My fight against apartheid http://www.aluka.org/action/showMetadata?doi=10.5555/AL.SFF.DOCUMENT.crp2b20024 Use of the Aluka digital library is subject to Aluka’s Terms and Conditions, available at http://www.aluka.org/page/about/termsConditions.jsp. By using Aluka, you agree that you have read and will abide by the Terms and Conditions. Among other things, the Terms and Conditions provide that the content in the Aluka digital library is only for personal, non-commercial use by authorized users of Aluka in connection with research, scholarship, and education. The content in the Aluka digital library is subject to copyright, with the exception of certain governmental works and very old materials that may be in the public domain under applicable law. Permission must be sought from Aluka and/or the applicable copyright holder in connection with any duplication or distribution of these materials where required by applicable law. Aluka is a not-for-profit initiative dedicated to creating and preserving a digital archive of materials about and from the developing world. For more information about Aluka, please see http://www.aluka.org My fight against apartheid Author/Creator Dingake, Michael Publisher Kliptown Books (London) Date 1987 Resource type Books Language English Subject Coverage (spatial) Botswana, South Africa Coverage (temporal) 1928 - 1986 Source Northwestern University Libraries, Melville J. Herskovits Library of African Studies, 968.06 D584Z Rights By kind permission of Michael Dingake. Description This autobiography tells a story linking Botswana and South Africa, in the life of Botswana-born Michael Dingake, who joined the African National Congress in the 1950s. was imprisoned on Robben Island from 1966 to 1981. His story, full of humour as well as political insight, takes us from his childhood days in Botswana, to his recruitment into the ANC, from his underground work for the ANC in the early 1960s to his kidnapping, arrest and imprisonment. Much of the book is about his years on Robben Island, a fellow prisoner with Nelson Mandela, and gives a graphic account of the conditions the political prisoners faced and their struggle to improve their lot. Format extent 260 pages (length/size) http://www.aluka.org/action/showMetadata?doi=10.5555/AL.SFF.DOCUMENT.crp2b20024 http://www.aluka.org MICHAEL DINGAKE MICHAEL DINGAKE lAFRi 1o1 !I1 i!'1 968.06MYFIH D584Z (GllNS' APARTHEII Northwestern University Library Evanston, Illinois 60208 ilib L MY FIGHT AGAINST APARTHEID ---IliY FI(4'wllT MICHAELPINGAKE CK L I P TI Ot, rz M VLO! IkLs © MICHAEL DINGAKE 1987 This book is copyright under the Berne Convention. All rights are reserved. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review as permitted under the Copyright Act, 1956, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electrical, chemical, mechanical, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers. First published in 1987 by Kliptown Books Ltd, Canon Collins House, 64 Essex Road, London N1 8LR. ISBN No. 0 904759 82 2 (Paperback), 0 904759 83 0 (Hardback) Phototypeset in 91/2pt Melior and printed in England by A.G. Bishop & Sons Ltd, Orpington, Kent. Contents Page 1. Formative years Early Environment 1 The New School 10 Pax 17 2. Colour Stigma Sophiatown and Alexandra 27 Joining ANC 40 Sharpeville and after 56 TheTragedyofRivonia 68 3. Kidnapped Detention 81 Interrogation 96 Baited 107 On trial 121 4. Robben Island I arrive on Robben Island 140 Letters and visits 159 Studies 171 Religion 184 News 192 Food 204 Nelson Mandela 213 5.Release 227 facing page 138 Illustrations CHAPTER I Formative years EARLY ENVIRONMENT 'Ee-ee-ee-ee!' a piercing cry rent the air, 'All men, assemble at the Kgotla! (village meeting place).' The village crier was summoning the villagers, men specifically, to the Kgotla. Stocky, dark, red-eyed and unshaven, he had a powerful voice. His summons reverberated across the village. He moved from one part of the village to another, repeating his shrill summons. It was his devout duty to ensure that villagers to the last man heard the call. Men popped out of their huts to check whether their neighbours had heard what they were hearing. Those who were still shaking or caressing the calabash sensed the impending interruption to their carousal and cursed the crier's illbreeding! They took a few more swigs to provide for the thirsty and uncertain hours ahead. One by one they emerged from the beer- hut. They wiped their beards, belched from the hastily-downed drink and blinked from the hot sun outside. Everywhere men abandoned their chores, picked up their thong chairs and dipora (wooden stools), and shouted reminders across to their dallying neighbours: 'Did you hear the cry?' From all directions the villagers converged on the Kgotla-widebrimmed hats on their heads and stools and chairs under their armpits. It was 1941. In Europe the war had been going on for two years. It was spreading and intensifying as one victim of Hitler's aggression followed another. Life in Bobonong was beginning to display a new dimension. War talk. Rumour was rife about Hitler's objectives. According to the common talk in the village Hitler was the greatest tyrant ever heard of, worse than the most sadistic of the Boers across the Limpopo in the Union of South Africa. He was bent on enslaving all humanity, in particular the black masses. The Batswana were likely to be inspanned like draught animals by Hitler at the first opportunity. It was frightening. 'Ee-ee-ee-ee! All men assemble at the Kgotla!' The crier continued his dutiful cries as villagers poured into the Kgotla. Women, curious and full of anxiety, followed their men at a distance. As they trudged along the village's winding footpaths they circulated gossip about the imminent pow-wow and swore by their brothers that what they said about the objectives of the pow-wow was the gospel truth. At the Kgotla they settled on the ground along the fringes. We children, not to be outdone, arrived wide-eyed and ready to dart away if the elders judged our presence an unwelcome intrusion in adult affairs. We perched ourselves on the palisades surrounding the Kgotla. Some of us squatted on the ground alongside our mothers and watched the historic proceedings with childish vagueness. Tshekedi Kgama, Ragonkgang to his people, was the star of the occasion. Many villagers had never seen Tshekedi before. He seldom visited villages like Bobonong unless grave matters were at stake. He was popular with the Babirwa regardless. They referred to him as Setlogolo (nephew). His mother was of Babirwa. Moreover he was a living legend. It is said when he was installed as regent after the death of his older brother, Sekgoma, the Ratshosa brothers were violently opposed. They tried to shoot him, but bullets just whizzed by without hurting him. The Ratshosa brothers paid dearly for that abortive regicide attempt. Another episode that made him a legendary figure was the whipping of a white youth. The Bangwato felt equal to anyone. Why not? Their chief could flog a white in the administration of justice. That made all equal before the law. No discrimination between a Mongwato and a white person. So here he was, TK (Tshekedi Kgama), come to honour Bobonong with his fabled eminence. The District Commissioner and some of his senior staff were there, smiling affably and showing proper deference to TK in the presence of his people. All eyes were on TK. Pula (Rain)!, was the chant. The events leading to the aggression against Poland and the war were briefly outlined to a tense Kgotla. The critical question of the moment was, what now? Could Batswana stand idly by and continue to enjoy their rustic peace when His Majesty's imperial government was locked in a life and death struggle? It was an open question and Babirwa went hammer and tongs into its merits and demerits - Chief, we can support the war effort through financial contributions. We have a lot of cattle. We'll sell them. They have never benefited us much except to keep the lions well fed and numerous. Chief, how do we come into this? England and Germany are at war. They know what their fight is all about. We don't know. It has nothing to do with us. Let them have it out. Ya gaetsho k e e e naka lehibidu (Mine (my bull) is the one with the red horn) -meaning, I'll back the victorious one. Chief, how can we fight the white man, with only our knobkerries, primitive spears and shields? The white man has powerful guns and flying machines. It's impossible -Chief, our forefathers resisted Mzilikazi and the Boers by force of arms when they tried to steal our land and cattle. We did not pay someone to fight for us. Hitler wants our land and our cattle. We must resist by force of arms. Chief, King George is our king in the same way you are our Kgosi. Can we desert you if you declare war on an enemy? Never! Voices were many and diverse. Affirmative and negative. Some asked simple and straightforward questions: Where is Germany? Where is England? Where is Poland? Who will look after our wives, our children, our cattle, goats and dogs while we are away in foreign lands fighting the war we did not provoke? 2 The sun was hot. Its rays impaled the earth and stirred cicadas to screeching sounds.