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SOUTH AFRICA: The Silent Cry

2 minute read
TIME

Shortly after dawn one day last week in Pretoria, hundreds of South African women began to gather beneath the office windows of Prime Minister Johannes G. Strydom. Some were white, some were brown, most were black. Many wore the green-black-and-gold colors of the African National Congress, and many wore tribal regalia; many had traveled hundreds of miles by rickety bus across South Africa’s dust-swept veld to get there, lunch baskets in their hands and babies strapped to their backs. All the women bore personal petitions to Strydom. Focus of their protest: the government’s latest decree that African women as well as men must now carry identification passes at all times.

By 2:30 p.m. there were 10,000 women gathered on the well-watered lawns. Gathering up all the petitions, a delegation led by a white woman, Miss Helen Joseph, proceeded to the Prime Minister’s office. It was stopped at the main doors. “Whites only,” said the uniformed doorman. “On whose authority?” demanded the militant Miss Joseph. “There are no apartheid notices posted.” After ten minutes of harried consultation, an official said: “O.K. Five delegates only—black or white.”

The delegation got as far as Strydom’s secretary, only to be told that the Prime Minister was out. The delegation dumped their petitions on the secretary’s desk and returned to tell the crowd what had happened. From the audience came cries of “Shame!” The leaders then called for 30 minutes of silence as a nonviolent protest. Obediently the women rose, and raised their hands, thumbs turned upward in the salute of the National Congress.

As 30 minutes ticked slowly by, the silence was broken only by the occasional stifled whimpering of the babies strapped on women’s backs. On the half-hour there arose a roar: “Afrika Maribuya!” (Africa return to us!), and the women in their bright costumes began to sway to the rhythm of Nkosi Sikelele Afrika (God Bless Africa), the National Congress anthem. Their protest made, the women went away as quietly as they had come.

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