Journal articles on the topic 'South African Communist Party (SACP)'

This article draws extensively on an activist archive held at the University of Witwatersrand in order to analyze an important historical struggle within the South African Communist Party (SACP). A critical history of the crucial debates taking place within the SACP in the late 1990s is constructed from this archival material in order to explore the expulsion of Dr. Dale T. McKinley from the Party in 2000. The article argues that the expulsion of McKinley was a pivitol moment in the history of the SACP, and helps us understand the post-apartheid trajectory of the Party. Expelling McKinley fulfilled the SACP leadership’s goal of managing dissent at the rank-and-file level, and ensured that the Party’s loyalty to the ANC would remain an integral aspect of its strategy and tactics. Moreover, the use of this activist archive was absolutely essential in (re)constructing this critical story about the Party’s history.

The Delegate for Africa: David Ivon Jones, 1883–1924. By Baruch Hirson and Gwyn A. Williams. London: Core Publications, 1995. Pp. x+272. £8.50, paperback (ISBN 897640-02-1).S. P. Bunting: A Political Biography, new edition. By Edward Roux. Bellville: Mayibuye Books. 1993. Pp. 200. No price given, paperback (ISBN 1-86808-162-1).Outsiders looking at the recent history of South African politics are apt to be struck by two conundrums. How can a nation that pushed the logic of ‘race’ as far as any society in history also have produced one of the world's most enduring non-racial political traditions? And how, in a period that has seen the crumbling of the Soviet Union and the discrediting of communist parties throughout the world, has the South African Communist Party (SACP) not only survived but risen to power, in coalition with the African National Congress and the Congress of South African Trade Unions?

The written history and narratives of the anti-apartheid liberation struggle in South Africa has been cast, albeit erroneously, as if it was waged and won solely by the African National Congress (ANC), its ally the South African Communist Party (SACP), and the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU), the three alliance partners that have held the reins of state power since the first multi-racial democratic elections in 1994. The truth is that the Pan-Africanist Congress (PAC) of Azania, the Azania People’s Organization (AZAPO), the New Unity Movement (NUMO), and several other liberation movements played significantly vital roles in that struggle. The ensuing discourse puts this state of affairs on the PAC’s diminished status in the politics of post-liberation South Africa, which derives partly from its radical antecedents from its inception that placed it apart from the ANC from which it split in 1959, earned it immediate proscription from the apartheid stage before it could root itself properly as well as notoriety in the West. The discourse argues and concludes that a more comprehensive narrative and written history of that struggle will benefit the on-going quest for the transformation of South Africa’s multi-racial democracy and the course of democracy in the rest of Africa.

Several recent publications have explored the African National Congress's (ANC's) external links during South Africa's apartheid years. The following four texts offer an insight into the very different personal and methodological approaches that have so far shaped attempts to understand this aspect of the ANC's struggle. The section starts with a review of Stephen Ellis's recent book External Mission: the ANC in exile, 1960–1990 by Hugh Macmillan, who argues that Ellis overemphasizes the relationship between the ANC and the South African Communist Party (SACP). In a response to this review, Stephen Ellis justifies his approach by pointing to the importance of interpretation for the production of history, but also by referring to the different networks and resources, both in South Africa and beyond, on which he and Macmillan were able to draw. A review of Hugh Macmillan's new book The Lusaka Years: the ANC in exile in Zambia, 1963 to 1994 by Arianna Lissoni follows. Lissoni agrees with the author that the debate about the ANC in exile must be understood in the context of contemporary disaffection with South Africa's ruling party. Emphasizing the specificity of the Zambian experience, she welcomes Macmillan's focus on the multiplicity of experiences in exile as potentially opening new avenues for further study and reflection on the ANC. Finally, Mariya Kurbak's consideration of Irina Filatova and Apollon Davidson's The Hidden Thread: Russia and South Africa in the Soviet era explains that the authors' close understanding of Russian–South African relations enables them to illuminate the previously hidden importance of the Soviet Union in the history of South Africa and the ANC.

