JUNE 1976 Tribute Book (2) Ebook

7June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue The Letter “With time, I got to understand that the issue around Afrikaans was a deliberate attempt by the apartheid regime to take control of our education and our lives.” – Former Naledi High School student Enos Ngutshane. As the story of Naledi High School unfolds, there is one character that is constantly mentioned: Enos Ngutshane. When I finally get the opportunity to sit down with him, it is with much anticipation and excitement. We meet over a cup of tea at Naledi High School in Soweto on a Saturday morning. On this occasion, the tea is served with township scones baked by Ms Keneilwe Losaba, a parent, school governing body member, and the local baked cakes supplier in the neighborhood. Remarkably, Losaba is a former student of Naledi High School herself and her children are also learners at the school. But it is her baking skills that has formed a strong bond between Losaba and myself. 99

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe As far as the interview is concerned, there are no formalities needed as I have been working with Ngutshane and his wife, Ann, for some time now in preparation for the school’s 50th Anniversary celebrations. And I have come to admire Enos and the way he conducts himself; both as a husband and father. Below is how Ngutshane shares his story: Life in Zola Township Soweto “I was born in the shantytown of Masakeng, a slum that was established by community leader James “Sofasonke” Mpanza in defiance of the Group Areas Act. I am the third of eleven children. At the age of two, my family moved to Moroka and later to deep Soweto, to Zola. What is strange about my childhood is that all of my siblings, except me, were sent to the then Eastern Transvaal, now known as Mpumalanga, to be raised by my grandparents. My father was of the idea that I needed to be with him all the time in Soweto as he did not want me to trouble his parents, which had sent a disconcerting message to my young mind. “My schooling started at the time when the system of education was changing from alphabets to vowels in the lower grades. My father had put in a lot of effort in preparing me for school, teaching me the 26 alphabets in the old-fashioned way (A, B, C… and so on). Meanwhile, back at the school, the teacher was teaching me differently, as we had to start with the five vowels (A, E, I, O, U…). Of course, my father being a lay person, did not know about the Primary School Curriculum and the changes that were taking place. His efforts had created a lot of confusion, frustration and resentment which had gradually grown into 100

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue rebelliousness on my side. Coupled with this was the fact that my home language was a mixture of my mother’s Sepedi and my father’s Swati language. These were not prominent township languages in Zola, then. My parents did not have an agreement on our official family languages, either; and that had left me to be embattled with a mixture of many languages, to the amusement of other children. As a result, I was nicknamed ‘Mchacks’ – meaning ‘Mshangane’ for a XiTsonga-speaking person. “That nickname had then emerged from this debacle and the confusion with the different local languages. This struggle with the languages was to also cost me an extra year at school. Thankfully, with the help of good teachers like Mrs Zwane and Mrs Mxasa at Busisiwe Primary School in Zola, I managed to move up, onto the next grade. “Zola was a notorious part of Soweto, and was full of criminal elements, including the Basotho criminals, who were known as ma-Russia. Individuals who were different always stood out. My father’s insinuation of me being a troubled child came to be true as I got involved with the negative elements of the crime- infested community of Zola. Fortunately, it was never the heavy crime of murders and robbery that I got caught up with; just petty fights, which – unfortunately – led to my arrest. I spent a few grueling months at the Johannesburg Fort Prison, which was also commonly -referred to as ‘Number Four’ then. It was also an experience that had made me look at life from a different perspective altogether. The four families of the children who had been involved in the arrest and incarceration had managed to negotiate an agreement 101

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe with the affected parties and the charges, which were dropped, ultimately. I remember the day we were released. It was a Wednesday afternoon and Saturday was Christmas day, that month. The timing couldn’t have been better. I was thankful and filled with remorse, as well. It is against this background that I began to seriously view my surroundings in a different light. So every afternoon, I began to notice two school girls, Thandi Dladla and Pinky Solonsi, walking by on our street after school. It was not their looks or their immaculate black and white Naledi High School uniform that had grabbed my attention, but the spoken language. These two Naledi High School students were expressing themselves eloquently in English. Those days, the use of spoken English was very rare in our townships. Every afternoon, my friend and I would walk behind these two ladies, and we would eavesdrop on their conversations, and we would also try to mimic what they were saying. From then on, I was bitten by the bug of the English language. Later in my life, writings by crime thrillers author James Hadley Chase became the novels of choice for me. I would read a lot; trying to beat the language confusion that had hounded me for many years. English was later to open doors for me to enable me to debate and exchange ideas with my fellow students. Those who read books and novels for leisure also belonged to the debating team at Naledi High School. Being at the school under the leadership of Mr Rudolph Mtimkulu had also perfected my grooming even further. 102

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue Leadership and Political Grooming “At this time, the atmosphere in the township was already influenced by several movements. One of them being the Latin American Gustavo Gutiérrez movement type of liberation theology. It is the liberation theology that drove us to the Christian youth clubs. This is also the reason why the church had played such an important role in liberating us. In Mozambique, the Frelimo guerilla war was coming to an end. And, in South Africa, the Black Consciousness Movement had taken over. We all came from the Black Consciousness teachings. The movement was driven by Steve Biko, Abram Tiro and others. They were talking about self-respect and ‘Black Power’ – telling us that it was possible for us to stand up on our own, and that we should challenge the regime and liberate ourselves. “By this time, Naledi High School was a popular school that was attracting students from all parts of Soweto, including places as far as Kagiso. One of these students, Puleng Muso, later became the director at the West Rand District Health Department. We had monthly sessions at the Naledi Community Hall, where eminent people and esteemed guest speakers were invited by the principal to address students on a variety of topical issues. Some of the topics that come to mind are; etiquette, health, hygiene, entrepreneurship, accounting and financial management. People including Dr Motlana, Mrs Sally Motlana and Dr Matlhare were regular guest speakers. Having acquired these basic skills, at home I was entrusted with managing my father’s bank book and the local 103

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe neighborhood stokvel’s kitty. Clearly, these talks were empowering, as I came to realise later in life. For one who had been raised by absentee parents, this information about life orientation skills was critical for me. My father was employed as a truck driver and drove long distances, while my mother worked for long hours as a domestic worker in places such as Newclare, Melville and Rosettenville. Late in my teens, I was recruited by Sibongile Mthembu and Ntando Gxuluwe to join the Teen Outreach Youth Club in Naledi. It was at the Teen Outreach Youth Club where I got an opportunity to acquire more skills, such as public speaking, management and leadership and understanding group dynamics. The youth Club was established by Reverend Nehru Raboroko and was based at the International Assemblies of God Church building in Naledi. Reverend Raboroko is presently running a counselling centre at Naledi High School. “As I have mentioned, already, I enjoyed reading, as my father was reading the freely-distributed Apartheid propaganda journals such as Intuthuko and Tswelelopele. I, on the other hand, would be reading religious journals that were addressing Christianity, poverty, discrimination and Liberation Theology. These magazines gave me a glimpse of the world beyond the world that Apartheid was then defining and presenting to us; which was a world that was defined by where you should be walking, for example, not on the pavement but on the street, with cars, because the pavement was for white people. This would also be about where we should stand in the queue at the bank or post office, especially not in the same queue as white people; as 104

