Dark day for struggle heroes

"Thank goodness my parents aren't alive; this would have killed them," my wife, Linda, almost comically exploded soon after parliament passed the so-called secrecy bill last Tuesday.

I had not seen her that agitated since the early 1990s when we found ourselves seated next to members of the National Party Cabinet at a business dinner. She had tried to maintain her composure throughout the evening but literally burst into tears walking to our car after the function, while attempting to reconcile how she could face her mother after socialising with the brutes who had inflicted so much pain and suffering on her family over the past four decades.

Dolefully studying the list of MPs who had voted in favour of the bill, she could not come to terms with how so many heroes of the struggle had forsaken the inflexible principle of freedom of the press so readily. Admittedly, the bill is not as ominous as the original version introduced last year, but it could still obstruct journalists from exposing corruption, sleaze and maladministration within the ruling party.

I was less stirred by the events of last week than my wife.

I had long lost faith in the ANC's capacity to bring about the change Nelson Mandela had promised at his inauguration nearly 18 years ago. Former president Thabo Mbeki began shutting the window of opportunity with policies rewarding loyalty above competence and putting ideology above jobs and growth. His failure to tackle HIV/ Aids, poverty, crime and dishonesty at all levels of his administration compromised our standing in the world community, deterring much- needed foreign investment. Unfortunately, his contrived removal has done little to change the country's path. The culture of neglect persists, with top administrators more responsive to the privileges of office than their related duties and responsibilities.

Just like the Nats before them, I regarded the ANC's motives as the first in a possible series of moves calculated to conceal their misgivings, but Linda viewed their behaviour as an act of betrayal, a devious shift from sacred values embedded first in the Freedom Charter and later in the constitution.

Linda's parents, Hymie and Esther, were present when the Freedom Charter was adopted at the Congress of the People in Kliptown on June 26 1955. Hymie often recalled how Esther and he had sought sanctuary in a petrol station across the road when the gathering was raided, forcing them to walk miles that evening to avoid a police crackdown. It was a minor inconvenience compared with the hardships that lay ahead.

A year later Hymie was arrested together with 155 others on treason charges. Many of the accused were acquitted early, but it took Hymie three years before he could walk free, enduring trials initially at the Drill Hall in Johannesburg and thereafter at the Old Synagogue in Pretoria. He was fortunate to have an employee who respected his beliefs and, while on bail, allowed him to work in the evenings.

Even though Linda was only 10 at the time, she was old enough to realise her parents were engaged in unlawful activities and lived in constant fear for their safety. At dawn on July 3 1964, the pounding on the door finally came. Hymie and Esther were whisked away by the Security Branch under the draconian 90-day detention-without-trial law. Linda, 13, and her sisters Sonia, 16, and Merle, eight, were abandoned without state supervision or aid. Thankfully Hymie's sister, Ann, stepped in and took care of the three young girls.

Hymie and Esther were detained in solitary confinement at Pretoria Central with other political prisoners and it was only after the women embarked on a hunger strike (Esther for 35 days) that the authorities were compelled to bring them to trial.

For reasons that remain a mystery to this day, a prisoner-turned-state-witness, Piet Beyleveld, failed to implicate Hymie under the Suppression of Communism Act. But Esther was sentenced in April 1965 to three years with hard labour, which she served in Barberton without one day's remission. Hymie was acquitted and returned home to his girls, but was immediately placed under house arrest.

Hymie and Esther continued their struggle within the confines of their banning orders but, sadly, Hymie died in 1987 before freedom was eventually won in 1994. Esther died in October 2008 and has a cell in the old Fort at Constitutional Hill dedicated to her memory.

Today Linda's parents are honoured for their valiant endeavour to bring democratic reform to South Africa, but for her, growing up as a teenager with activist parents in those bleak times was harsh and lonely. Many of her friends were prohibited from associating with her for fear of reprisals, while a number of community organisations distanced themselves from her family's affairs.

While Linda acknowledges that the government may not have lived up to her early expectations, she remained proud that the noble values for which her parents had so courageously fought were still in force; that was until last Tuesday. For Linda, November 22 2011 was, indeed, a black day.