The Fifth Annual Imam Abdullah Haron Memorial Lecture “Has tolerance no limits?” Why the education crisis persists Jonathan D Jansen University of the Free State 2 October 2012 Introduction Two events of seismic proportions shook the Western Cape in the closing days of September 1969. The first was the Ceres-Tulbagh earthquake of 29 September which registered 6.3 on the Richter scale with aftershocks that continued as far forward as the 14th of April 1970 and whose effects were felt more than 1000 km away in Durban. The earthquake was said to have caused physical displacement of 26cm of ground over a distance of 20km, and that it was caused by “a shallow tectonic failure along the Saron- Groenhof lineament.”1 The second seismic shock was the murder on the night of 27 September in the Maitland police cells of the 44-year old Imam of the Stegman Street Mosque, the Editor of “Moslem News”, the husband of Galiema, and the father of three young children— Shamila, Mogamet and Fatima. That death—the 12th of a political prisoner to die in police custody between 1963 and 1969—sent forth tremors of grief and protest that registered shockwaves well beyond the borders of South Africa. The killing of the Imam displaced the political grounds in the Cape; indeed it shook complacent communities into political action for this noble martyr was killed by a shallow political and moral failure that was rightly laid at the door of the politicians (apartheid’s NP 1 Paragraph draws on http://www.stormchasing.co.za/articles-and-news/historic-weather-archive/184-tulbagh- ceres-1969-earthquake 1 parliamentarians) and their professional collaborators (lawyers, doctors, police) who tried to prop-up an immoral and racist system. That we are gathered here this evening for the 5th Annual Imam Haron Memorial Lecture bears witness to the fact that we have not forgotten that political earthquake that marked the death of such a courageous leader. There is at least one book that carries his memory (The Killing of the Imam by Barney Desai and Cardiff Marney, 1978), as well as a documentary film (tubafilms), a comprehensive entry in South African History Online, and a well-bound archive of newspaper articles reporting on his life and death.2 Yet nothing keeps vital memories of our past alive more powerfully than a Memorial Lecture, and so I congratulate the organisers for ensuring that every generation of young South Africans learn the lessons of faith and courage given to us through the life of Imam Haron for we need to be reminded of the price that was paid for our freedom and why we dare not tolerate what passes for education and decency in our country. A sense of connection I was thirteen years old when the lesser earthquake hit the Western Cape; my parents would tease me for years afterwards that I slept through my birthday night (the 29th of September) blissfully unaware of the commotion on the streets of Retreat where we lived—such as the scores of people who came to repentance in church after viewing a rather scary evangelical movie called The Burning Hell as the tremors were felt on the streets of the Cape Flats. What I did not sleep through, in the manner of speaking, was the other earthquake for throughout my teenage years I was reminded—at school, university and the community—of the Imam who “accidentally fell down the stairs” and died even though the alleged fall could not, according to the inquest, account for all 27 blue-green bruises 2 I acknowledge these sources in helping me compose the background and content on the life of Imam Haron 2 on the body. Since that time, we mocked the official versions of activists who died in detention as a result of slipping on a bar of soap or jumping from a window or hanging themselves or falling down stairs. This is perhaps the moment to recall a poem by the writer Chris van Wyk: 3 In Detention He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself while washing He slipped from the ninth floor He hung from the ninth floor He slipped on the ninth floor while washing He fell from a piece of soap while slipping He hung from the ninth floor He washed from the ninth floor while slipping He hung from a piece of soap while washing Chris van Wyk, It is time to go home, 1979 (copied from book Death of an Idealist, In search of Neil Aggett, author Beverley Naidoo, 2012, p. xix, Jonathan Ball Publishers) 4 As I prepared for this evening’s Lecture I felt a sense of connection to the Imam as I learnt about familiar landmarks such as Repulse Road where he had built a home across from the City & Suburban Rugby Stadium; we have a family home nearby. I studied some of his messages delivered in the Mosque and in the Cape Town Drill Hall. I listened to the stop-start online recollections of family members and leaders in the community. And I felt that the Imam and his message were very much alive in that his ideals and struggles remain as relevant today as they were during the struggle against apartheid. The essence of the man There are seven qualities of Imam Haron that struck me as worth sharing. 1. His strong sense of humane values rooted in his faith. He expressed a strong commitment to the values of freedom, dignity, respect and fairness and this came through clearly and repeatedly in his rousing public addresses. 2. His deep commitment to education. Even though he did not have the opportunity to proceed beyond primary schooling, he was passionate about education; his informal and adult education was, however, extensive, and biographers recount that “for his children he sought education, almost to the point of desperation.” 3. His passion for a better society. He had within his vision a society that was not based on racism and discrimination but equality for all human beings including freedom of worship—something he stood on strongly when it came to the immovable position of mosques under the Group Areas act. 4. His courage in the face of injustice. There was a growing awareness that the dragnet of the apartheid system was closing in on him, and that he should have made plans to escape the country a long time ago. But he stood his ground and 5 despite the horrors of what awaited him, the Imam did not resist confinement and bore the humiliation and isolation with great dignity. 5. His internationalist orientation to the understanding of society. He travelled widely at a time when few did, and gradually developed a fine-tuned understanding of global struggles for justice and the solidarity of those in North Africa and Europe. 6. His non-partisan perspective with respect to others. While he was a devout Muslim, this was the foundation from which he served people also in Langa, Gugulethu and Nyanga with social and financial support. He consolidated Muslim-Christian relations from his base in Athlone and worked with Canon Collins (renowned for the work of the Defense and Aid Fund) of St Paul’s Cathedral in London to raise funds for his welfare work. 7. His legacy to the country in times like ours. The Imam teaches us what selflessness and sacrifice really means; that a life of faith can and should have practical consequences in the service of others; and that we should be intolerant of injustice and inequality without impairing the dignity of the liberation fighter. How does this generous and liberating vision of Imam Haron speak to the education crisis in the country today? The title for my talk comes from an address delivered by Imam Haron in the Cape Town Drill Hall on 7 May 1961 when he made an emotional attack on the degrading laws and policies of the government of the day which were intended, in his words, “to cripple us educationally, politically and economically.” He then asked the rhetorical questions: “How much can we bear? Has tolerance not a limit?” Has tolerance not a limit? At times it seems as if our country has reached the limits of tolerance. In Kuruman and Olifantshoek (Northern Cape) parents close down schools until their demand for a tarred road or the expulsion of a mayor is met. In Port Elizabeth teachers and parents 6 closed down a school until salaries are paid and textbooks delivered. In more than one municipality places of books, libraries, are burnt on a regular basis. Some universities annually witness their students trashing sites of higher learning for some immediate concerns that normally come in a package of demands from finances for study to student accommodation to so-called academic exclusions. In some of these cases the behaviour on display is nothing more than local gangsterism and the fierce competition for political and economic opportunity among rivals. But in many other cases people are deeply frustrated that we have not delivered on the dream of a better life for all. That frustration increasingly boils over into a violence that destroys the very limited resources (like libraries) available for some form of learning. And it appears that our government has neither the capacity to deliver the minimum required for a decent education or the credibility in the poorest communities to persuade citizens to wait even longer.