The fast-reviving South African left is urgently coming to grips with the most acute national crises of structure and agency the country has experienced since the historic freeing of Nelson Mandela in February 1990 and the shift of the entire body politic in favor of the African National Congress (ANC) and the South African Communist Party (SACP).&hellip; The subsequent rise in unemployment, inequality, poverty, and environmental degradation soon reached some of the worst levels in the contemporary world. The consequent social unrest is now so high that President Jacob Zuma&hellip;promised increased "public order policing" personnel and the purchase of a new generation of technologically advanced weapons, including sonar canons&hellip;. In this conflagration, what survived of the left is now growing by leaps and bounds. Within a decade, it may become a force capable of an electoral challenge to the ANC for state power. But much will depend upon how it regroups amidst shards of splintered radical projects, with myriad questions hotly debated in the movement.<p class="mrlink"><p class="mrpurchaselink"><a href="http://monthlyreview.org/index/volume-67-number-2" title="Vol. 67, No. 2: June 2015" target="_self">Click here to purchase a PDF version of this article at the <em>Monthly Review</em> website.</a></p>

In South Africa, the Russian Revolution was admired by socialists and nationalists alike. The National Party soon stopped praising the Bolsheviks, but the effect of the Revolution on the nascent Communist Party was important and lasting. South African communists closely watched developments in Soviet Russia and established relations with the Communist International (Comintern) even before the Communist Party of South Africa (CPSA) was born. The Party’s ideology and policy were shaped by the Comintern’s ideas and instructions. In the 1920s and 1930s the struggle around the Comintern-imposed slogan of the independent native republic and the Comintern’s campaigns for ‘bolshevization’ nearly brought the party to its demise. But it survived, and its leadership took the Comintern’s ideals and ideas into the postwar era. The Comintern’s theoretical legacy, particularly its idea of a two-stage (national and socialist) revolution proved long-lasting. This idea became entrenched in the programs of the African National Congress, the party of national liberation and since 1994, the party of government. Even today a significant proportion of South Africa’s black population cherishes the vision of a radical revolution and demands its implementation.

In 1924 and 1925 the Comintern introduced its policy of Bolshevization. A goal of Bolshevization was the creation of mass-based communist parties. In settler societies this meant that the local communist party should aim to be demographically representative of the entire population. This article traces the efforts of the communist parties in Algeria and South Africa to indigenize, seeking to explain why their efforts had such diverse outcomes. It examines four variables: the patterns of working-class formation; the socialist tradition of each country; the relationship between the Comintern and the two communist parties; and the level of repression against communists in both societies. The cumulative weight of the variables in the Algerian case helps to explain why communist activity in the 1920s – including the communist party's ability to indigenize – was far more difficult in Algeria than South Africa.

Drawing on a wealth of new information made available by the opening of the Comintern archives, Drew sheds the light of hindsight on the relationship between the Communist Party of South Africa (CPSA) and, in turn, the Soviet Comintern, the South African liberation movement, and the white and black trade union movements in the first half of the twentieth century. This rich book makes a unique contribution to our understanding of ties between the Comintern and its satellite parties as well as the early history of the South African antiapartheid movement. There are only two other major books on this period of party history, and both are memoirs of party members who try to establish a particular version of the record. Drew contests the teleology of their accounts of communist party history and instead weaves a contingent narrative that identifies major turning points that narrowed the possibility for a radical reorientation of the party (p. 281). It was not inevitable that the party would split and finally dissolve in the way it did—other outcomes were possible, almost until the end. That they were not taken was the layered result of personal and ideological rivalries and party alliances that made socialism, and socialists, perpetually weak and vulnerable in the context of South African politics.

