CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY

We had our book group meet up last night to discuss “Cry, The Beloved Country” by Alan Paton, first published in 1948 and I now understand why it stands out as the single most important novel in 20th Century South African literature – even more so now with the recent violent events that are taking place in South Africa.

I loved the book. Very simply and beautifully written. Very African. I only noticed half way through that there were no quotation marks for conversations – makes you wonder why we bother with them – it was perfectly easy to read without them. That said, of course there are explanations about biblical references for this which I could tell you about – but it’s just as easy to click on Wikipedia if you’re interested in a more intelligent review of the book.

It is an incredibly sad, but yet uplifting story, set just as Apartheid was introduced. A father looking for his wayward son. Fear was a constant reference in the book. The real tragedy of the book is that it feels as if South Africa has come full circle and has found itself again in the grip of fear as it deteriorates both economically and politically, with wildcat strikes and spreading violence. Right now, foreign investment is drying up. Education is woeful. Inequality has grown since apartheid and the gap between the rich and the poor is now amongst the worlds largest. The shooting of the striking miners at Mariakana in August this year killing 34 men highlights this. Especially now photographs have come to light exposing the police explanation of armed and dangerous minors as a cover up. A quote taken from a newspaper in Johannesburg last week says “The message is ‘crystal clear’; the police stand ready to quell any popular movement of the underclass that threatens the interests of the elite, just as in the days of apartheid. In today’s South Africa, if you are poor and lack political clout, you are on your own”.

Alan Paton writes about the fear for the future, the breakdown of the tribal system and the fear of change:-

I am tired and lonely. Oh my husband, why did we leave the land of our people? There is not much there, but is is shared by all together. If all are poor, it is not so bad to be poor.

Yes there are a hundred, and a thousand voices crying. But what does one do, when one cries this thing, and one cries another? Who knows how we shall fashion a land of peace where black outnumbers white so greatly? Some say that the earth has bounty enough for all, and that more for one does not mean less for another, that the advance of one does not mean the decline of another. They say that poor paid labour means a poor nation, and that better paid labour means greater markets and greater scope for industry and manufacture. And others say that this is a danger, for better paid labour will not only buy more, but will also read more, think more, ask more and will not be content to be fore ever voiceless and inferior.

Who knows how we shall fashion such a land? For we fear not only the loss of our possessions, but the loss of our superiority and the loss of our whiteness. Some say it is true that crime is bad, but would this not be worse? Is it not better to hold what we have and to pay the price of it with fear? And others say, can such fear be endured? For is it not this fear that drives men to ponder these things at all?

We do not know, we do not know. We shall live from day to day, and put more locks on the doors, and get a fine fierce dog when the fine fierce bitch next door has pups and hold on to our handbags more tenaciously; and the beauty of the trees by night, and the raptures of lovers under the stars, these things we shall forego. We shall forgo the coming home drunken through the midnight streets, and the evening walk over the star-lit veld. We shall be careful, and knock this off our lives, and knock that off our lives, and hedge ourselves about with safety and precaution. And our lives will shrink, but they shall be the lives of superior beings; and we shall live with fear, but at least it will not be a fear of the unknown.

And here, is his telling foreboding of the future:-

And the conscience shall be thrust down, the light of life shall not be extinguished, but be put under a bushel, to be preserved for a generation that will live by it again, in some day not yet come; and how it will come, and when it will come, we shall not think about at all.

He weaves a story where a black father unites in his grief with a white father. They both understand each other simply because they have lost their only son’s – both of which have taught them a new way to look at the world. Through their grief, on a very basic level they help each other to find a new way to work together.

It feels like this approach is needed more than ever again now. So sad to read it and to realise that so very little has changed.