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue well as which public toilets to use, particularly not the ones which would have been designated for white people. This was an abnormal society, and it needed to be changed by us, for ourselves. “I moved quickly within the confines of leadership at Teen Outreach Youth Clubs, and up to the point of being elected as the president in 1975. The Teen Outreach and Youth Alive movements in Dube were great youth organisations in Soweto that really transformed our thinking as the youth. My role and responsibilities were also growing as I became more active in the local political structures. When David Kutumela joined Naledi High School, he mobilised us to join the South African Student Movement, SASM, and he even assisted us in establishing a branch at Naledi High School. I was later elected as the secretary of the newly-formed local branch of the South African Student Movement, SASM. In the meanwhile, the Christian Youth Clubs were taking a different direction and were getting more politicised and outspoken. They were driven by the liberation theology. This was meant to ensure that all South Africans had a right to vote. And that was our main aim! Liberation Theology and Home-Based Prayer Meetings “The turning point in my life was a series of experiences with different individuals and organisations. But what had really impacted my thinking was the advent of the Liberation Theology in the seventies. The Peruvian priest and theologian, Gustavo Gutierrez, who was then regarded as the father of Liberation Theology, had believed that theology had 105

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe to address itself to the social and political concerns of Latin America by learning from the attempts of the poor to liberate themselves from the various oppressive structures. He had then challenged the church to accept the demands of the New Testament and to involve itself in the struggles of the poor; that is, consciousness-raising evangelism. This teaching had appealed to me as it emphasised the worth and dignity of the individual in the sight of God. Through the Teen Outreach activities, we organised home-based prayer meetings. These meetings became a safe way, without the harassment of the police, for us to educate and awaken the youth. The sermons were compelling and persuasive, even if I might say so, myself. Unbeknown to me, the soil was being prepared for the Struggle, and possibly a revolutionary transformation. During the students’ uprisings in 1976, it was after these prayer meetings that some of the attacks against the regime were planned and executed. I remember one incident, in particular, where a police convoy at the corner of Naledi and Zola was attacked with a petrol bomb. After that mission, we immediately washed our hands and went straight to the prayer meeting at Pule Pule’s place in Emndeni. The sermons were appealing to both the parents and the youth; and some of the parents even took it upon themselves to coordinate these prayer meetings. From then on, my whole life and the sermons that I used to preach at the Youth Clubs, became an embodiment of the concept of Liberation Theology. Surprisingly, after more than thirty years, I still meet up with some of the members of the clubs, who still remember those sermons. The sermons, which were then popular, had emphasised 106

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue the character of God in relation to our circumstances: a God of justice and equality in whose eyes there was no racial preference and prejudice. People understood, and could even relate to this God and easily dismiss the propaganda that was fed to them by the then male- dominated Christian Calvinist, colonial paternalistic and Apartheid churches. In other words, a propaganda that was spiritualising and justifying the injustices of Apartheid. “As we continued to preach and raise awareness, the communities were beginning to question the motives of the European-dominated church leaders and the ruling Apartheid government elite. Apartheid legislation and regulations that were offensive to human dignity were now being challenged, openly. The building of tennis courts and showers at Zola and surrounding townships became a perfect example. Overnight, our communities woke up to these funny structures with indoor showers. In the meantime, our matchbox-size houses had no electricity and decent sanitation. According to the Apartheid regime and its Urban Bantu Councils – who were then disparagingly nicknamed Useless Boys Choir – one was expected to walk some kilometres to access a shower at the tennis courts. “The prayer meetings, on the other hand, continued to flourish, giving the communities an opportunity to discuss ideas of a democratic society at grassroot level. At school, my role outside the classroom was that of a self-appointed caretaker for some of my schoolmates at my home, providing them with meals at lunch breaks. The local corner shop owner also contributed to this informal outreach programme, giving me stock 107

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe at no cost and trusting me to provide for the needy schoolmates. The grocery list was nothing fancy; just a standardized package of bread, tinned fish, baked beans, tea and sugar. Afrikaans as a Medium of Instruction “My reaction to the announcement by the Apartheid regime that Afrikaans was to be used as a medium of instruction in our schools was that of confusion and frustration. It left me disillusioned, and – as a result – I could not even stay behind for my usual extramural activities on that day. Walking back home in that state, lots of questions had arisen. Trying to make sense and find clarity around this senseless instruction, I had struggled, mostly, with its motive. We saw this as a second blow to our wishes of achieving our educational goals. The first surprise had come up when all the so-called Zulu students including myself – most of whom were the students from Zola, Emndeni and other areas, except Naledi – were forcefully removed from Naledi High School to the newly-built Dr W Vilakazi Secondary School. “What does it mean to have Afrikaans as a medium of instruction? How is this going to be implemented? How is it going to work? What about the teachers? Are the teachers going to be trained so that they are able to teach in Afrikaans? Why is it imposed on us; and who is the mastermind behind this outrageous decision? My mind was riddled with questions. “I was convinced that whoever it was who had come up with this regulation did not understand the dynamics of the learning environment in township schools. Particularly because Afrikaans was then a 108

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue language that we hardly spoke beyond Die Praktiese Taal, the Afrikaans textbook. At Naledi High School, we only had one teacher who was proficient in Afrikaans, and that was Mr Modisane. He only spoke Afrikaans, while the rest of the teachers were struggling with Afrikaans and some even with English, as well. My innocent mind had further convinced me that we really had a ridiculous government; one that was bent on frustrating us in order to turn us into slaves. Consumed by this internal dialogue, I had suddenly found myself at home. Unconscious of the distance I had just walked and of my surroundings, I threw my briefcase on the dining room table as soon as I had arrived at my home. I had then made myself a cup of tea and a slice of bread with mixed fruit jam, the typical afternoon township student lunch. After I had gobbled up my lunch I went back to the intense dialogue that I was having with myself. Alone in the house, with nobody to share this senseless pronouncement, my spirit was now tormented. I kept on coming back to the same conclusion: Someone needs to know how we feel about Afrikaans as a medium of instruction. Writing the Letter As an office-bearer in various organisations, I wrote letters all the time. With no cellphones or e-mails back then, letters were a primary means of communication. So, my first instinct was to write a letter to someone about the situation that was confronting us. But to whom was I supposed to address this letter? Unfamiliar with the dynamics of Apartheid government structures, and with no concept of government the different Ministers’ portfolios; all I had thought that I needed was an address in Pretoria. 109

