In commemorating the 37th anniversary of the death in detention of Bantu Stephen Biko, the Steve Biko Foundation has hosted the outgoing United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Judge Navanethem ‘Navi’ Pillay, in this year’s instalment of the Annual Steve Biko Memorial Lecture. The author has a connection to both, given that he shares a very important date with the Black Consciousness icon and the Honourable Judge, comrade Pillay’s firm of attorneys was the firm that defended the author and his co-accused during the infamous “Kimberley Terror Trial” between 1981 and 1983. Her late husband, comrade Gaby Pillay, was the instructing attorney at the time. The story below, in attempting to tell our stories, serves as a tribute to the 15th Annual Steve Biko Memorial Lecture and in commemorating the 37th anniversary of the death in detention of comrade Bantu Stephen Biko: When The Beige Man Came...and Life in Solitary Confinement “Nothing is more dehumanizing than the absence of human companionship.” Nelson Mandela I spent my time at home for the rest of the week until Friday September the 12th, 1980. Why this date is of immense significance to me is because it was the first time in my life that I got arrested. But another, far more important reason, is because this is the day comrade Steve Bantu Biko was killed in police custody in 1977 by the Apartheid regime! When I got out of the house to go outside, the Security Branch police were there. I was arrested and bundled into the back of a Land Rover. Amongst the SBs who arrested me, of which there were four, was the late Warrant Officer Hikiti Dywili. He made absolutely sure I knew what was lying ahead in store for me. Heavily built as he was, he hit me with a fist on my mouth, so hard that my lower lip was torn and I hit the back of the Land Rover with a thud! As I was shoved into the back of the Land Rover, my lip bled profusely. All this happened right in front of my home at 3220 Matanzima Street, across the road where the Land Rover was parked. Unfortunately, or fortunately, no one in the family saw this drama. I was taken to the Transvaal Road Police Station to the notorious 6th floor of the Security Branch, notorious because that is where the late comrade Phakamile Mabija was thrown out of the window by the SBs back then in 1977. I saw some of my comrades there. Before we were put into different offices, and as such could not communicate with one another, we were addressed by Captain Etsebeth van Wyk who was the Commander of the Security Branch. He made it absolutely clear to us what he was expecting from us, nothing, but the truth as he believed it to be. That was one of the longest Fridays we had to endure because we were subjected to constant interrogation for the whole day, questioned about our activities during the school boycotts, our involvement in the attacks on the police’s houses, but specifically, my alleged involvement at the house of Sergeant Matsheka who was staying next to my parents’ house, which incident I was not involved in. The reason I was connected to the incident and accused of leading the cell (group) that attacked this Sergeant’s house was because I was staying next to that house and therefore knew the place better than anyone else. Besides, there was a poem found on the premises, which was used as a wick for the petrol bomb. It unfortunately did not burn as the petrol bomb failed to detonate. One could read from the partly charred paper some of the words on it and I was told I had written the poem because I was known as Mr Poem during the school boycotts as I always wrote and recited poems at our gatherings. There were twenty-four of us arrested during that week. It was all of the ‘Galeshewe Five’ and others, except comrades Tlhomelang and Joy Makhele. We were kept the whole day in police custody that Friday. When I was interrogated with regard to the poem I was alleged to have written, I completely denied any knowledge of it because I was at home at the time and not at the place, but I was told I was lying and there were those amongst us who said I was at the place. What the poem was basically saying was: “This is just the beginning; there is still more to come...” and coincidentally, the only words that were legible on the paper and did not burn were these words! Looking back, these words fitted the circumstances, the crime. I was told this was a threat I had made to this policeman, warning him that much more was to come. But I told them, which they would not accept, that the poem was written to welcome the students who were to be released from Transvaal Road Police Station on September, the 9th, 1980, but it was not to be because they were released very late and the poem ended up in comrade Tlhomelang’s possession. That’s what I indicated to the Security Police. No, I did not tell the Security Police that comrade Tlhomelang was responsible for the crime, but merely that I was not at the crime scene and the poem was written as a reception speech! In any event, I was hoping that comrade Tlhomelang would never be arrested! “Kaffir, jy praat kak! Jy weet so goed Tosh het ge-skip en nou se jy dis hy en nie jy nie” [You are talking shit, kaffir! You know very well Tosh has skipped the country and now you’re laying the blame on him]. My interrogators did not believe me, as it was, and later that day, they took a specimen of my handwriting. When they returned, they insisted that I had written the note and that placed me right at the scene of the crime. I kept on denying. I was then assaulted and tortured, helicopter-style. I was made to sit down on the floor, with my knees against my chest and my arms around my knees. Then