This article originally appeared in the April 1990 edition of the Presbyterian Record. It recounts the experiences of Rev. Stewart Gillan, then a Presbyterian missionary in South Africa, during the week Nelson Mandela was released from prison.
Sunday, February 11, 1990
5:00 p.m. Vilakazi St., Orlando West, Soweto, South Africa
“He’s free!” Abie has gone through the roof with the headline, jumping on the front seat of the car, up and down through the sun top, shaking the front page of the Star above the cheering crowds. His comrades are hanging out of the windows, higher than hope, shouting, “Amandla! Power!” fist on fist as we go, fresh from the Jabulani Ampitheatre. What a day it’s been, starting this morning on the other side of Soweto with the ordination service of my good friend Nicholas Kheledi. He will be telling his grandchildren, “Yes, I was ordained on the day Nelson Mandela walked free!”
In Orlando West, Vilakazi Street is a human Zambezi, jubilating with abandon. Overnight it has sprouted satellite dishes, lighting scaffolds, camera nests, TV caravans and helicopters. The crowd is drumming victory on the hood of the car. We get out and are swept away, chanting and charging through the streets, “Viva Mandela Viva!” “Long live Comrade Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela! Long live!” “Mayibuye iAfrika! Come back Africa!” It is toyi-toyi time—the jump-dance of liberation. We sing as we dance, dance as we run, banners flying. “Zabalaza uyabizwa! Come join the struggle!” Up Vilakazi Street. Across Makhetha. Left on Kumalo. Left on Pela. Back down Vilakazi. It is pouring rain. We are breathless and soaked to the skin. A joy immersion.
“Hela Moruti (Pastor)! Who taught you how to toyi-toyi?” shout the comrades.
“You did!” I shout back.
On Vilakazi Street the crowd has grown. Journalists, foreign and local, have surrounded the house, but banners, T-shirts and faces are the essential media. Mandela’s own face, so long hidden from us, is everywhere. So too are T-shirts proclaiming, “ANC Lives! ANC Leads!” A legion of chanting COSATU workers surges by. Two young lions of the South African Youth Congress hoist a white bed sheet: Mandela is coming! Join the ANC! Victory is Certain! There is writing on the walls: Nelson Mandela, Welcome Home, You are a True Leader of the People, Aluta Continua!
A reporter is talking to two old men. Trying to keep his camera dry he says, “It’s too bad it had to rain on your parade.” The two look at each other. Says the one, “For us Africans rain is God’s blessing on the return of the chief. It is a very good sign. The heavens are open!” He smiles at his student. People’s education.
Inside Mandela’s home it is quieter, tough no less electric. Xoliswa looks at me and says, “Aow Moruti, you are too wet! Let me get you a hot drink.” We know each other form last week’s march in Alexandria Township. Two women are cutting the letters A, N and C from black, green and gold construction paper. More writing on the walls. Flowers are arriving. A Japanese delegation comes and goes. In the lounge an old woman is telling stories. Madiba is coming home. “I knew him when he first came to Johannesburg,” she says. The phone rings. A member of the National Reception Committee is saying that Mandela will not be coming home tonight. He will address the nation just now from Cape Town. We all turn and look at the television…
“Friends, comrades and fellow South Africans, I greet you all in the name of peace, democracy and freedom for all. I stand before you not as a prophet, but as a humble servant of you, the people. … Your tireless and heroic sacrifices have made it possible for me to be here today. I therefore place the remaining years of my life in your hands. … Apartheid has no future. … It must be ended by our own decisive mass action. … The factors which necessitated the armed struggle still exist today. We have no option but to continue. … We have waited long enough. Now is the time to intensify the struggle on all fronts. … We call on our white compatriots to join us in the shaping of a new South Africa. The freedom movement is a political home for you too. … We call on the international community to continue the campaign to isolate the apartheid regime. … Mr. de Klerk has gone further than any other Nationalist president in taking steps to normalize the situation. However, there are further steps as outlined in the Harare Declaration that have to be met before negotiation on the basic demands of our people can begin. I reiterate our call for the immediate ending of the State of Emergency and the freeing of all and not only some political prisoners. Only such a normalized situation, which allows for free political activity, can allow us to consult our people to obtain a mandate. … Universal suffrage on a common voters’ roll in a united, democratic and non-racial South Africa is the only way to peace and racial harmony. … I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunity. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve … it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”
With these words Nelson Mandela walked back into the struggle exactly where he had been taken from it 27 years ago. He spoke as a servant, revolutionary, organizer, team player, statesman and father. People were quoting him immediately.
