Superficially, the former minister of law and order, Adriaan Vlok, may appear to be deserving of some credit for his performance before the Truth and Reconciliation Commission this week.
Unlike his former colleagues (Magnus Malan, the former minister of defence, is one name which stands out starkly), he at least had the guts to face the truth.
But that is probably a case of making virtue out of necessity. Well and truly nailed with responsibility for the bombing of Khotso House, Cosatu House, et al, he really had no alternative but to put a brave face on it.
Certainly some of the garbage he spouted needs to be dealt with before the country becomes accustomed to the stink. His line, for example, that he accepts “political and moral responsibility” for the misdeeds of the police, but not “direct” responsibility: Christ-like, he offers to take the sins of the world (or at least those of his men) upon his shoulders, but let no one dare suggest he was a sinner!
Adolf Hitler, no doubt, would have followed a similar tack with the Jews had they been fortunate enough to get him into the dock in Jerusalem.
As for his argument that, were it not for the actions of his men, we would today be saddled with a communist dictatorship, it not only ignores kindergarten morality (two wrongs do not make a right), but presumptuously underestimates the sagacity of the South African population which has never shown much affinity for communism.
When Vlok goes on to offer the defence of a war psychosis for the misdeeds of the authorities in the apartheid era, the temptation is to cry out the names of Beyers Naud and Helen Suzman, two individuals who offer living proof of how common decency can and should counter mass hysteria.
Naud, in particular – who made the intellectual journey from the extremes of the Ossewa Brandwag to the South African Council of Churches, which Vlok was so intent on blowing up – is a shining example of how honesty of purpose can overcome even the most extreme conditioning of youth.
But there one hesitates, because danger lies in failing to appreciate that in the face of Vlok we see a face common to mankind.
One of the tragedies of the immensely successful exercise which is the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is its failure – for reasons of jurisdiction beyond its control – to stage hearings on the African National Congress camps scandal.
The value of the commission is primarily educative. The history of “necklace” murders – which are indistinguishable from lynching – has perhaps helped bring home the dangers of appeals to mob emotions. Just like “commie”, the cry of “impimpi” frequently amounted to a death warrant.
But the defence of a “spy psychosis” usually mounted by the ANC hierarchy would also have provided a useful counterpoint to the perspective that the blind stampedes of the apartheid era were somehow peculiar to the “boere”.
Which, in turn, might have sounded a warning to the country that, in the easy resort by some in the new South Africa to the emotive chant of “racist”, lies evidence that there will always be Vloks in our midst.
Time to drop Die Stem
The Springboks are to be congratulated on their performance against Australia and are to be wished well against New Zealand. But in one respect their performance last Saturday is to be faulted: the singing of the anthem(s).
The fault is not theirs. It is ridiculous that a sport which demands team work above all else should begin with a hybrid song evocative of division.
The dual anthem was an embarrassment at the soccer World Cup finals, where it was found to be the longest sung by any of the competing nations. It is surely time to plump for one or the other.
And while Die Stem has become curiously more tuneful since apartheid’s death, our history demands the singing of Nkosi.
But we would suggest a name change. It could affectionately be known as Nkosi, but formally be titled Harold Sefola’s Song.
Sefola, for those who missed the tale when it was recounted to the truth commission last year, was one of three ANC suspects taken to a field north of Pretoria by police and tortured with a generator used to pump water for cattle. They shocked the other two men to death to frighten Sefola into talking.
Then they started torturing Sefola, who was tied and gagged. He indicated he wanted to say something. When they untied him, he sang Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. The police promptly electrocuted him to death.
So at future rugby matches and other suitable occasions the public address system would announce the singing of Harold Sefola’s Song. Upon which foreigners would turn to us and ask: “Who was Harold Sefola?”
We would tell them. And in the telling would come a renewed determination, on and off the field, to fight for the rainbow nation.