There are some pieces of news one would prefer not to get in prison, said Ahmed Kathrada in his book A simple freedom. On the morning of 28 March 2017, on a glorious morning that makes you happy to be alive, I knew what he meant.
I glanced at “the book of faces”, and it was awash with images of Ahmed Mohamed Kathrada. My eye fell on the post by Janet van Eeden, an irregular contributor to Litnet:
“RIP Ahmed Kathrada. A Giant has fallen.”
Overcome with emotion at the death of a man who had so selflessly supported my literary endeavours in the early years, when I was a nobody and when Country Life’s Route to Nowhere stopped at Hanover, I immediately typed the following message for Mr Kathrada, as I always referred to him:
On behalf of Booktown Richmond, we would like to express our heartfelt condolences to Neeshan Balton and all at the Ahmed Kathrada Foundation. And to his wife, Mrs Barbara Hogan. His talk at Booktown Richmond still remains one of the all-time highlights. It was the only time Correctional Services personnel have come out of their offices to greet and hug a writer. Wherever he went, he was adored. Because Ahmed Kathrada personified love. He radiated love. And all that was good in the ANC. History will judge him as having done what no other ANC stalwart before him had done – publicly criticise the ANC under Jacob Zuma and publicly call for Zuma to step down. That is the hallmark of greatness. Zuma will never have the courage to recall Gordhan on a day like today. RIP Mr Kathrada. Darryl David
Ronnie Govender, Peter Baker (co-organiser of BookBedonnerd), Ahmed Kathrada, Darryl David and Neeshan Balton, Executive Director of the Ahmed Kathrada Foundation
Whatever else Ahmed Kathrada may have done, it is this letter to Zuma that will ensure he lives in the palaces of our memory as a nation. It is a letter worth quoting in its entirety. It will undoubtedly go down in history as a speech that ranks up there with Mandela’s “It is an ideal for which I am prepared to die” speech:
Dear Comrade President Zuma,
I have agonised for a while before writing this letter to you.
I am just a rank-and-file member of my ANC branch. However‚ even before the ANC opened its membership to non-Africans in 1969‚ I was involved in the activities of the ANC‚ the South African Indian Congress‚ the SACP and Umkhonto weSizwe.
In the Defiance Campaign Trial of 1952, I was among the 20 accused who were sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment‚ suspended for two years;
In the Treason Trial (1956-1961)‚ of the original 156 accused‚ I was among the last 30 who were finally acquitted in 1961; and
In the 1963-1964 Rivonia Trial, I was among the eight accused sentenced to life imprisonment. Together with comrade Walter Sisulu and others‚ I was released in 1989. Comrade Madiba was released about four months later.
I am immensely grateful to the ANC for the privilege of serving on the first national executive committee after its unbanning. In 1997‚ I stepped down. I also benefited from the experience of serving for one term as parliamentary counsellor to President Mandela.
I am of course aware that this does not automatically bestow on me the right to write this letter.
However‚ in all these years it never occurred to me that the time would come when I would feel obliged to express my concerns to the Honourable President. It is painful for me to write this letter to you. I have been a loyal and disciplined member of the ANC and broader Congress movement since the 1940s.
I have always maintained a position of not speaking out publicly about any differences I may harbour against my leaders and my organisation‚ the ANC. Today I have decided to break away from that tradition.
The position of president is one that must at all times unite this country behind a vision and programme that seeks to make tomorrow a better day than today for all South Africans.
I did not speak out against Nkandla, although I thought it wrong to have spent public money for any president’s private comfort. I did not speak out‚ though I felt it grossly insulting when my president was called a “thief” or a “rapist”; or when he was accused of being “under the influence of the Guptas”. I believed that the NEC would have dealt with this as the collective leadership of the ANC.
When I learnt of the dismissal of Minister Nene and the speculated reasons for this‚ I became very worried. I’m fully aware the appointment and dismissal of ministers is the prerogative of the president. This might be technically correct‚ but in my view it is against the best traditions of our movement.
My concern was amplified when it emerged that the deputy finance minister reported that he was offered the finance minister post by members of the Gupta family. The resultant crisis the country was plunged into indicated that the removal of the minister was not about the interests of the people.
The unanimous ruling of the Constitutional Court on Nkandla has placed me in an introspective mode and I had to ask myself some very serious and difficult questions.
Now that the court has found that the president failed to uphold‚ defend and respect the Constitution as the supreme law‚ how should I relate to my president? If we are to continue to be guided by growing public opinion and the need to do the right thing‚ would he not seriously consider stepping down?
I am not a political analyst‚ but I am now driven to ask: “Dear Comrade President‚ don’t you think your continued stay as president will only serve to deepen the crisis of confidence in the government of the country?”
And bluntly‚ if not arrogantly‚ in the face of such persistently widespread criticism‚ condemnation and demand‚ is it asking too much to express the hope that you will choose the correct way that is gaining momentum‚ to consider stepping down? If not‚ Comrade President‚ are you aware that your outstanding contribution to the liberation struggle stands to be severely tarnished if the remainder of your term as president continues to be dogged by crises and a growing public loss of confidence in the ANC and government as a whole?
I know that if I were in the president’s shoes‚ I would step down with immediate effect.
I believe that is what would help the country to find its way out of a path that it never imagined it would be on‚ but one that it must move out of soon.