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe The name that came to my mind was that of the Minister of Education. My parents' four-seater dining room table, which was also my study desk, and a place to sleep under when we had visitors, was – at this time – providing for a well-deserved place for my mission to write the letter. The four-leg Pilot radio system on the wall below the six-panel window, was gazing at me, wishing to entertain me with my favourite radio story…‘Ukubuya kuka Ntsaka Ntsaka ye Daemane’. At that moment, however, I had no time for that particular nonsense. ‘Of course,’ I had thought to myself, ‘It is too early to listen to the Zulu drama series, as it is only broadcast at night.’ From the look of things, my surroundings had seemed not to be in sync with my plight, and could not provide any solace to my predicament. So, I grabbed my blue pen and began to write: Dear Sir By enforcing Afrikaans as a medium of instruction in our school, you are now creating a big problem for us, as black students. You are now closing a door for us to continue with acquiring decent education. Afrikaans is not our mother language and it’s a language that we find difficult to understand. We are not going to have Afrikaans as a medium of instruction in our school. It is just not possible. Our language preference is English and nothing else. (I finish off my short letter with the necessary salutation.) Sincerely yours Enos Ngutshane Naledi High School. 110

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue I had then signed off with a proper signature and the relevant address at the top, as would have been required of an official letter. It is important to note that, although the letter had been written in simple English, which I could master at that time, it was a letter that was raising legitimate issues and was meant to enlighten the authorities about our predicament as black students. At that stage, I did not see the problem as a national problem. In my mind, it was only Soweto which was being affected by this problem. I also did not see any danger in appending my personal details on the letter, because it was raising genuine concerns. Also being oblivious of any political overtones, I did not foresee the negative response which was to come from the Apartheid regime, later, as well as the brutality of its notorious ‘Special Branch’ – in its reaction to the letter. To me, it was a huge language problem for us, as black students, and the teachers. On a personal level, it was yet another bad language experience, one that was going to impact on my life, negatively, like the language problems I had when I started my schooling at Busisiwe Primary School, back in 1963. Having finished writing the letter, I went to my meagre cash flow and took three cents and sealed the envelope. And then, off I went, to Kwa-Xuma Post Office in Jabulani, where the Jabulani Shopping Mall is now situated. In the evening, I shared my concerns about the Afrikaans issue with my father, who dismissed me with the usual crippling fear of the Apartheid regime. His response was, ‘Uyabona manje; usukela amabhunu.’ (You see, now; you are inviting trouble from the Boers). Back at the school, the issue of Afrikaans had created a buzz, and I found out that everybody else 111

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe was as concerned as I was. The introduction of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction was no longer a personal issue. “Everyone else was just as troubled. Events were now developing very fast. The students were mobilising to resist the regime, and to do everything else to protect their education. The general feeling was that Afrikaans as a medium of instruction was going to mean the end for us. No education, no life and no future. We took a stand and made a declaration to resist and fight the system of Bantu Education and the imposition of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction in our schools. On 7 June 1954, Dr Hedrick Verwoerd had addressed the Apartheid Government Senate, clarifying the position of the Nationalist Party regarding Bantu Education, by saying: “My Department’s policy is that Bantu Education should stand with both feet in the reserves (Bantustans) and have its roots in the spirit of being a Bantu society. Bantu Education must be able to give itself complete expression and there it will be called upon to perform real service. The Bantu must be guided to serve his own community in all respects. There is no place for him in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour, within his community. However, all doors are open…Until now, he has been subjected to a school system which drew him away from his own community and misled him by showing him the green pasture of European society in which he was not allowed to graze” Dr Verwoerd continued with his oppressive speech and his destructive mission, aimed at black South Africans, by saying: “The general aims… are to transform education for natives into Bantu Education... 112

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue A Bantu pupil must obtain knowledge, skills and attitudes which will be useful and advantageous to him and at the same time beneficial to the community… The school must equip him to meet the demands which economic life of South Africa will impose on him… What is the use of teaching a Bantu child mathematics when he cannot use it in practice...That is absurd! Education is after all not something that hangs in the air.” The Visit by Police ‘Special Branch’ “With time, I got to understand that the issue around Afrikaans was a deliberate attempt by the Apartheid regime to take control of our education and our lives. I had completely forgotten about the letter and the focus was now on taking the regime head-on through other means. It is against this background that the special branch of the South African Police came to my home in Zola on a Saturday morning to arrest me. The African policeman and his white counterpart asked me to accompany them to the Protea Police Station for questioning. I quickly recalled that one of the issues that were frequently discussed in our meetings was the importance of a warrant of arrest, which they did not have. I therefore refused to accompany them. They finally left, leaving me with my bitterly shaken father. The old man was greatly disappointed about my involvement in a matter that he thought was totally beyond me. The whole debacle had quickly turned me into a ‘terrorist’. ‘Se wenzene manje?’ (What have you done, now?) – My shaken old man kept on asking me, over and over. A few weeks following the police visit at my place, they decided to be brave enough and drove their yellow 113

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe VW Beetle into our school to arrest me. It was a slightly warm Tuesday morning on 8 June 1976 when Mr Molope, the headmaster, walked into my classroom with a concerned look: “There are two policemen in my office, a white and an African policeman, they are looking for you.” I promised to follow him immediately, requesting for a few minutes to gather my books. On second thoughts, I left my school bag in the classroom and followed the principal to his office. As I walked into the principal’s office, I found Stephanus Bekker and another black policeman pacing around in the little office. Bekker immediately instructed me to collect my school bag from the classroom. Before going to the classroom, I alerted Tseke Morathi and Tebello Motapanyane about the presence of the policemen and about their intention. Morathi and Motapanyane quickly hatched a plan and told me to go back to classroom and wait for ten minutes before going to the principal’s office, where Bekker was anxiously waiting for me. After ten minutes had lapsed, I walked out of classroom and, suddenly, the school siren went off! The whole school came out and almost all the students shouted in one voice: ‘You are not going anywhere!’ “I briefly went into the principal’s office, where Bekker was waiting for his intended prisoner. I recognised the African policeman who was standing outside the principal’s office as the same man who had come with Bekker to arrest me at my home a few week earlier. I entered the office and Bekker was excited to see that his prisoner was ready to hand himself over. His excitement was short-lived, though. As Bekker was 114

