John Matshikiza
WHO ARE … THE HAINS?
‘Liberal” was a term that was often (and sometimes still is) regarded as a swear word on both sides of the South African political divide. Liberals were either thought of as being the ones who sat on the fence and held back the tide of revolution, or as kafferboeties who irresponsibly encouraged the natives to have ideas above their station.
Peter Hain, who this week concludes an official visit to South Africa in his new capacity as British minister of state with responsibility for Africa, grew up in a home that had developed its own, courageous brand of liberalism. His parents, Walter and Adelaine, describe themselves as having been “politically naive” in their formative years. The dawn of their political awakening began, not in South Africa, but in Kenya in the early 1950s.
Walter Hain was working as an architect for a firm in Nairobi. Race relations in Kenya appeared to be “much more relaxed than in South Africa”, but, with the rise of the independence movement, it became evident that all was not as it seemed. The problem was not with the black people who were making legitimate claims for the retrieval of their birthright, but with large sections of the white population who felt that things were getting out of hand.
“Colleagues started coming and asking us for guidance,” says Hain, “because, as South Africans, we came from a country that they said had the right idea about dealing with the black problem.”
The Hains were appalled, and decided they should return to South Africa, along with their first child, Peter, who had been born during their stay in Nairobi.
They were active in Liberal Party politics for a while, but then, in 1955 (now with three children in tow), they decided to spend some time in England. World events began to increasingly impinge on their awareness – including the start of the famous Treason Trial back home. They began to feel uncomfortable about sitting on the sidelines, and returned to Pretoria in 1957.
There was increasing political activity as nationalist repression escalated – strikes, rallies, protest marches. It meant that increasing numbers of people were being arrested.
“We worked closely with people from the African National Congress, the Pan Africanist Congress and other groups, mostly in Lady Selbourne and Atteridgeville,” says Adelaine. “We were white, we had a telephone, we had access to all sorts of things black people didn’t have. If you were white, there was more chance that the authorities would listen to you.”
So, where black families had little hope of obtaining information about detained relatives, the Hains and others were able to trace individuals to the various police stations around Pretoria, and provide whatever support they could during the growing numbers of political trials.
The stakes were raised after the 1960 state of emergency which followed the Sharpeville killings. The Hains experienced their first bouts of imprisonment after being caught putting up posters advocating the boycott of the celebrations of the first Republic Day in 1961. They were among the first to be held under the new 12-day detention- without-trial law.
The case against them, under the Suppression of Communism Act, was eventually thrown out. But from then on, they would receive the constant attentions of the security police.
In 1963 Adelaine was banned because of her continuing political involvement. Walter was banned in the following year. Under the laws of the day, one banned person was not allowed to communicate with another. Then minister of justice John Vorster was gracious enough to add an addendum to Adelaine’s order, permitting her to speak to her husband.
The situation had its farcical moments, but then turned to almost unrelieved darkness in 1964. The Hains had declined an invitation to join a radical white group called the Armed Resistance Movement, but did not turn their backs on close friends who had chosen to become involved. One of these friends was John Harris – the man who planted the fatal bomb that exploded at Johannesburg’s Park Station.
The Hains stayed loyal to Harris all through his trial, and took his wife and baby into their home. When Harris was finally sentenced to death, it was the Hains who gave Anne Harris the strength to face the inevitable.
John Harris is said to have walked defiantly to the gallows, his heart content at the thought that his family was in good hands, and that his old friend, Walter Hain, would deliver the funeral oration after his execution. But then the Hains realised that Walter, as a banned person, would not be allowed to address the public gathering.
It was at this point that 14-year-old Pretoria Boys’ High scholar Peter Hain took his first step into the political frame. He offered to help in any way that he could, and ended up reading his absent father’s speech to the funeral gathering. This first, calm performance set the tone for the committed role he was to play in his adult years.
The Hains were persistently harassed after that. The Nationalist government went so far as to tell Walter’s employers that they would lose all future contracts with the Public Works Department unless he was fired. He was forced to resign. In 1966 the Hains decided that the situation was intolerable, and departed for England once more. It would take almost 30 years before they were legally able to return.
They had sowed strong seeds of principle in their children, however. Four years after their arrival in England, Peter became a household name when he headed the “Stop the ’70s Tour” campaign against the Springboks. The campaign, that was to make such a strong contribution to the anti-apartheid cause, was run from the living room of his parents’ house in Putney, South London, and the whole family was involved.
THE HAINS ARE NOW, RELUCTANTLY, COMMITTED TO BEING BRITISH. BUT IN THEIR HEARTS, AS THEY LOOK OUT WITH PRIDE AND ADMIRATION OVER THE LANDSCAPE OF A TRANSFORMED SOUTH AFRICA, THEY FEEL PASSIONATELY AFRICAN.