To paraphrase the famous MK slogan of the time‚ there comes a time in the life of every nation when it must choose to submit or fight.
Today I appeal to our president to submit to the will of the people and resign.
A more powerful letter you will struggle to find. Let us put this letter into context. Ahmed Kathrada did in this letter what even Nelson Mandela failed to do. Only a man of the calibre of Ahmed Kathrada, a man with such moral authority, could pen such a letter. Let us hope that, in the long sweep of history, it is this letter that will be credited for swimming against the tide and saving South Africa from the abyss.
The Dean of St George's Cathedral, the Very Reverend Michael Weeder, captured these very sentiments in what is undoubtedly the greatest literary eulogy to Ahmed Kathrada thus far:
Uncle Kathy
Ahmed Kathrada: 1929-2017
Tender love has been your shield
and courage your apron of servanthood.
Your soul, once awash with longing
for comrades who shared with you
the frugal feasts of your island fort,
now rests unburdened of the weight of care
that led you to the certainty of prison.
You returned to the streets of struggle
in the spring of our revolution,
your heart embalmed with the will
and strength of the Almighty.
With a mystic's grace you embraced
the shaming contradictions of unfulfilled promises,
and pursued the discipleship of mind and body
undeterred by the clamour of glory and the lure
of the Sabbath of the veteran.
Sweet, gentle brother of the people,
you leave us, strengthened by your kindness,
your fearless reprimand
of those self-evicted from their souls,
those led by the morally blind.
Rest in the certainty that you leave us
Beautified by your exemplary witness
as we gather, unbowed, against the merchants of fear
in this season of reckoning and gathered resolve.
However, I will always fondly remember Mr Kathrada as the librarian of Robben Island. Quite literally, he was the designated librarian for prisoners in B-section. He started out life as a shopkeeper’s son in Schweizer-Reneke, but went on to become the keeper of words and phrases on Robben Island. During his years on Robben Island, Ahmed Kathrada jotted down quotations which he came across and liked: proverbs, poetry, drama extracts and passages from books, magazines and newspapers. This clandestine collection eventually amounted to several thousand items contained in seven exercise books, and is housed in the Mayibuye Centre at UWC. In A simple freedom, Tim Couzens notes: “On the island, these quotations were like familiar friends. And for the 20 years on the island that’s all he really had – friendships and books.” Mr Kathrada goes on to say: “One of the reasons I kept them, was that whenever I jotted a quotation down, it simply made me feel better.”
It therefore comes as no surprise to learn that he was the first person on Robben Island to get a degree in 1968. He went on to get a total of four degrees. This was matched by four honorary doctoral degrees. I am proud to say my alma mater, the University of Durban-Westville, was the first South African university to confer an honorary doctorate on Mr Kathrada. Sadly, Mr Kathrada never managed to get his master's degree. He fought tirelessly for prisoners’ right to study towards their master's degree and PhD. But, sadly, just when permission was granted, something quite unexpected put paid to his studies – television. The man was human, after all. I could not help but laugh at an anecdote that at 7:30 pm, you dare not disturb him. That’s the time he sits down to watch Isidingo!
In his Memoirs, Ahmed Kathrada states: “If I had to use a single word to define life on Robben Island, it would be ‘cold’. Cold food, cold showers, cold winters, cold wind coming in off the sea, cold warders, cold cells, cold comfort … It was as if the cold had somehow permeated our very bones, and we never quite managed to thaw out again.”
And yet, all the articles and eulogies describe him with such warmth. Because Ahmed Kathrada was a warm, loving soul. I will never forget 2010, the year he came to Booktown Richmond for our second festival, which we called “The Coolie Odyssey” to celebrate 150 years of Indian settlement in South Africa. After he had laughed about me being the only Indian lecturer of Afrikaans, and the name BookBedonnerd, I remember telling Mr Kathrada the day before the festival that my wife was not too pleased with me, because her birthday fell slap bang in the middle of the festival – 21 October. The next morning, before a packed hall, he said, “Before I begin, I would like to wish Darryl’s wife, Sheritha, a happy birthday.” He was just that sort of individual. Thoughtfulness personified. And over dinner that night, he presented us with a copy of his book A simple freedom, already inscribed: “To Darryl, Sheritha and Kiara. Thank you for your hospitality and friendship. A Kathrada. 21 October 2010. Happy birthday, Sheritha.” That act of kindness towards my family and me by the librarian of Robben Island has yet to be topped in my ten years at BookBedonnerd. The effect that this act of kindness had on me is best captured by one of Mr Kathrada’s favourite quotes by Cervantes: “A proverb is a short sentence based on long experience.” Our time together may have been short, but he made a huge impact on my life. The DVD that forms part of A simple freedom should be compulsory viewing for all South Africans.
Ahmed Kathrada watching the documentary that forms part of the book A Simple Life for the first time since its publication in Booktown, Richmond 2010
RIP Great Soul. I will carry your words with me for the rest of my days. And may they name a library in your honour one day soon. And let me repay your gift with the gift of words, by ending with one of your favourite quotes by James Douglas, this time dedicated to you:
Not unto us, but unto the noble army of the heroic dead be the praise, the glory and the laurels of the divine liberty that purifies the earth, the sea and the air. Greater love knoweth no man than the love of the soldier who lays down his life for the unborn generations of mankind.
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