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The Individual, Auto/biography and History in South Africa

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A man … surrounded by a sea of people, so many that they<br />

overflowed out <strong>in</strong>to the streets, hungry <strong>and</strong> oppressed<br />

people, mesmerised for three hours by the man on the stage,<br />

proud, authentic, revolutionary…. He stood there, imperial,<br />

never once look<strong>in</strong>g at the script of his prepared speech,<br />

expound<strong>in</strong>g a profound political analysis, as if it were a<br />

fairy‐tale told by a master story‐teller. Such was the majesty<br />

of the man. 141<br />

And yet, while still <strong>in</strong> Cape Town at the end of the 1980s, Comrade B received reports on<br />

Comrade Chair’s “dis<strong>in</strong>tegrat<strong>in</strong>g consciousness” from an activist courier. This was a<br />

tragic account of physical decl<strong>in</strong>e <strong>and</strong> <strong>in</strong>tellectual <strong>and</strong> mental deterioration of an aged,<br />

frail activist <strong>in</strong> exile who clung to the leadership of his organisation. His wak<strong>in</strong>g hours,<br />

Comrade B heard, had been preoccupied with “his essentially non‐political past”, with<br />

“rustic stories about the horses he had broken <strong>in</strong>”. Tabata had spent time recount<strong>in</strong>g<br />

“the odyssey of his escape from the country <strong>and</strong> the thous<strong>and</strong> <strong>and</strong> one little trivia he had<br />

encountered on that mammoth journey”. Comrade B arrived <strong>in</strong> Harare, hav<strong>in</strong>g crossed<br />

the border “without permission”, <strong>in</strong> “an act of liberation” which had created <strong>in</strong> him “a<br />

new dimension of self‐awareness”. <strong>The</strong> purpose of the journey was “to test our logistical<br />

preparedness for launch<strong>in</strong>g our liberation drive”. 142<br />

In Harare, he encountered <strong>in</strong> Comrade Chair not a colossus, but someone who “had<br />

become reduced to the crustaceous rema<strong>in</strong>s of his once pregnant voice”. Death was<br />

mak<strong>in</strong>g its appearance on the horizon, especially the “spectre of the death of an era”.<br />

Comrade B’s tower<strong>in</strong>g respect had begun to turn <strong>in</strong>to “censure”. “<strong>The</strong> rot”, he found,<br />

“was <strong>in</strong> the very air of exile”. 143<br />

Nowhere had I found even the rudiments of organisation. Of<br />

an <strong>in</strong>frastructure there was not a sign. Armed struggle! This<br />

was … a tragic‐comedy, a macabre joke…. From this great<br />

distance the sick game of leadership was played. And we<br />

little fools back home played along <strong>in</strong> a deadly <strong>and</strong> futile<br />

141 Frank Anthony, <strong>The</strong> Journey, p 198.<br />

142 Frank Anthony, <strong>The</strong> Journey, pp 77, 112‐4, 194.<br />

143 Frank Anthony, <strong>The</strong> Journey, pp 170‐184.<br />

487

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