albert Luthuli
was clandestine and against the law, Jones felt enough closeness to invite
Studs to his home to meet his wife Zelda.
That meeting, too, brought the horrible cultural divide of apartheid
into the open. In what Studs refers to
as a “long half-hour,” including chitchat, George convincing Zelda to sing and
the couple showing affection as they dance.
At the mention of the word apartheid, Zelda speaks about being kind to
black people and having admiration for her domestic helper before moving to a
reproachful rant.
I’ve seen them,
their children running around minus their little pants. It wouldn’t be right, living next door to
us. It wouldn’t look nice. They’re used to being like that, so they don’t
think it’s wrong. Now, with all these
robberies. When I was a little girl, we
never had these things. Ooohh, it’s
shocking.
Studs asks about
George’s story of only blacks helping stranded motorists, Zelda feels compelled
to add a story: “Remember the native woman who poked into our car and put your
hat on her head and ate my biscuit. She
wouldn’t be able to fix a car.” George
tries unsuccessfully to ameliorate the situation, but adds: “That is true. But through the courtesy of those people, the
natives, we got to get on our way. They
will never see a person stuck on the road without trying to help them. Never has a European, my girl, ever done that
for us.” In response, Zelda’s anger
grows, yet, Studs Terkel has recorded the depths of the impact apartheid has had
on white people in South Africa.
Alan Paton and Nadine Gordimer
Alan
Paton was one of the leaders of the Liberal Party during apartheid and his most
famous book, Cry, Beloved Country, was
published in 1948. Studs visited him at
his suburban, Durban home. At the time
Paton was working on the biography of Jan Hofmeyer, a liberal South African whom
Paton described to Studs as someone who supported Christian principles regarding
racial issues but was not able to practice them as a government minister. Paton’s
apartheid dilemma was different.
This book would
normally have taken only a few years of solid work. One is inclined to resent being called away
from the writing desk for this or that emergency, having to go to prison or
hold, say, a protest meeting. I don’t
know whether the true writer doesn’t so much isolate himself as go into a
retreat when he writes. I have never
been able to do it.
Paton was
political but not radical, and oddly, as he was leaving Durban to return to
Johannesburg, Terkel met a bus driver who knew of Alan Paton. He spoke with Studs about white people
socializing with black people in the apartheid state. “You are suspect immediately. You’re thought of as pink or communist or
liberal.” He also described attending
some of Paton’s interracial meetings.
“Everybody who visits his house is under surveillance… They take down the
names and addresses of all the visitors and the numbers of the cars.” But yet, in what was the norm for many whites
during apartheid, he departs saying to Studs: “The African people will govern
themselves some day. They must. There will be panic and confusion. And we’ll all say, ‘I told you so. They can’t govern themselves.’” Once again, Studs learned that apartheid
dehumanizes everyone – blacks, coloureds, Indians, and yes, whites.
Nobel prize
winning author, Nadine Gordimer, was more progressive than Alan Paton during
the apartheid era. Studs visited her at
her Johannesburg house on the first leg of the trip and she trusted him enough
to suggest that he meet with struggle leader, Albert Luthuli, when he went to
Durban. Knowing the reality of apartheid
well, Nadine provided instruction on arranging a meeting with Luthuli.
When you reach an
Indian marketplace in Durban, find a public telephone and call this
number. Ask for B.W. Medawar. He is a close friend and colleague of the
Chief. His phone is undoubtedly tapped
by the SB – Special Branch… Simply say you’re a journalist from America and a
friend of Nadine Gordimer. Say nothing
else. He’ll know what you want.
Albert Luthuli
Studs
followed the plan and that led to an interview with this great South African
leader. Luthuli had been banned by the
apartheid government, the equivalent in the United States to house arrest
except that in South Africa there did not have to be formal criminal charges. He had won the Nobel Peace Prize three years
earlier and had authorized armed struggle in 1962. It is important to note, however, armed
struggle was defined as attacks on electrical pylons and government facilities
– not attacks on people. Luthuli was
forced to live in the small town of Stanger, about 30 miles outside of
Durban. His conversation with Studs
defined so much of the apartheid state reality from the ground, from the
struggle. When the two men met, Studs
relayed the story of his visit with Magwiana Hlachayo as well as that of the
white men in the lodge lobby who spoke of blacks as children in the presence of
the black worker. Studs recalled that
Luthuli laughed and Studs related it to the experiences of his friend, blues
musician Bill Broonzy and the blues line “laughin’ on the outside, cryin’ on
the inside.” Studs added that it might
be more like, “raging on the inside.”
“One of the sore points is that we are not regarded as human beings. But if occasionally we are, it is as ignorant
children,” added Chief Luthuli.
Albert
Luthuli spoke with Studs about Zulu history and culture as well as his own
personal story. Including his education
at Adams College. He shared his hope of
a South African society where cultures come together to live but also his anger
at government oppression. He referred to
himself as a militant but then quickly spoke of his hope for democracy – one
person, one vote. He concluded saying: “The white is hit harder by apartheid
than we are. It narrows his life. In not regarding us as human, he becomes less
than human. I do pity him.”
Conclusion
Although
his tenure in South Africa was brief, Studs Terkel explored the heart of the
apartheid state through individual/collective South African stories – the
uncelebrated as well as three more famous South Africans. He learned the contradictions of individuals
as well as the system, and he portrayed the complexities without ever denying
the evils of apartheid. In each of his
future oral histories that address disparity, racism, and oppression; Division Street America, Hard Times, and Race: How Blacks & Whites Think & Feel About the American
Obsession; he portrays similar complexities while at the same time never
equivocating on the oppression that exists in American society.