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue saying his ‘goodbyes’ to Mr Molope, the African policeman burst into the Principal’s office and told Bekker the sad news. He informed his boss, ‘The yellow VW Beetle has been overturned and it’s on fire.’ “Bekker ran for the telephone and called for reinforcements from his bosses at the John Vorster Square Police Station in the Johannesburg city centre. In that panic and confusion, I saw an opportunity to escape from the hands of the regime. Bekker had totally forgotten about restraining his prisoner. The space in the principal’s office became too small for the four of all four of us: two panicking policemen, the principal and myself. It was then that I realised that I was a free man, and that I was definitely not Bekker’ prisoner anymore. As I was not handcuffed, I simply said goodbye to Bekker and left the principal’s office. “Bekker and his African colleague were totally powerless and there was nothing they could do. As I walked outside, the jubilant students were singing Struggle songs and chanting political slogans. I was lifted sky-high by my fellow students and I immediately instructed that the phone line must be cut off. Even though I was free, for a moment, a strange feeling had engulfed me, and I felt as if I was entrapped in a dungeon with the Apartheid regime. “The next question that was asked by the now triumphant crowd was how we would deal with Bekker and his Black colleague. It was at that time that the reinforcement that had been requested by Bekker earlier had arrived, and positioned the ‘Sneeze Machine’ directly in front of where we – the students – were standing. There was commotion and confusion 115

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe as the ‘Sneeze Machine’ was unleashed on us. More police vehicles arrived as we ran away into the township. Most of us had forgotten that there was a second gate which we could have used for our escape from the police. “Some of the students jumped over the fence behind the school as we thought it was a safer place from where we could make our escape. With two policemen nearly killed, I later realised the extent of yet another problem. I wondered how I was going to present the incident to my parents. Unaware at the time, that my mother had already heard all about it at Naledi Station on her way back from work. But she was oblivious of the fact that it was her son who was at the centre of the burnt police vehicle. During the day, fellow student Frank Chikane had tracked me down to warn me not to sleep at home that evening. Noting my innocence and ignorance about going underground, he pointed out the dangers to me in a very explicit manner that made me understand that I had no choice but to go underground. “This was my first experience of life as a fugitive within South Africa and later a refugee in a number of neighbouring countries. When I arrived in the United Kingdom in 1985, the British government gave me a Passbook and immediately declared my nationality as being ‘stateless’. It was for historical purposes that I decided that I would take the British Passbook back to Tanzania and, one day, back to South Africa as proof that the British Government had discriminated against us. The British authorities had instructed me in no uncertain terms to leave the document with the British Police when I left the country. 116

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue I still have the document. Torture at Protea Police Station “After a few weeks of keeping a low profile after the VW beetle police incident, on 14 June 1976, I took a chance and visited my mother. Very much against her will, as she was scared that the police would kill me. This had proved to be a terrible mistake! In the early hours of the morning, I heard my mother's voice pleading: ‘Please don’t beat him and kill him.’ Before I could understand what was going on, Bekker was standing next to my bed. I was bundled into a police van and driven to the Protea Police Station. The experience of police brutality has always been something that I had only read and heard about. Things were about to take an agonising and ugly turn with the now triumphant Stephanus Bekker. On arrival at the police station, four huge Afrikaner policemen were waiting for me. My training was such that there was no way I was going to release any information to the Apartheid regime. The first few questions that I was asked had included why I had burnt the police vehicle and why I had threatened to kill the two policemen. Of course, my response was that, when the car was burned, I was still in the principal’s office. They also wanted the names of the other leaders together with whom we were involved in the Struggle. My answers were not what they were looking for, and therefore they thought they could use force to extract some information from me. “My hands were handcuffed at the back and a plastic bag was placed over my head. A broom stick was placed over my back between my elbows. With my 117

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe knees bent over another broomstick, I was lifted and left to crush on the concrete floor, repeatedly. This was a common form of torture by the South African Police, and many of us still carry the scars in the form of permanent back injuries. Seeing that the trick was not delivering what they were expecting, the plastic bag was removed from my head and I was blindfolded. A certain object was placed behind my ears and a cloth was pushed into my mouth. What followed was a severe explosion in my body that had left me breathless. My tongue was expanding, my cluttering teeth were cutting my tongue, and blood was oozing out of my mouth. As I was refusing to succumb to their questioning, they resorted to even more brutal means of torture. An empty oil barrel, which was filled with water was brought in and two police officers grabbed my neck and pushed my head into the barrel. My head was submerged in the water, then pulled out, barely giving me enough seconds to catch my breath. This was repeated a few more times. Unable to breathe while I was inhaling the water, I blacked out and woke up hours later on the wet floor. The police officers had realised that my injuries were severe and decided that I must be taken to the Brixton Murder and Robbery Squad in Brixton, Johannesburg to recover and not be allowed to have visitors. I was locked in a solitary cell and due to my injuries, I could not walk or crawl. My first appearance in court was on 16 June 1976, when Soweto was already on fire. Two days after my appearance in court, Bekker instructed his security police officers to bring me back to the Protea Police Station for further questioning and torture. This time, their questioning was focused around student leader 118

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue Tsietsi Mashinini, and I told the police officers that I did not know any Tsietsi Mashinini, and that I had never met him. Indeed, I had never met Tsietsi Mashinini; I had only heard of him while I was in jail on the day of the march. “Having recovered while I was at the Brixton Murder and Robbery Squad, I appeared at Protea Magistrate’s Court for the second time. This time around, I was not alone; nine other people that I had never met before, were appearing with me. After appearing briefly, we were all charged with Public Violence, and we were immediately taken to the Fort Prison. Later on, I learnt that the other nine people were innocent workers who were arrested while returning from work on the day of the march. I realised that the police had blundered by putting me together with workers. Seeing an opportunity that had presented itself so conveniently, I had then pretended that I, too, had been arrested on the same day as the workers. On our second appearance, all of us – ‘workers’ – were released because of lack of evidence. “The situation outside was still very volatile and we had to continue with the Struggle and the process of building capacity within the Soweto Student Representative Council, SSRC. We intensified the boycott of classes and the writing of the Apartheid exams. In one of the Apartheid Parliamentary sessions, Mrs Helen Suzman posed a question to the Minister of Police, Jimmy Kruger, about the youth who had started all the trouble at Naledi High School on 8 June 1976. In his response Jimmy Kruger simply said: ‘The youth has been spirited away.’ 119

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe “The South African police never gave up on me. They were relentless in tracking me down. On one Saturday morning, they sent the notorious ‘Mathanzima Bantustan Police’ to my home, who ransacked the house and left it in a shocking state. As I was coming home to check on my mother, I found her disturbed and terrified. She tried to stop me at the gate so that I could not see the mess in the house. I went in, briefly, and left immediately. The police also used the local ‘Makgotla’ – vigilantes – who called themselves ‘Amadoda Omuzi’, as informers. With this, the Apartheid government had finally succeeded in turning us against each other. And for this reason, many lives were lost. “It was after a year of being underground and on the run that I had decided to cross the border to Swaziland and into Mozambique and later proceeded to Tanzania. On my return on Friday 30 November 1990, a convoy of taxis picked me up from the airport to a waiting and jubilant group in Zola. The rest of my life in exile and my return to South Africa will be told in a different book. Celebrating fifty years of existence of the school is an opportunity to entrench the legacy of Naledi High School; to acclaim the milestones which have been achieved by the school, teachers, students, parents and the community of Naledi. Standing here, on these historical grounds, and looking at the Sports Complex Precinct, the Museum and the Wall of Remembrance – which has been specially teacher and students who lost their lives in a bus disaster that had occurred in Mozambique – entrenches the legacy of this superlative school. 120

