Book Review: P Denis and G Duncan, The Native School that caused all the trouble. A History of the Federal Theological Seminary

Book Review: P. Denis and G. Duncan, The Native School that caused all the trouble. A History of the Federal Theological Seminary of Southern Africa, Cluster Publications, Pietermaritzburg, 2011. 319pp

I have to say, it was a painful and unique experience reading this book. Painful, because I taught in the institution which is the substance of the book and I witnessed the beginnings of its collapse and demise. Painful, because it brought back a period of my own personal history and the history of Pietermaritzburg, which was often extremely dangerous. And unique, because of the extraordinary privilege I feel at having had the experience of life, with all its ups and downs, in the Federal Theological Seminary.

The Federal Theological Seminary (Fedsem) was established in 1963 in Alice, in the Eastern Cape. From the beginning, the Apartheid state watched it with growing concern. It was multi-racial. It was a place where critical thinking was encouraged. It was a place where black people could get quality education and think however they chose. The state soon expropriated the land on which it was situated in 1974, forcing it to become a nomad, settling first in Umtata, then in Edendale and finally in Imbali, Pietermaritzburg.

In the eyes of the apartheid state, it was a radical hotbed of revolution. A sinister and dangerous place. For the churches, which sent students to study there, (from the Methodist, Anglican, United Congregational and Presbyterian traditions), it was, for three decades, the main place for training their black students. (Which is not to say that the Churches did not have their hesitations about the place, either).

Because that was the curiosity of Fedsem. It was paradoxical and contradictory. It was certainly a place where radical thought could be espoused, but at the same time, it was a place of extraordinary conservatism. It was Ecumenical, but it was divided. It was multiracial and challenging, but never unified. The very design of the buildings in Imbali gave impetus to this paradoxical existence. Revel Fox was instructed to design a set of buildings which both retained the separate essence and existence of the various church denominations, and also to join them together.

The result was bewildering. Three separate, but identical blocks, cascading from cell-like single rooms, to student married houses, to (larger) lecturer’s houses. Everything looking exactly the same as everything else. The red brick of the place, stark and monochrome, but strangely, not entirely unpleasing. These three identical blocks were all joined by a rigid system of corridors – and seldom did the inter-connections get used. We all lived together, but mostly (and sometimes aggressively) we lived apart.

The architecture of the seminary was indicative of its disastrous attempt at forging the kind of unity where everything is presumed to be equal. And equal means “the same”.

There is another feature of the architecture which the writers of the book neglected to emphasise. The Seminary was bounded by a huge impenetrable fence, separating it decisively from the surrounding community. We may as well have been living on the moon, for all the contact we had with the people of Imbali. The surrounding community seldom, if ever, had access to the place. They didn’t own it or use it in any real way. And when the opportunity presented itself, they tore down the fences and looted the place, until there was not one brick standing on top of another.

Denis and Duncan make much of the standard of theology which was taught at Fedsem – and rightly so. Compared to many other colleges, the students at Fedsem were given the freedom to explore and question their faith, their history and their context in a way which few others seemed prepared to. This proved not only to raise the eyebrow of suspicion in the state, but in the churches themselves. Church leaders, even the greatest amongst them, do not generally like to be questioned. They seldom like to be challenged. And if they are questioned, then they prefer it not to be too rigorous.

So there was then (and I have no doubt that there remains today) a preference for “tame” priests and ministers, rather than hell-raisers. Contextual theology was regarded with alarm. Biblical Criticism, Redaction Criticism and Form Critical analysis – the real basics of Biblical study and Systematic Theology, were regarded as apostasy or heresy. The centre could not hold, because there really was no centre to hold. There really was no standard of education which one could apply from anywhere else. And in that kind of a religious context, fairy tales will always trump analytical fact.