my hands were handcuffed and a broomstick was inserted through my arms and the back of my knees. With two policemen holding each end, they lifted me up and placed the broomstick, with one end on a chair and the other on a table. And there I was swinging from that position, upside-down, with my head barely touching the floor)! Whilst swinging in this fashion, I was interrogated and if I was not answering the way my captors wanted me to, I was repeatedly assaulted. In this position, my blood circulation started to concentrate around my head and I felt the dizziness engulf me. That was the whole idea of this kind of torture, to try to disorientate me so that I could start losing focus and say what they wanted me to say. If I could bear it out a little longer than they could, I might succeed in postponing the torture for the time being or even prolong it. By the time the torture session was over and I was taken to the cells, my face was heavily swollen and my lower lip was torn even further. The Warrant Officer of this morning, Dywili, was a burly man and I was just a tiny, skinny boy, merely 18 years of age! But that’s where the difference ended. My heart and spirit were much, much bigger than a room full of SBs! My first court appearance with my four co-accused, including comrade Tshepo Hope Chiwa, was sometime in September and the case was remanded to October. We were denied bail as were the rest of the others in other cases. We made another appearance in October and we were all informed that the cases against us were withdrawn for further investigation and we were released into the custody of our parents. On my release, I had to consult dr. Wookey due to a pain I felt on my left kidney and I was urinating blood. As a result, I was walking with a mild limp. On examination, the doctor found that there was an injury on my kidney and that was the reason for the blood in the urine. I did relay to him that I had been tortured during my detention by the Security Police. I spent the festive season around home in Galeshewe and it was one of the most memorable times I’ve ever had, so free and so much in love with my sweetheart. Call it puppy love. It matters not. We also had a lot of catching up to do and, you know, life has no guarantees! This also happened to be the time of such great hits like ‘Jesus is love’ by the Commodores, ‘Let Me Be the Clock’ by Smokey Robinson, ‘Upside Down’ by Diana Ross, ‘Marys Boy Child/Oh My Lord’ by Boney M and many more, and I lived out that season to its fullest. It was as if I knew this was to be my last festive season and Christmas as a free human being for the next seven years, seven months and seven days! In January of 1981 we returned to school and the school boycotts were over. We had made a statement to the Apartheid regime and Bantu Education authorities that we would not sit back when things in our beloved country were not right. The general discussion at school was around the school boycotts of the previous year, the general mood being one of excitement for the new year and we were bubbling with energy at the prospect of facing the year head-on! That was to be short-lived. One day on February the 5th, 1981, around 3am, I was asleep at home in the dining-room and heard a knock on the door. My father asked who it was and a White voice bellowed: “Polisie!” [Police!] I woke up and opened the door and it was the SBs! What else could I have done? Hide? Run away? They came in, four of them, two White men and two non-White men. They told my parents that they had come to arrest me and they must pack a few things for me like a facecloth, toothbrush and toothpaste because I was going to be away for a very long time. They were so damn right! They put me away for seven years, seven months and seven days! I only got released from Robben Island on September the 12th, 1988, by default! That date again! Several of us were arrested on that day and taken to Transvaal Road Police Station to the 6th floor where the Security Branch was situated. We were really becoming regular customers of these guys. In the car I was travelling in I was with the late comrade Gaolatlhe Lucky Mokubung, but there was nothing lucky about all this! When we arrived at Transvaal Road Police Station, we were lined up at the basement next to the lifts until all of us arrested that morning had all been accounted for and assembled. The same group as in the previous year was there, with a few additions like comrade Eugene Mokgoasi. We were then taken to the lift, group by group until all of us were at the 6th floor. We were made to understand, in no uncertain terms, that the case of the previous year was reopened and taken over by the Security Branch and that, this time around, we were not going to get away scot-free. We were also made to understand that a new Commander had been brought in from Johannesburg to lead the investigation, a Colonel Olivier, and unlike the Uniform and Detective Police who had made a balls up of the case the previous year, according to them, he was hell-bent on ensuring we were put away for a very, very, very long time! Can you blame the guy? He was simply following orders from high up, doing his job in defence of the fallacy of White supremacy! Not much interrogation took place that day. We slept over at the cells at Transvaal Road Police Station and the next morning we were transferred to different prisons and Police Stations around the Northern Cape. I was taken to Douglas Prison, a brand new prison, where I spent all my time until sometime in early March. Then I was transferred to Belmont Police Station and kept there until the 30th of March when I was charged with two counts of terrorism, together