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue All these symbols are a stark reminder to the people of South Africa that: Our struggle was not in vain!” 121

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe 122

8June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue 16th June 1976 “Looking back, my fate was politics. Many times, I kept asking myself, ‘Am I supposed to be part of this?’ But, here I was, as a classmate to Khotso Seatlholo, who was a bosom friend to my cousin, Mzwakhe Matshobane, and who was very close to Tsietsi Mashinini. Their Black Consciousness philosophy rubbed off me and influenced me, greatly. I was touched by these people and embroiled in the movement.” – Former Naledi High School student Oupa Ngwenya. My next interview brought me into contact with another journalist, Oupa Ngwenya, who was also a Naledi High School alumnus. At the time of our chat, Ngwenya was the stakeholder relations and communication manager at the Mandela children’s Fund, while also working as newspaper columnist and a social commentator. He is well-known and much-loved for his artistic and poetic skills with words. I was soon to find out that he was also an eloquent storyteller and I became moved by his profound wisdom, insight, humour and deep compassion. The following, below is Ngwenya’s story: 123

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe Meeting Khotso Seatlholo “I came to Naledi High School in March 1976 after I was expelled within two months of admission at Ohlange High School in KwaZulu-Natal. The expulsion had come about because of my disagreement with the body master concerning the orientation of newcomers, which was referred to as ‘treatment’. This ‘treatment’ was then regarded as a norm by some and amusing by others, but I had found this whole treatment as being savage and cruel. It had seemed strange to me that the authorities would allow this to happen. So I thought I should make them aware of the situation. The body master did nothing about it, so I reported him to the headmaster, Mr Ngcobo. I was unaware that the headmaster, himself, had no power over the body master and was fearful of him. ‘If you step on the toes of the body master, it will be the end of your journey at this school,’ the other students had warned me. Indeed, soon thereafter, I was expelled. “I now find myself back at home at Mofolo in Soweto in the middle of the first school term. This was not part of the plan, I keep thinking to myself, over and over again. Desperate to find me a school, my uncle recalled a neighbourhood friend who was a school principal. After a long search, we finally traced him to the local shebeen in White City Jabavu, Soweto. In those days, shebeens were not just drinking places, but places where intellectuals, leaders and journalists met up for discussions and debates; a place where fierce and real conversations took place. As it turns out, we find not one, but two school principals at this shebeen, Mr Mathabathe and Mr Molope. 124

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue As I recollect the encounter with the principals, the direction of the meeting takes the form of a bid at an auction; the necessary conditions were very simple: I listen to what each of them have to say about their school, and I then make my choice between the two schools. “Mr Mathabathe is first to go: ‘Well, my school is not very far from your home. You can actually walk. The name is Morris Isaacson High School. The girls wear colourful navy blue and yellow tunics and, may I mention that they are beautiful! We start at seven and finish at four.’ “Mr Molope is next with a counter-offer: ‘Mine is very far from here, but you can travel by train. If you catch the 06h30 train, you will be at school by 06h45, just in time for the morning class. Even though the tunics are not as colourful, black and white, the girls at Naledi High School are equally beautiful! On Fridays, once a month, the school hosts dialogues. These sessions are a platform to interact with high profile members of the community on stimulating, mind- challenging topics. These take about two hours and are held at the Naledi Community Hall, which is just around the corner from the school.’ “Both their offers were only valid until the next day, which had put me in a tight corner. I was told that I needed to present myself at my choice of school the following morning, forgetting that I was still awaiting my luggage that was still in transit from Ohlange. “The following morning, there I was, at Naledi High School, looking and feeling very odd in my yellow shirt and green trousers. 125

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe Mr Molope found me waiting and allocated me a class, looking clearly disappointed that I had missed the morning class. In the classroom, I identified a vacant two-seater desk at which I am later joined by another student. Scared of the unknown and disappointed with myself for the unanticipated change of plans, I say to myself, ‘I am now in Soweto, when I was supposed to be in Ohlange, KwaZulu-Natal.’ The thought kept coming back to my mind. My desk mate turns out to be a warm welcoming friendly boy by the name of Sidney Seatlholo. “Our strange, round-about introduction went in the following manner: ‘Ke tla re ngwenya ke mang?” (Whom do we call you, mate?) – Asks Sidney. ‘Ke Ngwenya!’ (I am Ngwenya!) – I respond. Thinking that I am pulling his leg, he tries again. ‘I am serious, Monna; ngwenya ke mang?’ ‘Ke Ngwenya!’ I respond, once again. We went on around this dance around the moniker – ‘ngwenya’ – which was also the local honorary salutation, and – ‘Ngwenya’ – being my surname; until he realised that I was, indeed, Ngwenya! We finally agreed that I would, from then onwards, be referred to as ‘Ngwenya-Ngwenya!’ That is how I got to be known as ‘Ngwenya–Ngwenya’. This had then kick-started our friendship on a good note. Sidney Seatlholo, who would be known later as Khotso, was very receptive and went out of his way to make me feel comfortable. “He orientated me during the lunch breaks, and 126

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue showed me places where I could buy tasty, economic meals, as well as giving me the Animal Farm set work so as not to make feel out of place. Being preoccupied with my unprecedented schooling arrangement, farmyard fantasy was exactly what I needed to take my mind off things. “The Students Christian Movement, SCM was very popular, although Seatlholo did not belong to the movement himself. Seatlholo was very articulate and I was soon to discover that he was also held in high esteem by the student leadership in the school. On occasion, he would be allocated time to address the students, like it would be the case for a motivational speaker. “The Friday following the Wednesday that I had started the school was the Dialogue Friday and Seatlholo was asked to give a vote of thanks. The subject was ‘Education Is Not an Empty Box’. Seatlholo’s remarks alluded to the fact that some of the teachers were worse than mechanics, and that some mechanics would make better teachers than most of the teachers in the school. One of the teachers took the remark personally, got offended and walked out. Immediately, my mind took me back to Ohlange High School, and to my encounter with the body master. As a student who had merely objected to the injustice of bullying, my voice had been silenced to extinction. But, here – at Naledi High School – the students had a voice! The discussions proved not to be easily side- tracked into rabbit trails; time and timing were of essence. “Essentially, the dialogues created an opportunity 127