The other rather complex point, which I think the writers under-explored, was the issue of the political operatives who were working in the Seminary. For instance, they assume that some of the lecturers were raising funds for primarily theological purposes. They find no link between the students or staff of the Seminary and the unrest in Imbali. That may be indeed true. Because the political operatives were not interested in Imbali. They were interested in recruiting students from every corner of the country, which is what made the Seminary such a suitable place to be! They were interested in building political critical mass in the church (something, I think those of us who were involved can say, without any shadow of a doubt, we failed hopelessly at doing!). The purpose was political. And it was that which was spotted by some of the ultra-conservative (and allegedly corrupt) elements in the leadership of the Seminary. And that is the reason we became such threats to their power. (The allegations of corruption against them, by the way, were legion towards the end. This is a subject which is simply avoided and needed to be faced, in my opinion).

Arrogance, ignorance, stupidity and greed is a very a heady mixture. The book shows that the leadership of Fedsem had that in bucket-loads, in the end days. They seemed utterly incapable of seeing the consequences of their actions.

The book is a fine one and I can only but congratulate the authors. Its readership is unlikely to be wide. But if only the buffoons who brought about the collapse of what was both a progressive and noble ideal read it - and learn something from it - then it will have been well worth the effort.

The conundrum that is Winnie Mandela

The Federal Theological Seminary, in Imbali, Pietermaritzburg, was an interesting institution. All the churches which sent students there saw it as a hotbed of political activism and theological radicalism and students which emerged from it, were regarded by their churches, routinely, with huge amounts of suspicion at best. Or awe, at worst.

The fact is, it was fairly middle-of-the-road. It had some theological greats in its history, but it also had dreadful bigots and dreary, self-seeking conservatives. The really radical figures which had passed through its portals, had long since left, by the time I got there. The seminary continued in their glory, while demonstrating very little of their courage and intellectual acumen. It was, in many ways, a fairly sad place. A place which pretended to be progressive, but acted out all the petty divisions of the mainline churches and where even the mildest excursions into progressive theology was shown a fair amount of disapproval.

But at the same time, some of the students were committed struggle people. They worked hard in the underground structures. They were sometimes arrested – causing panic in the rest of the student population, who would then resort to fervent prayer and concern, furrowed brows and occasional baskets of food delivered to the local jail.

One year, the Seminary did what everyone thought was a really radical thing. We invited Winnie Mandela to speak at the graduation. Now let me say immediately, that in the scope of things, at the time, it WAS a big thing. Immediately the security police became more interested than usual. The students got so worked up about it, that it seemed to me that some of them might need medication. The lecturers started positioning themselves, either as to who would be introducing her, or who would be welcoming her. The conservatives, and the would be radicals alike were swept up in the excitement of the event.

She kept us all waiting for about three hours. But did we mind? Not at all. Because the Mother of the Nation was visiting the Seminary. Did we mind that she looked either drugged or drunk when she eventually did appear? Not at all! She was the Mother of the Nation, after all. Did we even comment on the fact that she talked the biggest load of unprepared twaddle when she got up to speak? Why would we? The Mother of the Nation was speaking. And many of the students themselves were steadfastly resisting theological education because of the havoc they knew it would play with their prejudices.

In her speech, she revealed all the prejudices, all the conservatism and all the bigotry of someone who is not theologically educated (and I am talking in a theological context here). The students, most of them also bigoted, prejudiced and conservative, loved and adored her.

I was reminded of this, because a short time ago, our newspapers were filled with outrage at some of the things which Winnie has been saying (apparently a very long time ago – like August last year!). Mostly, the papers have been flabbergasted by her saying that Nelson Mandela, her former husband and soon to be Saint, had sold the poorest, (who are almost always black) – down the river. (Shock and horror!). The blogs, the newspapers, the twits and the airwaves all played in concert a symphony of disgust and reprobation. She was unhinged, resentful, way off-the-mark and easily dismissed as a loony tune. More than anything she was disrespectful to her former husband. And that is a sin of huge proportions. There is probably no forgiveness to be found. This time she has gone too far. Oh yes, she also called Desmond Tutu a cretin for forcing her to appear before the Truth and Reconciliation commission, which he headed.

