Cry of the BanishedAuthor(s): Helen JosephSource: Africa Today, Vol. 10, No. 1 (Jan., 1963), pp. 9-10Published by: Indiana University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4184377 .

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Nit 0 MAN IS PUNISHABLE, or can lawfully be made IN to suffer in body or goods, except for a dis-

tinct breach of law established in the ordinary man- ner -before the ordinary courts of the land" (A. V. Dicey, "The Law of the Constitution"). This defini- tion of the rule of law stands unchallenged through- out the civilized world, yet South Africa persists in flouting this basic principle, that there shall be no punishment without trial.

I shall not, in this short article, deal with the case of those of us placed under house arrest for five years. This particular form of punishment is new-and is therefore more shocking to the outside world.' I should rather prefer to concentrate on an older form of punishment without trial-banishment.

Over the last 12 years more than 120 African men and women have been banished. Without any prior notice, without any charge or trial, without any legal defense or appeal to any court of law, they have been

space of 12 years, more than 120 African men and women have been banished for their opposition to an authority which they believe to be unjust. The ban- ished people are not given any concrete reason for the banishment other than to be told that their con- tinued presence in their own neighborhood is "inimic- able to the maintenance of law and order." That is all. And the banished man must go, taking nothing but what he can carry in his hands, leaving his home unprotected, his family unprovided for. He must go- and he knows not where nor for how long.

They are scattered far and w~ide, these lonely ex- iles, hundreds of miles from their homes. Some of them have been already 12 years in banishment. This year I went to seek these people out, to talk to them. It meant a journey of more than 7,000 miles, probing deep into native reserves and government-controlled lands to find the banished men and women. But I have barest rations from the government-and what help

CRY OF THE BANISHED

HELENS JOSEPH

torn from their homes and families and flung into the remotest corners of our country. And their ban- ishment has no fixed term; it is indefinite and can only be ended by a ministerial decree.

And it's all quite legal! In 1927 an Act of Parlia- ment was passed, laying down that the Governor General may "whenever he deems it expedient in the general public interest, without any prior notice to any person concerned, order that, subject to such conditions as he may determine, any tribe . . or native shall withdraw from any place to any other . and shall not at any time thereafter return to the place from which the withdrawal is mAde, except with the permission of the Secretary for Native Affairs." And the banished man may not leave the place to which he is sent. If he does so, he is liable to be charged and sentenced to jail.

This is a terrifying arbitrary power to be given to any government, and even the Parliament which made the law was not happy, and salved its conscience by taking refuge in the belief that no government which abused this Act would remain in power for very long. Indeed, until the Nationalist Government came into power in 1948, this dangerous provision had been used only rarely, possibly not more than five or six times in 20 years. But from 1950 onwards, in the

seen them. I have heard how they came to these most desolate of all places so many years ago. I have heard the sadness in their voices as they told me how they no longer get any news of the families whom they have never seen again. I have visited some of the families. I have seen the tears flow down the cheeks of the women who told me how their husbands died in banishment. I have seen the emptiness of huts, with sacks serving as beds scattered on the cold earthen floor. I have seen men who must sit, year after year, in the dread banishment camps of Frenchdale and Driefontein. Chief Mopeli and his wife have been in banishment for 12 years now, and six of them have been spent in Frenchdale. Piet Mokoena has been there even longer-eight years in this hell of desola- tion, where the hyenas prowl at night, where snakes lurk by day, where there are not even trees for shade from the relentless sun. Here, there is no employment; the nearest store is eight miles away. There is no chance even to earn a few shillings in wages. The banished must live on 10 shillings a month and the

HELEN JOSEPH, a founder of the South African Congress of Democrats, was placed under house arrest (under the Sabotage Act) sh;ortly after sending us this article.

JANUARY 1963 9

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may come from friends afar. Other banished are dumped on remote government

farms. They cannot leave the farms and they must work on the fields for a few pounds a month, regard- less of their age or physical condition. And if they don't work, they receive neither allowance nor rations. There is a diabolical pattern to this banishment, for the exiles are sent to parts of the Republic where even the language is strange. How then shall a man who cannot read or write find another to write to his family to tell them where he is?