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe to interrogate the reality of our political system; provoked and inpired us to desire to seek more knowledge and insight; and created a platform to tackle tough challenges and enriched relationships with our teachers, regular speakers and fellow students. “Looking back, my fate was politics. Many times, I kept asking myself, ‘Am I supposed to be part of this?’ But, here I was, as a classmate to Khotso Seatlholo, who was a bosom friend to my cousin, Mzwakhe Matshobane, and who was very close to Tsietsi Mashinini. Their Black Consciousness philosophy rubbed off me and influenced me, greatly. I was touched by these people and embroiled in the movement. Collective Student Leadership “The other student I got to know was Enos Ngutshane. I had found him to have a rare combination of a great sense of humour, a good command of the English language and a sense of commitment to the cause of justice. With interests that covered all areas of life, he was an active member of the Student Christian Movement, SCM, Teen Outreach Youth Club and the South African Students Movement, SASM; a truly well-rounded and well- grounded student. The second day at Naledi High School brought me into contact with another student who left a long-lasting impression on me. I had missed my train and arrived late for school and, of course, the gates were closed. The student in question, Popo Molefe, who was serving as the head prefect, was 128

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue managing the gate and I had to plead my case and get my punishment of picking up the papers before going to class. Molefe demonstrated a highly developed intellect and excellent leadership qualities. Being around him, one had an understanding that he was being trained to think, and that he was destined to lead; carrying himself well as the head prefect. By the third day, my impression of the school had changed. It was a school filled with rich quality students and a good sense of collective leadership. “But there was the other side of Naledi High School that was still to be revealed to me; a much darker side. A scuffle broke out between two students during lunch break and there was no intervention from the teachers. I later learned that it was Joe who started the fight. Joe was a fierce character, and was feared by all; the residents, school management and the police. Like me, Joe travelled by train and was the master of the notorious ‘Dumane’ coach, which was usually the last coach at the back of the train. On this particular morning, I got to know that, not only was there good leadership and quality teachers in the school, but that there was also a sense of security. And, for as long as I was in my school uniform, no thugs could touch me; otherwise, they would have to deal with the untouchable Joe from Naledi High School. “Amongst other prominent students, there was also David Kutumela. Kutumela played an ambassadorial role between schools and political organisations, and of refocusing the direction of the different movements. By this time, I was beginning to sense that something was going on, but I did not have my finger firmly on it, 129

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe just yet. But I knew that something was definitely going on. “Then there was Vincent Kgase, the scientist; well- known for applying scientific theories to daily life situations. Kgase would always throw in a theory or two in any discussion; words like momentum, motion, velocity, actions and reactions, which were quite fashionable words at the time. ‘Guys, please consider the consequences of your actions; allow for the whole thing to gain momentum,’ he would caution as strategies were being planned. Even on the critical day, 8 June 1976, when police had come to arrest Ngutshane, Kgase had summoned us in his usual scientific flair: ‘Guys, there is some action that is taking place at the principal’s office and it requires our reaction.’ “Outside of school, my evening meetings at the shebeen were beginning to take a serious shape. Now a fully-fledged member of the inner circle of my elders, including school principals, and our relationship had to be redefined, albeit bordered with great respect. These meetings exposed me to intellectual reasoning, debates, the mobilisation of activities and the different strategies of engaging the department of education. I marveled at these discussions and gained an insight of the underground planning that was going on. Belle Primary School in Orlando West was the meeting place. It is for this reason that Reverend Chikane used to refer to the school principals as the ‘MKs’ of the education system. “Seatlholo, on the other hand, had now taken me up as his protégé; taking trouble to explain politics to 130

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue me, on a deeper level. ‘Ngwenya, you have to realise that this is not just about Afrikaans, but the system,’ Seatlholo would say, persuading me to show up and be part of the political conversation. He would also, painstakingly point out, ‘It is about the ‘Blackjacks’, South African Police in their blue uniforms, the police vehicles and the laws of restrictions.’ “My activities and services as club secretary at the local soccer club were beginning to feel like a waste of time and lacked focus. ‘Ngwenya, do not be like bo-Dr Motlana,’ Seatlholo would also advise, with great care. ‘You can never understand whether he is a doctor, businessman or politician. Stick to the cause, Ngwenya; where your expertise are needed.’ “Little did he understand that soccer would be something like therapy to me, during the unrest and be a place of refuge whenever I was being hunted by the police. By June 1976, it had become a crime to be a student in Soweto and we were fugitives in our own country. Of course, we always found ways to slip away from the police. On one occasion, they found us in White City Jabavu. Fortunately, we were alert and saw them first. We decided not to run away but remain still in darkness without a single movement for about four hours, with an entourage of police cars outside. “Amongst us was Oupa Mlangeni, who believed in traditional medicine. He claimed that what had saved us from the police was the root that he always carried in his pocket. Of course, this made for humorous debate as we took this issue back to Vincent Kgase, the scientist; who had dismissed Mlangeni’s notion as being ignorance 131

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe “Fate positioned and cushioned me well, in terms of leadership, grooming and mentorship. At night, the shebeen was my university of life and, during the day, it was school with Seatlholo as my mentor. After every meeting, Seatlholo would put all his energy in leadership and topical discussions, analysing the strengths of the leaders concerned and outcomes of meetings, making a ‘SWOT’ analysis, so to speak. “It had later dawned upon me that Seatlholo was, in effect, trying to coax me into leadership and commitment, reminding me that I, too, had it in me to lead. In essence, our conversations were not about leadership; but our conversations were really the essence of leadership. “The figures that often stood out during our one- on-one reviews were Ngutshane, Kutumela and Mr Molope, the headmaster, who was also a traditionalist who did not welcome the disruption that Afrikaans had brought to the education system. Mr Molope – even though an activist, himself – was orderly and insisted on being informed on all the activities. Of course, not every student was politically-inclined. There were people like Oupa Manzana, from Mofolo, the opposite Vukayibambe School, who used to utilise the free time that came with the frequent planning meetings to host parties, which were known as ‘Nkwaris’. Mr Molope was aware of Manzana’s shenanigans and did not approve. And he used reprimand us, ‘Guys, please let me know where you are and what you are doing; I do not want to find myself surprised by the likes of Manzana in my office, demanding, ‘Sir, I want freedom’; not having a clue about politics except, Nkwaris.’ 132

