Patriotism

Today it is a word that is not in vogue.

When I look at my Dad and uncles, grandparents, and other family members, there was always an attitude of volunteering, to serve England. We were English and had not suffered the tragedies endured by the Afrikaner Nation under the British military during the Boer War of 1899 to 1901.

None of my ancestors had perished in appalling conditions when Kitchener had applied the scorched earth policy to crush resistance. Farms, homesteads, crops, livestock and towns were destroyed to break the spirit of the Afrikaner. Concentration camps were created to put Afrikanerwomen and children in. Many thousands died from malnutrition and disease. This resulted in
intense hatred for Britain for generations, my one Afrikaans friend Rolus said that his grandfather would not have even spoken to me; if he knew I was an Englishman he would have just hit me.

So my family always supported the crown, in both world wars. It was always expected. My family were very fortunate that we never had any family who made the “ultimate sacrifice” for King and Country as the expression goes.
When I think of its meaning when I was growing up in South Africa in the 1970’s, I realised that my attitude had changed, I could even say, evolved. In the early part of the decade I was proud of the unity of the country, socially, culturally and politically. I suppose I was a product of national media.
At the time my Dad was a National Party supporter, the Apartheid
government. I was about 11 or 12 years old and living in Welkom, a mining town in Northern Free State. I used to attend assemblyat school, several times a week. The school was a primary school, for English speaking children,
named Welkom Primary School. Even though it was an English speaking school, we sang the Anthem, “Die Stem” in Afrikaans every time. We would do so while standing at attention. We studied a great deal of Afrikaans history and learned many Afrikaans folk songs. I am sad that mygirls were never taught the songs or the history.

I had a friend Arturo. He was a Portuguese boy who father worked on the mines. He was a clever boy and we were great friends. He was as tall as I was short and I must say he had the most amazing blue eyes (I derived such information from some of the girls in my class). We loved dressing up in our “soldier camouflage and play in the beautiful gardens surrounding the mine club.

He told me things about black people that I found fantastic but never disputed. The one story he told me was that the feet of African Black men would secrete a substance that killed the grass in the veldt, that is why paths developed where they walked. I never knew where he got such remarkable information because I had never heard such stuff before (or since!)“Overseas” was a terribly wicked place which told the most terrible lies about South Africa. The communists were behind it and a noble Christian country was under a siege of propaganda and lies.
I was reading a great deal at the time but I remember that geography and geology were my passions. I was still very niave.

My friend Arturo and I loved soldiers as I mentioned before. About that time several series of magazines were released about the Second World War. We each got a differentseries. Mine cost.R1.25 per weekly issue. My pocket money was R1.00 per week. I asked my Mom if she would help me with the shortfall. Being a mother she obliged. The series was six volumes of 16 issues per volume, a total of 96 weeks. I loved the magazines, they are still a treasure house of information. My mother was touched by my single-minded dedication as I never asked to go to the movies or anything; I had my magazines and I was content, occasionally she would give me some
extra money to go to the movies with my friends.

The reason why I share this story with you is that those magazines helped my thinking to evolve.

When I studied the Third Reich which I admired greatly, even monsters such as Hitler and Reinhard Heydrich. To me Heydrich was the ultimate personification of the focus of the Third Reich. Goebbels was the master of propaganda and Erwin Rommel the greatest German General.

But the more I read, the more I was sickened by what I was reading. The more I became horrified at the evil incarnate that I understood the Third Reich to be. The more I studied about the Holocaust with its systematic murder of the undesirables, the more appalled I became. There were those with whom I spoke who expressed admiration for Hitler; they said he did so many good
things for Germany apart from the regrettable massacre of Jews in the concentration camps. I despised their gross stupidity.

I could see parallels between many governments and they way they operated, propaganda was spread by media, particularly state owned media. I realised that citizens were “cattle” and even “cannon fodder” for self serving politicians.

Our family relocated to East London in 1974 , I had just recently learned how to play chess and had joined the East London Chess Club. The club was very progressive for the times, the local editor of the Daily Dispatch, Donald Woods, used to love chess and would always attend. His views were contrary to my Dad’s ideas, Donald was a charming man although not a very good chess player. What he said made me think a lot, but he never preached to me. There were also Black people at the Club, they seemed normal, even nice!!!! My Dad and I were always close, even in ideas, but now I started to use my Dad as a sounding board to test my different ideas against. My Dad’s family loooooved to have political arguments, not quiet civilized debates, but loud bellowing shouting matches at each other with a great deal of passion (never personal insults though). My mother hated it, we would have to desist or she would leave the room. That always made us stop the battle and leave it for another day.

I no longer liked the government, in fact I despised it. I used to go to Cambridge High School whenwe went back to East London. I now refused to sing the national anthem. In those days all the boyshad to do cadets. Cadets was where you were taught how to march. I used to just walk along with my hands in my pockets and never swung my arms. It was risky as you could get cuts in those daysfor disobedience. (for those who do not know what cuts are, it is corporal punishment where a maleteacher will require the student to. bend down and the teacher takes a long stick and hits you on the backside with a considerable blow, you could even end up getting “six of the best” if you committed a serious misdemeanour).

Now many years have passed since then, the ANC came into power much to my delight, but over the years it has turned to disillusionment as beloved Nelson Mandela has now been succeeded by a self serving monster, who is only there for himself. He has surrounded himself with cronies who have betrayed all the ideals that men and women sacrificed so much for. Many cynics say that the difference between South Africa and Zimbabwe is only a matter of time. But I don’t believe that, I have faith in the rising generations. No longer is the cry where all must be sacrificed for “the Struggle”, but rather “Why? Why should our leaders not be accountable for their actions?”. So educating the masses is a double edged sword, the former virtually illiterate supporter of the ANC is dying out. The new youngsters expect accountability and service delivery from the leaders of the country. No longer can the chant “Freedom, remember the struggle comrade” be given. The majority of the new
generation are colour blind, my children do not see colour and many of their friends and peers do not see colour either.

Times are changing, who knows? I may even become patriotic again!

But regardless of what happens, I can never and will never leave this land, the people are just too great.

I am one with this rainbow nation.