10:00 p.m. Greek Restaurant, Kensington, Johannesburg
There are eight of us around the table: Moruti, comrades and two Canadians visiting Semongkong, Lesotho. We are raising a glass to Mandela and the future. It is my first champagne in South Africa, the comrades’ first ever. We sing, tell stories of the day, and ask the house band if they know “Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika.” A whitish-looking man objects to Mabuti’s Mandela T-shirt. We are kind and understanding, and ask the band to play Mozart.
2:00 p.m. 4 Leander Street, Kensington
The phone rings. It is Belinda from the restaurant. “You must come back! Anthony’s up on the tables dancing! Scooter saw him and he’s on the table dancing with him! You must come back!” I decline, saying the comrades have “the Jazz Pioneers” on the house. I need not have worried about having enough sleeping places.
Tuesday, February 13
2:30 p.m., Soccer City, Soweto
The crowd, 150,000 strong, have been roaring for hours, entertained and instructed by speeches, jazz, chants, the “Living Wage Choir,” and people’s poetry. There is a scramble on the field, journalists doing the 100-metre dash. Mandela has arrived! We are standing on the seats to see him, high with the history and potential of the moment. Mandela brings us all down to earth. His speech, in a word, is “Discipline!”
“Go back to school and learn!” he tells the youth. “End the crime in our townships!” he tells the Lsotsis. “Unite to end this mindless violence in Natal!” he tells the UDF and Inkatha. He tells employers to agree to the demand of workers for a living wage, security forces to be absolutely impartial, and the police to join the people’s march to freedom! Concerning whites: “The fears of whites must be understood and addressed. The ANC has always been as opposed to black domination as to white domination. We must convince our compatriots by our words and actions that an apartheid-free society will be better for all South Africans.” Concerning the economy: “Much has been said about our statements on nationalization and redistribution of wealth. We believe that apartheid has made a very few people rich and the masses of black people poor. Black people have built South Africa’s wealth. The roads. The cities. The ANC is just as committed to wealth creation as is (management), but it is committed also to the just distribution of that wealth, to right the imbalances and injustices of the past.”
And then the marching orders: “Discipline! Is it discipline that will win our struggle! Give the enemies of peace and liberation no excuse to take us back to the dark ages. Go back to your schools, mines, factories and offices and build structures for the new South Africa. We are going forward! The march to freedom and justice is irreversible!”
We watch the helicopter take him off, and leave the stadium. ANC flags, banners and T-shirts are everywhere. In the dust on the windows of one bus is written, “Viva Comrade de Klerk!” We see it and laugh. He has come a long way out of his laager, with many of his own plotting against him. I am reminded of Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones. He found it all hard to believe too.
Wednesday, February 14
10:00 a.m. Darras Shopping Centre
“Your Mr. Mandela is not helping things, is he?” It is one of the local businessmen, putting up his Valentine’s Day decorations. “You stirrers must be happy. Nationalize! Look at them.” He points to his black workers. “I am not going to let them take over and run my life! And I’m just the man to stop them. Face it. They aren’t even civilized yet.”
I walk away. It is hard to hear. I know he voted, for the first time in his life, for the Democratic Party last September.
Thursday, February 15
10:00 a.m. South African Council of Churches, Johannesburg
“Hello Moruti, how are you?” It is Frank Chikane, looking unbelievably bright and fresh, given the pace of the past week.
“Tired! One wakes up and the euphoria is over.”
“Yes,” he says laughing. “The euphoria is over and there is a lot of work to be done!”