with Neville Sello Motlhabakwe and Eugene. Comrades Nelco Zenzele Hlatshwayo and the late Ben Mlulami Fani were charged with one count each. From the 5th of February until the 30th of March, we were transported almost daily from our various localities for interrogation in Kimberley. We were interrogated from around 8am or 9am each morning until around 4pm in the afternoon when the Security Branch officers went off duty. I was interrogated about my entire involvement in the school boycotts and my involvement in the various attacks on policemen’s houses. This was coupled with torture, helicopter-style, time and time again. All of us were kept under solitary confinement under the notorious Section 6 of the Terrorism Act of 1967 for the duration of our detention. We had no access to visitors or any reading material, kept in cells two and a half metres by two metres in size. I was not aware of my surroundings. The only contact I had with sub-human beings was with my captors when they brought me food or took me away for interrogation. I only became aware that I was not kept alone at Douglas Prison during my exercise time when I saw empty food plates in the courtyard, but I did not know at the time who it was until much, much later. It was the late comrade Donald Tebogo Teaboy Seekoei who was also detained on the same premises. Solitary confinement is one of the worst kinds of torture. It is meant to break your resistance in order to make you cooperate. If you don’t break to the point of cooperating with your captors, and, depending on your resistance to the torture, the other option is to commit suicide if the bastards don’t kill you. Can you imagine a human being staying in a cell as big, or rather as small, as just described, left with nothing else to do except sleep or your own thoughts? But then one can’t sleep the whole day. You are left with nothing else, but your thoughts! The food was also very depressing and appalling: thin porridge with brown sugar and if they varied the menu, it was brown bread with black coffee. So the only way I survived was to have faith in my Living God, entering into direct discussion with Him, asking Him for wisdom, courage, patience and perseverance. I also maintained positive thoughts about my family, about the beautiful things that had happened in my short life, thoughts about my comrades and thoughts about the woman I had left behind, the love of my life. That kept me alive. That’s what kept me going, and the thought that, at the end of all this, there would be a positive ending, there had to be a positive end. I didn’t know when that would be, but I convinced myself there would be an end. I mean, there were also other people who were kept under similar conditions and most of them survived, they made it. Even my comrades were under the same conditions. So I was not alone. Thoughts of these people kept me going. I argued with myself whether all of this was worthwhile and came to understand what prompted me to get involved in the struggle and believe in the correctness of my beliefs. That was consoling and comforting and that kept hope burning inside me. There was no way I was going to allow myself to drift into negative thoughts because that was exactly what my captors were bargaining on. I was not going to give them that satisfaction! My captors tormented and taunted me, telling me the Boers were here to stay and that there was nothing I, or we could do about it. They made example with the Phakamile Mabijas, Steve Bikos, you name them, who died. Died for what? For nothing, as far as they were concerned, they would say, and if I thought that I, we could make any difference, then we should think again. So all of these things I debated with myself and somewhere along the way, I found a reason to live and survive the notorious Section 6! I found a reason to live and hanged onto it with all my body, mind and soul. So it went on until I was transferred from Douglas Prison to Belmont Police Station, a very small Police Station, with about three cells. I was kept in one of the cells. It was different because it was much better than the very, very confined space I had been kept in, with only a sponge mattress to keep me company and a Bible. The meals were also finger licking good this time around. I mean they were specially prepared. The Station Commander at the time was a White Warrant Officer and his second-in-command was a non-White guy who, at the time, I had a good relationship with because he would allow me to clean my cell, which was one way of exercising, and also to stand a few seconds outside just to be able to enjoy the sun, which I had not really seen much of since I was detained. My captors continued to visit me, asking me about my stay, the food I was getting, whether I was satisfied with the sleeping arrangements, etc. I told them I was okay because I saw no point in complaining. How the hell could they ask me all this when they knew exactly the conditions I was in? They were busy taunting me and I was not going to play along. I kept myself busy reading the Bible they had provided me. I read it three times from beginning to end because I had nothing else to do. Then I started to read it selectively and could identify with some inspirational texts in it just to keep me going when things were getting tough or on those days when I was just feeling down. There was another way I kept myself busy. The Police Station was situated next to the railway line connecting Kimberley and Cape Town and the only other noises I could hear was when a train was passing by. I would peep through the window and look at each train. I observed that the trains had names in front of them like