There are many tragic stories of the banished peo- ple, of heartache and loneliness. There is old Maema Matlala, veteran of the 1914-1918 war, today in his eighties, 12 years in exile and still no hope of going home. When we first wrote to him and sent him a parcel of clothes, he found someone to write back for him: "Now we are made people again." Maema is too old to work; he lives in a little shack, near another exile who helps him. This month he saw his wife for the first time since banishment. When we told him she was coming, he jumped up and down for joy, this gallant little old man: "My wife is coming! My wife is coming!"

But for Jeremiah Moraka, flung into the depth of the Transkei, we cannot bring any such joy. His wife was banished with him, but she could not endure the isolation and her mind failed. She disappeared, tak- ing with her the two young children and from that day there has been no word from her, no trace of the children. Now this banished man says bitterly: "Even if I am released, I cannot go home without my fam- ily." He asked me to find them for him. But where shall I begin to look?

This year has seen more banishments and the total rises steadily. There is a new, even uglier pattern lately. South Africa is a land of desperate struggle for the rights of people and laws are passed to re- press all resistance. Leaders are sentenced to jail ,and when they are discharged, they are sentenced again, this time without a trial. As they leave the jail, they are served with banishment orders. Sometimes there is a week in which to rejoin the family, sometimes

they must go at once. In Sekhukhuneland there is an old, old woman, the wife of William Sekhukhune; she lives alone . . . her children long since grown and gone from home. Her husband served two years in jail for holding an illegal meeting in the native reserve. He was 75. When he finished his sentence, he was imme- diately banished to Zululand, almost a thousand miles away. Now he is 78 and he must work in the fields.

The South African Government says that the ban- ished are "not prisoners." But when friends went to visit William Sekhukhune, they were allowed to speak to him only in the presence of the police and, of course, he cannot leave the camp. When friends drive hun- dreds of miles to visit the banished, to bring them parcels and perhaps a short hour of human contact, they are immediately afterwards visited by the police and detectives, interrogated, threatened. For anyone who is not African, it is an offense to go without per- mission onto the lands where the banished are. I was arrested twice for doing so and fined ?20 each time. And the Minister says: "They are not prisoners."

Does their sentence ever end? Yes, sometimes the banished are released-on stringent conditions of "good behavior" and on the basis that at the end of the specified period of six or twelve months, they are bound to return to banishment unless their permit is extended. So they go home and wait to be re- banished. This is no idle threat; there are today three men who have been rebanished.

Today more than 50 men and women are still in banishment; 12 have fled to other lands, but in so doing they have cut themselves from their home and families, for they cannot return. Eleven have died in banishment, and one went home to die. Five are still missing-the Government will not say where they are and we have not yet found them. Only 40 have been allowed to return home-less than one-third over a 12-year period.

From all over this land the terrible cry of the ban- ished goes up; from the banishment camps, from the depths of the forests, from the lonely motuntains, from remote government farms: "What have we done? Why are we here? We want to go home."

(Diplomats; continued from page 2) York Times (the Monitor during the strike). * If you suspect a mission-approved tap, always speak kindly, cheerfully and loyally of the Leader and his relatives. The same goes for the Ambassador and his relatives. If the host government is listening in, address cheery greetings to the director of the secret service corps at the beginning and the end of all conversations. Then speak in your vernacular. If you suspect a hidden transmitter, you are likely to be too important to take our advice. Ask your friendly counter-spy for his.

Being a diplomat is a trying business. But take heart; it's even tougher being a spy.

(Togo; continued from page 3) as if wounded by the offense of Togo's departuire from the immediate French orbit. "I was," the new Premier told him, "a prisoner of the Vichy authori- ties in Northern Togo throughout the war. When peace came, my cell door was opened and I was told to go free. But we were in a remote prison, far from anywhere, with no money, no food, no transportation, no independent resources. But we were free." The General understood and smiled.

Togo remained in the franc zone and signed cer- tain agreements with France, but nonetheless man- aged to remain more free of encumbering ties than almnost any other ex-French dominion.

10 AFRICA TODAY

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