Heart of the eighties

On viewing the 1996 documentary Mandela, a clip of several massive anti-apartheid/free Mandela protests of the eighties moved me to a hindsight contemplation of my punk/post punk generation. We didn’t begin the anti-apartheid battle waged from outside South Africa — our forefathers around the world had first raised their voices in protest, had initiated the boycotts, the demonstrations, had demanded economic sanctions. But we readily took up the stick and fought with them the last round.

As I read and watched, oddly enough I thought of grapes and labels which identified their point of origin and of the days when we imagined that each South African grape rejected was a point scored on behalf of black South Africans, a figurative stone thrown at the savage, racist regime. We weren’t on the frontlines — our names were not to be found on the long list of those who committed “suicide” in South African jails; we didn’t face the bullets and truncheons in Sharpeville and Soweto; we did not live with the daily fear and humiliation, but we could “apartheid” apartheid South Africa and demand that our governments follow suit.

I meandered from grapes to Zola Budd. Remember her? She was the white South African, talented and eccentric, bared foot long distance runner who was granted British citizenship under special circumstances so she could compete in the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, games from which South Africa was banned. The anti-apartheid movement was up in arms. With the complicity of Great Britain white South Africa had circumvented the prohibition on their participation in international sport.

But Budd and Britain forgot they were playing the devil in the City of Angels. I’m not customarily one to declare, “There is a God,” but if there is a God, he/she was wrathful and struck during the 3000 metres race, promoted as a contest between the world junior record holder Budd and American world champion Mary Decker. Decker would take the lead with Budd on her heels. After four laps Budd would pull ahead, but on swinging into the curve she twice became entangled with Decker who on the second collision went crashing onto the infield. Her hip injured, she was unable to resume the race. Budd continued on, but the crowd was already booing. With a lap and a half left, Budd started to slip behind and, Romanian Maricica Puica and Britain’s Wendy Smith Sly pulled ahead. Puica would take gold, Smith-Sly silver and Canada’s Lynn Williams, the bronze. Completely spent and demoralised, Budd placed seventh.

Though Budd was cleared by an International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) jury, the world judged her guilty and saw the race as poetic justice. She was far too close to Decker, commentators concluded, with no clear overtaking space. Budd continued competing and her career would oscillate between world record victories and injury induced defeats, but she would only be remembered for that ill-fated race.

The eighties also brought the controversial rebel tours. “Breakaway” teams from England, Australia, the West Indies and Sri Lanka went to play “unofficial test matches” in the banned South Africa. Nonwhite players on tour were given the status of “honorary whites.” The West Indian tours were during the 1982/83 and 1983/84 seasons and the participants received a life ban from Caribbean cricket in 1983. The ban, lifted in 1989, sparked fierce debate. To many the prohibition was justifiable — in their estimation, the players had embarrassed the citizens of the Caribbean by selling out to the apartheid regime. Accepting the title of honorary white was humiliating. Opponents of the ban argued that sports and politics should and could be separated.

The climax of the eighties struggle was the 70th birthday tribute to Mandela at Wembley in 1988. The concert was broadcast to 67 countries and had an audience of 600 million. It was also referred to as Freedomfest, Free Nelson Mandela Concert and Mandela Day. Sting, Eurhythmics, Tracy Chapman, Harry Belafonte, Eric Clapton, Aswad, Miriam Makeba, Hugh Masekela were just some of the artists who performed that day, after which few did not know the name Nelson Mandela and that he had been imprisoned (at that time) for 25 plus years. British multiracial ska band The Specials sang the popular “Free Nelson Mandela,” produced in 1984.

I hope I’m not being soppy — that’s not my intention. Mandela’s death has transported me to my anti-authoritarian, anti-apartheid youth. There’s really nothing I can write about Mandela that has not already been written, and by experts, including Mandela himself. I can say this: after 27 years of imprisonment, life owed him time and he got it. In his autobiography, Long Road to Freedom, Mandela observed: “I always knew that someday I would once again feel the grass under my feet and walk in the sunshine as a free man.” He could not have imagined though, that once free, he would have walked for so long.

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