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue “I was subsequently refused readmission to Naledi High School after the schools had reopened after the uprising, being labelled as an ‘undesirable element’. Desperate to continue with my education, I had to look for alternative ways and – together with Benjamin Motaung, (Isaac Motaung’s younger brother) –I managed to study for the equivalent of what was then the Junior Certificate through the London College. “Afrikaans as a form of teaching was the spark that fueled the revolution. It was the most oppressive form of alienating the people. Prior to this, the winds of change had been blowing for some time in the continent, as East and North Africa were getting free. These winds of change were touching us, as well. As the spirit of freedom was sweeping our continent, people were realising that they were not stationary recipients of this freedom, and that they needed to work for it. “When the South African Student Organization, SASO was formed in 1968, it was the beginning of what I call the Renaissance; the beginning of defiance. And an awakening for both spiritual discovery and self- discovery. The Black Consciousness Movement – together with Christian movements like the Students Christian Movement, SCM – propelled us to start asking: ‘What kind of God do we have in the world who would allow others to subjugate others like this?’ “We got to understand that what we were experiencing, as Africans, was not what God had intended for us, as part of his creation. This is where liberation theology had come in. 133

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe Hence the song, ‘Senzeni Na?’ (What have we done, wrong?) “Under the leadership of people like Ngutshane, we realised that, for us to be liberated politically, we had to be liberated, spiritually; to understand ourselves as part of God’s creation, and not to accept the perverted Christianity that was sold to us by the colonial Christians. The policy manifesto of the South African Student Organization, SASO was to ensure that South Africa became a country in which both black and white live peacefully, and would continue to do so. June 16th, the day itself was ordinarily innocent. “On this day, no one had thought they encounter obstacles going back home after school or report back any tragic stories. Students from various schools had a plan to make the announcement after assembly about the plans for the day, and synchronise a plan to follow the route to converge at Orlando West and cross over the railway bridge, and then proceeded to Orlando Stadium. This, with the intention of handing over the memorandum to the authorities; with the hope that it would be responded to and whatever was disconcerting us would be resolved. We would then return home to our families and life would go on. But it was not to be! “What kind of system would construe someone as being a criminal for merely picking up a mortally- wounded teenaged child and attempting to rush him to receive emergency medical help; and label the compassionate act as a political act, which was worthy of prosecution? This was Mbuyiseni Makhubo’s crime to the authorities. 134

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue When the person next to you has been shot, the natural reaction would be to attend to them and seek medical attention. But, instead of seeing this as an act of emergency, they see it as a political act of terror. Makhubo had no idea of the dramatic events that would follow after had picked up a wounded Hector Pietersen. The mind of a person who views this compassionate act, makes you wonder, ‘What kind of human beings are these?’ And, ‘What kind of system politically-misconstrues this kindhearted action as an act of terror? And going on, to prevent a young child that is wounded from getting help? And also harassing the person that had mercifully picked him up. Sophie Tema was the journalist who was covering the event at the time; and so was Sam Nzima, the photo journalist who took the now famous picture of Makhubu carrying the stricken teenager to safety and direly- needed medical attention. This is how the world got to know what was truly happening in this country. This illustrates the fact that truth, when exposed, gives people enlightenment and the courage to take action. The amount of exposure that the 16th of June, 1976 movement had enlisted was triggered by this powerful picture – showing the vital role of media. I am not sure if Sophie Tema and Sam Nzima were consciously- communicating with the world. They were simply journalists doing their job, and going back to the news room to report on a story. I had then asked Ngwenya this pertinent question: “The book is about personal testimonies; and you seem to have spent a lot of time with Seatlholo at school; did you manage to keep in contact with him after the uprising?” 135

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe And this was his somber response: “He went into exile, as you know. Him and Tsietsi Mashinini were very good friends in exile. Of course, when Mashinini got married, their friendship took the back burner. These were two different characters, yet good friends. Mashinini was more of an intellectual, and charismatic leader who believed in dialogues. Seatlholo – on the other hand, and just like Kgase – was a militant person. Seatlholo obtained a degree while he was in exile; but he also took up arms, as he was adamant that you cannot fight guns with stones. Coming back from exile, he worked at Perm Bank and experienced the same injustice of pre-1976; which was only packaged differently, this time. Subsequently, he left the bank. He became withdrawn and depressed. Disheartened by the injustices that were still present, the political infighting and the fact that we were too relaxed on the basis of the new dispensation.” 136

9June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue Governance And Guidance The School Governing Body “Our schools must be safe environments for the learners, and the learners’ needs must be prioritised. The state of our school buildings and infrastructure, such as learner toilets, are vital societal building blocks that must be nurtured. A clean girls’ toilet lends credence and meaning to feminine hygiene. A clean and safe environment will ensure that our children stay in class, and they stay even longer for extra mural activities.” – Former Naledi High School student Oupa Molapisi. As I work on this chapter of the book, it is September, which is Heritage Month in South Africa. This year, the theme centres on honouring our heroes and heroines. As I am thinking to myself about this, my attention is drawn to a newspaper article, which was saying the 137

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe following, in part: “We now have a democratic government. Simply put, the role of former liberation stalwarts was not only to establish a democratic government, but to create an enabling environment for all people to enjoy freedom.” – Sandile Memela City Press Voices, 23 September 2012. On this day, I am having a conversation with one such hero, Oupa Molapisi, who is a former Naledi High School student. Molapisi does not waste time reminiscing about that era in his life. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he gets straight to the point of the discussion. “My concern is that our education system is not addressing the economy of the country.” So, begins my conversation with Oupa. “Industrialisation is changing the dynamics of the economy and the education system must support the related process of job-creation. In moving towards increasing the economic split of sixty percent (60%) for industrialisation and forty percent (40%) for agriculture concerning the level of the developed countries, our education system must not be left lagging behind. Artisanship as part of the curriculum and must be brought back and reinforced so that it can address the lack of skilled workers. South Africa has a pronounced dearth of skilled artisans, such as plumbers, electricians, and the lot. Therefore, the establishment of technical schools needs to be prioritised by those who have the power to this happening, without delay, in the country. “The nature of democracy should be such that it creates a new society with new value systems, and parents need to be equipped with the necessary skills 138

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue to manage the new products of a democratic dispensation. To aid this process, we must retain some of our cultural and traditional values as they have been tried and tested by time. Some of the traditions that may be less relevant have to be excised from society. This should be achieved through negotiated processes and empowerment training. Society also has a responsibility in assisting the government to ensure that our schools produce well-rounded human beings. Active parental involvement in school governance, especially in supporting those that we have elected, and even in holding them accountable. As well as empowering parents about their rights, their understanding of the Constitution and what it says about education and the resources that are available. “Our schools must be safe environments for the learners, and the learners’ needs must be prioritised. The state of our school buildings and other crucial infrastructural parts, such as the learners’ toilets are also among the vital societal building blocks that must be nurtured. A clean girls’ toilet lends credence and meaning to feminine hygiene. A clean and safe environment will also ensure that our children stay in class and even stay longer on the schools’ grounds for extramural activities. Regarding parental involvement in the student’s schooling lives, Molapisi opened by saying, “Naledi High School was founded on a committed governing body of parents. Notably, Mrs Thusi and Ms Keneilwe Losaba have been dedicated members of the School Governing Body. This has enabled the headmaster and his team of educators to attain the great matric results all along, and I commend the parents on being the 139