I saw also, using Fatima Meer’s funeral as her stage, she has lashed out at the press, claiming that she never gave the Evening Standard any interview at all and spent a huge amount of time doing damage control from it.

Well, I suppose that is what happens when you have two personae – one for public consumption and the other for private. Because everything she seems to have said in the non-interview was for apparently only for private consumption. Just a pity the person to whom it was said was partially involved in a newspaper

Whatever the real reason, it looks as though she did actually say those things, not imagining that they were going to appear down the track in a newspaper. And for that reason, I think we should look at them a little more carefully.

Is it true, we need to ask ourselves, that her former husband, Nelson Mandela sold the poor down the river? What message did he think he was giving when he received his Nobel Peace Prize with his former captor? Is it not the case that the riches of the country have circulated in a very controlled, very small pond?

I don’t see anything particularly off-the-wall about that. It is what most of the people I mix with say all the time. They just don’t say it in print or in an interview.

The question is, are the things she said true or not?

Much as one may not like her, Winnie Mandela is far from stupid. She may be pig-headed. She may even be profoundly unwise to say the things she says - but she has never given a ten cent piece for public opinion. She may be a liar and she may even be guilty of most of the things she has been accused of. But one thing is for certain. No-one in the country is able to articulate, as she can, the general mood of the people. (And by “the people”, I mean those who are mostly excised from the general sway of political decision-making and power.)

And the reason for this is that wherever people are suffering, Winnie Mandela is there. And this is something they remember. And this is the reason they take her into their confidence. It doesn’t matter about her dubious history. It doesn’t matter that she was convicted of various crimes. The fact is, she cares about the poor – or at the very least – appears to care about them.

Did things change fundamentally for the poor when Mandela took over the reins of state? It is perfectly obvious that the nature of the political settlement required that virtually nothing would change in relation to the ownership of wealth. That was the point of Mandela accepting the Nobel Peace Prize with his former captor, FW de Klerk.

The effects of that settlement, on the poor, is that their economic situation remains dire, 16 years into democratic government. That, I am afraid, is the truth. It is a pity Winnie Mandela appears as unable to admit to telling it, as she was to her deeds before the courts and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. It is a pity, because it appears to be the truth, nonetheless.

Terror and Courage

For the past few days, I have had someone staying with me who goes back well into my past. We were together in the underground in Lesotho, in the early 1980s and in Pietermaritzburg in the mid to late 1980s. Needless to say, these were extremely difficult times.

In Lesotho, there was continuously the threat of raids from the South African Defence Forces. They came across the border in 1983 and again in 1985. They killed at will. They targeted specific buildings and killed anyone inside those buildings. People were killed while they slept. One had her throat slashed, as she slept in a hotel room in the middle of Maseru. As it happens, they killed someone with absolutely nothing to do with the ANC. They had been given information that a particular cadre was staying in room “x” which was (say) three rooms to the left on the right hand side of the building on the third floor – they counted from the left hand side, instead of the right hand side, and that was the person that died. In the aftermath of the raid, I drove with two friends to the houses of those who had been killed. The horror still lives with me today.

In Pietermaritzburg, during what was called the “Seven day war” we saw yet more horror, as the state backed Inkatha and the ANC fought each other. (This was after Nelson Mandela had been released). We were living in the “black” township of Imbali and lecturing in the Federal Theological Seminary, at the time.

We were just remembering some of the moments which continue to haunt us. Bodies lying in the road. Bodies piled in the mortuary. Bodies found in the forest. Remembrance services held in the Lay Centre in an attempt to help people come to terms with the tremendous loss we were suffering.

I said to my friend, that when I think back on those days, the thing I struggle with is remembering my own cowardice – the extraordinary level of fear I had. And, she reminded me, it was not the way I behaved. People were not aware of that fear and that cowardice. I was glad to hear of things I did, which were not cowardly, but still I remember it being there. And it has made me somewhat less judgemental of cowards, I think.