Growing up in the racist
society that was Southern Rhodesia, we
children did not initially challenge the basic concept that white people are superior
to people who are not white. Indeed some never changed that belief into
adulthood or to the grave. We were not taught this, any more than we were
taught that the sun rises in the East,
that grass is green and the sky is blue. It is just one of the facts of life
that we observed and absorbed. It was only later in life that it slowly dawned
on some of us that none of these beliefs is correct.
My initial experiences
after I left school at the age of fifteen to start work in the Magistrate’s
Court in Salisbury (now Harare) tended to confirm the underlying
perceptions of the inferiority of black people. My first appointment was as a junior
Clerk of the Criminal Court under the aegis of a gruff retired ex-Indian Army
man - The Colonel - who certainly had no doubts about the worthlessness of the
people of colour.
My job was to process the
criminals, organizing their case files, recording their convictions in the
great ledgers – The Colonel insisted on a neat handwriting – and preparing the
warrants that would see them go to gaol. There was no doubt that these black
people were savages. Who else would turn up at Court one morning with the head
of his girlfriend in a shopping bag? The memory of the photographs of the
defence wounds in the hands of a white housewife stabbed to death by her black
gardener still gives me the shivers. Bone showed through the slashes – how painful
would that have been?
In contrast the white
customers tended to be old fraudsters, young kids caught with a bit of
marijuana, drink drivers still stinking of booze when they signed their bail
bonds with a hangdog air. Victimless crimes. Not vicious, savage ones.
Nationalism was on the rise
in Rhodesia
and the Criminal Court became very busy. Riots became a regular event providing
substantial herds of prisoners to be dealt with – and also some sudden death
dockets when the police opened fire. The men and women who were to become the
leaders of a free Zimbabwe
also became frequent visitors as their political speeches became more fiery.
Censorship meant that very few of their speeches were reported, but as a
curious young Clerk I had access to much of their material. How dare they
challenge the authorities in this way?
And yet, the influx of
these important people brought with them black lawyers, black journalists,
black businessmen to pay the bail. The white journalists who covered court
proceedings were a pretty sleazy bunch. Good fun, most of them, but not always
entirely abstemious and scruffy in their dress. Some of the white lawyers were
not much better – Magistrate’s Court appearances didn’t attract top flight
attorneys. In contrast the black people were smartly dressed, very polite and,
listening to them in court, apparently more knowledgeable than the bumbling
police prosecutors. And certainly more knowledgeable and better educated than I
was.
Moving on as part of my
training I transformed to a Clerk of Civil Court initially issuing summons for debt – most of which, to my
surprise, related to white people. Knowing how my parents scrimped and saved
and paid everything due, I had not expected to finds that so many people simply
didn’t. We also dealt with maintenance claims and domestic violence issues
here. Although juniors were not allowed to be directly involved in the latter,
someone had to do the filing. And what an eye-opener this was for me, who had
been taught that raising a hand to a woman was not acceptable. Yet here I read
of the cruelty of some men – and white men at that. One expected a black man to
be a savage, but these men were white.
Another lesson learned at
this time – or perhaps not learned – was how opposing a majority view could
lead to problems. In addition to the political problems in Southern Rhodesia,
there were similar issues in Nyasaland (now Malawi). In discussing these in a tea break, the
consensus of opinion was that the best way to deal with the troublesome blacks was
to mount a heavy machine gun on the back of a truck and shoot every one in
sight. That, it was felt, would encourage the others to be more law abiding and
less troublesome. When I expressed an opposing view, I was ‘sent to Coventry’ as the saying
was at that time. By common agreement, no one spoke to me, all ignored me as if
I did not exist. Even my superiors communicated their instructions in writing.
Of course all my fellow workers were white. What a way to behave, I thought. A
most uncomfortable time for me, although as time went by, there was a
relaxation of the ukase.
Moving on I landed up in
the Licensing Section. There we dealt with a number of matters, including the
issuing of marriage licences and the registration of voters. As far as the voting
roll was concerned, most of the new voters registered were black. Until then
black people had been disenfranchised, but legislation had recently introducing
the concept of a qualified voters roll – anyone who met the educational or
financial requirements could have a vote.
As was the case in the
Criminal Court, there was a significant contrast between the marriage licence
seekers and the voters roll people. Most of the former were white and many of
them were pretty seedy – and often none too sober when they fronted us. One
well known white farmer tended to re-marry his ex-wife when the crop was good
and he was flush – and then divorce her again. In contrast the putative black voters
were polite, and even if their clothes were old, they were clean and tidy. Many
were much more wealthy than I would expect a black man to be. I started talking
to them as I processed them, curious about how they felt about the political
issues of the day. Most of them had a very clear idea of what needed to be
done; none condoned the violence. The universal thought, expressed in many ways
was “We want to see change for the sake of our children.”
My conversion was not
Pauline. All those years of input absorbed as a child cannot be overturned in a
couple of years of teenage observation, but I was pointed in a direction that
would see me gradually realising how simply wrong it was to judge any person by
observable differences – and to realise that sometimes majority views were
untenable.