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe supportive and proactive type of parents that their children had always needed. “In 2013, I was invited to the launch of the South African Human Rights Commission’s (SAHRC’s) Charter of Children’s Basic Education Rights at the commission’s head office in Braamfontein, Johannesburg. “The SAHRC’s constitutional mandate is to monitor the realisation of the right to basic education in South Africa,” said Commissioner Lindiwe Mokate in the foreword leading to the charter launch: “The charter provides a guideline of what the children, their parents and other caregivers should expect from the education system. It also informs and educates the parents of the role they are required to play in order to enable (the) children to enjoy their right(s) to basic education.” This quote was also echoing Molapisi’s sentiments about creating a safe and clean school environment for our children. “The subject of land is another good parallel to refer to, for us to appreciate education as a means to restoration. Reference to agriculture connects one directly to the 1913 Apartheid-inspired Land Act and all that it had entailed in its wider ramifications to the African people. From African communities who are engaged in humble communal crop and stock farming, to the commercial farmers that are using sophisticated modern farming techniques. For these communities, farming was also a symbol of economic status, such as the number of cattle one owned and the kind of currency one possessed.” 140

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue Molapisi concluded with a heavy heart, “So, the Land Act of June 1913 robbed the indigenous communities of their wealth and currency.” Concludes Oupa with a heavy heart. 141

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe Life Skills “My intention with my book, Rising above the Ordinary, is to guide the graduates in their journey; and to map out a plan that makes it realistic for that graduate to achieve greater heights in today’s demanding life.” – former Naledi High School student Lucky Ganzin. The Ganzin family name is synonymous with Naledi High School, and is best known for its legacy of order, diligence, intelligence and good genes, among other good things. My personal interaction with the Ganzin family was made through Peter Ganzin at primary school. Even at a tender age, Peter Ganzin had carried himself in a manner that showed that he took his life seriously as a studious and well-groomed student. In the later years, the family reemerged in my radar through Gift Ganzin, the third generation of the family and a former Naledi High School student in the eighties. Gift Ganzin is a feisty committed, member of the organising committee for the 50th anniversary event. She has been tasked to produce a documentary on the heritage of the school. She has also been actively involved with the school since the inception of the heritage committee’s work. So it is through my interaction with Gift that I was able to meet and chat with Lucky Ganzin. Lucky Ganzin began his studies at Naledi High School from 1974 to 1977 when schooling was 142

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue disrupted in the wake of the June 1976 uprising. He was one of the two students who obtained a distinction pass in the then Junior Certificate, JC level examinations (the JC level is known today as Grade 10). He went on to complete his matric at Mamathe High School, in Teyateyaneng, Lesotho, where he was the first student to obtain a first class pass in the history of the school. He obtained his BSc in Physics and Mathematics at the National University of Lesotho, NUL. He got a scholarship to study for a BSc degree in Mechanical Engineering at Marquette University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in the United States of America, US. He further obtained his Masters qualification in Business Administration (MBA) at the Gordon Institute of Business Science, GIBS which is accredited by the University of Pretoria. It is against this impressive academic background that Lucky Ganzin came to the realisation that life is full of uncertainties after he landed on his first job as an engineer. Quickly, he had to learn and face some realities about life; and this had included the facts that life does not owe you anything; but that you have to make it work for yourself; and also that: The world does not care about your self-esteem, but expects you to accomplish something before you feel good about yourself; • You will not be a chief executive officer, CEO with a flashy car and a jazzy wardrobe until you earn the right and means to own these trappings; 143

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe • Making photocopies is not beneath your dignity, but an opportunity to start from the bottom; • If you mess up, it is no one’s fault; so you cannot whine, and you should learn to face the consequences; • Your school may have given you as many chances as you wanted to get the right answer, yet it is not so in real life. • Life is not divided into terms; you do not get summers or winters off, and very few employers are interested in helping you to really find yourself; • Television is not reality. In real life, people have to leave the coffee shop and go and earn a living; • The very people you may be undermining in your class are the ones that you might end up working for. This whole experience brought Lucky Ganzin back to the lessons he had learnt from his mentor, Peter Ganzin. And he speaks highly and with great admiration about his elder brother, Peter. In his younger brother, Peter Ganzin has seemingly instilled a spirit of dedication and hard work. This also includes virtues such as leadership and mentoring, largely through the influence and the modelling of a purposeful life. Coincidentally, another Naledi High School alumni Oupa Ngwenya refers to this as peer mentorship, which he says 144

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue remains the legacy for which Naledi High is well known. And that this is the heritage that the alumni is hoping to preserve and pass on to the current crop of the school’s students as the school celebrates its fiftieth anniversary. The politics of 1976 forced Lucky Ganzin to rise above the mentioned considerations and realities, to have a personal agenda. Then we got to the point of touching on his book, “My intention with my book, Rising above the Ordinary, seeks to guide the graduates in their journey; and to map out a plan that makes it realistic for that graduate to achieve greater heights in today’s demanding life. “One of the popular talks from circles of those who are in the know is that you must have an exit strategy. Exit from what? For me, one should have an entrance strategy. As you grow in your career, you will notice that every aspect of life has its own inner circles. You have to be able to build your inner circle without selling your soul, just for the sake of belonging. “The road towards creating our own inner circle starts with a personal agenda, a strategic plan you should be devising every year. No. I am not talking about New Year’s resolutions, or all that similar stuff. I am talking about a quiet time, during which you would be able to reflect on things that are personal. The disruption of the education system created a desire for the students of the 1976 era to want to 145

Eunice Rakhale-Molefe achieve and be educated. For them to come out of school without a matric certificate was something that they viewed as a hindrance to escaping the entrapments of Apartheid. Most of the stalwarts went into exile or to jail at a young age. These negative circumstances were used to the benefit of the advancement of their lives.” As we wrap up, he says, “The circumstances instilled in them are values that are a common trait in their lives, hence the quality of leadership that Naledi High School has produced.” 146

June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue 147

10June 1976 Commemorative Dialogue The human Story “Not everybody had political inclinations. Often, the parents, children and siblings did not see eye to eye. The propaganda news did not make the situation any better. So, as the township buildings were burning down, in some families, relationships were burning down, as well.” – Compiler Eunice Rakhale-Molefe For me, Wednesday 16 June 1976 was just another working day. I woke up very early in the morning to catch my lift club car, leaving my elder sister, Monki and my late younger brother, Enoch at home, knowing that they would be going to school later. I was working as a tea girl at Coleman’s Diesel, an engineering company in Johannesburg. Having completed matric in 1976, I had to find work to help my parents to put food on the table; as was the case with many of our generation at the time. As I did not fit completely to this tea girl title, my bosses, out of guilt – I think – would – now and then – bring some 148