Mariet [Afrikaner woman’s name] and I kept record of their movements on a daily basis. They were moving between Johannesburg and Cape Town. At one point I designed a time-table and could tell which train was about to pass at what time. I also asked the non-White Police officer what day of the week it was so I could keep track of the days again. That way I could tell at what time a particular train would be passing and which day of the week it was! Then one day, things went awfully wrong and all hell broke loose! The reason for all this was because I had flunked my test during the confession I went to make on February the 13th before Magistrate JA Coetzee of Hopetown! Colonel Olivier was very angry with me, really pissed off by my “antics”. So he had my sponge mattress removed and replaced with a very thin felt mattress. Fortunately it was still summer. He also had my Bible removed and I was left with only myself. All of this because I ended up not making a confession, but telling the magistrate I was not interested! Colonel Olivier told me the others had made confessions and I was refusing, thinking I was clever. I was just telling them lies, lies and more lies and being uncooperative, and for that I was getting my just punishment. The physical torture had stopped when I was transferred to Belmont Police Station and the Security Police were now busy with the emotional torture. Stricter controls were now enforced. Specific instructions were given to the Station Commander to ensure life was made miserable for me. On 13/02/81 at 14h04 I was brought to the office of Mr A. Coetzee, Magistrate of the district of Hopetown, by two White policemen whose names I have forgotten. One of them remained outside whilst the other took me into the office. The name of the one who took me in was, conveniently, omitted from the statement. Thereafter the policeman left the office. The doors and windows were closed, which thing I did not even notice, and there was no one else in the office except myself and the magistrate. I did not require the services of an interpreter because I told the magistrate that I wanted to speak in English and asked if he did understand English, to which he responded in the positive. Mr Coetzee introduced himself as a magistrate, indicating that he had absolutely nothing to do with the investigation against me, that he was not working with the Police or any other person on the case [absolute rubbish] and that I could speak freely and without fear in his presence. He further warned me that I was under no obligation to make a statement, but should I make one, it would be noted whilst I spoke and could be used at a later stage in court, by its mere submission, as evidence against me. Thereupon he asked me if I thoroughly understood this warning, to which I responded in the affirmative. On the basis of this, the magistrate deduced that I was in my full senses and normal and went ahead to ask me if I still wished to make the statement, despite the fact that it could be used as evidence against me by its mere submission, to which I responded ‘Yes’. Thereupon Mr Coetzee asked me to explain, in my own words, how it happened that I came to his office to narrate my story. I informed him that I was arrested and when I was asked, by the Security Police, if I wanted to make a confession, I said “Yes, I want to”. The policemen then brought me to his office from Douglas prison where I was kept incommunicado. Thereafter he posed the following questions to me: Do you have any injuries or bruises of whatever nature and, if they are visible, show them to me? No nothing. Tell me how you acquired the injuries which you showed to me? Not applicable. Did the Police or any other person assault or threaten you with a view of influencing you to make a confession before me? No. Were you influenced by any person in order to make a statement before me? No. Were you encouraged by any person or forced to make this statement before me? No. Were any promises or any compensation offered to you or promised in order to influence you in your decision to make a statement before me? Captain van Wyk told me if I make a confession maybe they’ll make me a State witness. Do you expect any benefits if you make a statement before me? Yes. (If the deponent indicates that he expects to benefit, it must be established from him what the nature of the benefit or benefits are and this must be noted). Maybe I won’t get a heavy punishment. Hereupon Mr Coetzee informed me that I could not expect any benefits of whatever nature from whomever if I made the statement. I then told him if that was a fact then I was not interested in telling him the whole story. He then enquired from me whether I was still willing to make a statement, despite the fact that I could not expect any benefits whatsoever, to which I responded ‘No’. The whole exercise was stopped right there. Mr Coetzee told me to wait outside his office whilst he conferred with the policeman who brought me there. Thereafter I was taken back to Douglas. On our way back, the policemen were furious and wanted to know why I said the things I said to the magistrate. I told them I did not think those things would cause any problems and also told the magistrate we could go ahead, but he said we could not. They then told me that I was in deep shit because Colonel Olivier would not be pleased in the least. And indeed he was not, but did I care? No, I didn’t and was prepared to face whatever consequences. And, of course, I did face those consequences and is still alive today to “tell my story”.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 15:40:16 +0000
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