A tripartite alliance formed by the African National Congress, the South African Communist Party and the Congress of South African Trade Unions has been ruling the country with wide parliamentarian majorities. The country remains more consensual and politically inclusive than any of the other African countries in the post-independence era. This article examines three performance’s aspects of the party dominance systems: legitimacy, stability and violence. As we are living in a period in which an unprecedented number of countries have completed democratic transitions, it is politically and conceptually important that we understand the specific tasks of crafting democratic consolidation.

AbstractNicholas Bhekinkosi Bhengu was founder and leader of the Back to God Crusade in South Africa. This movement started in the mid-1950s and became affiliated with the Assemblies of God in South Africa. But Bhengu's influence went far beyond the confines of the movement he started. His revivals impacted South African society in a profound way and he became internationally recognized as a powerful force for change in South Africa. Controversially, however, he did not enter into the political arena as such, even though he was at one stage of his life a member of the Communist Party of South Africa and even later on in his career continued to affirm the policies of this party. Though apparently apolitical his message had profound political consequences. For example he did much to promote the self-confidence and dignity of his people (despite the dehumanising influences of apartheid which he openly denounced), he insisted on reconciliation between the so-called 'red' people and the so-called 'school' people amongst South African black Africans, and he politely but veryfirmly rejected the standards imposed by white society on blacks. There were also very specific reasons — both theological, philosophical, and pragmatic — why he chose not to become a political activist. His is therefore a very significant case study of the socio-political influences of a ministry that was not overtly political.

AbstractSocial movement unionism is increasingly being seen as the strategy that US unions should adopt. However, what is often forgotten is that social movement unionism originated in the Third World. As part of the strategy it is argued that unions should form alliances with political parties. However, by analyzing the alliances between the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU) and the African National Congress (ANC), and the Kilusang Mayo Uno (KMU) and the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) I argue that union alliances with political parties have badly damaged social movement unions.

After the victory of the National Party (NP) in the 1948 elections and the establishment of the apartheid regime in South Africa, politics and culture were subordinated to one main goal – the preservation and protection of Afrikaners as an ethnic minority. Since 1954, the government headed by Prime Minister D. F. Malan had begun implementing measures restricting freedom of speech and creating “literary police”. In 1956 the Commission of Inquiry into “Undesirable Publications” headed by Geoffrey Cronje was created. In his works, Cronje justified the concept of the Afrikaners’ existence as a separate nation, with its own language, culture, and mores. Cronje considered the protection of “blood purity” and prohibition of mixing, both physically and culturally, with “non-whites” as the highest value for Afrikaners. The proposals of the “Cronje Commission” were met with hostility not only by political opponents but also by Afrikaner intellectuals One of Cronje&apos;s most ardent opponents was the famous poet N.P. Van Wyk Louw. Yet, the creation of a full-fledged censorship system began with the coming into power of the government headed by Prime Minister H. Verwoerd, who took a course to tighten racial laws and control over publications. 1960 became the turning point in the relationship between the government and the South African intelligentsia. After the shooting of the peaceful demonstrations in Sharpeville and Langa, the NP declared a state of emergency, banned the activity of the Communist Party and the African National Congress (ANC), and apartheid opponents turned to a military struggle. The political struggle against censorship became more difficult during the armed stand-off between the apartheid loyalists and the NP deposition supporters. The transition to the military struggle was an important force for the radicalization of the intellectuals and the appearance of the “literary protest” and “black voices”. The time for negotiations and searching for compromises was over.

Most theories of terrorism would lead one to have expected high levels of antiwhite terrorism in apartheid South Africa. Yet the African National Congress, the country's most important and influential antiapartheid political organization, never sanctioned terrorism against the dominant white minority. I argue that the ANC eschewed terrorism because of its commitment to "nonracial internationalism." From the ANC's perspective, to have carried out a campaign of indiscriminate or "categorical" terrorism against whites would have alienated actual and potential white allies both inside and outside the country. The ANC's ideological commitment to nonracialism had a specific social basis: It grew out of a long history of collaboration between the ANC and white leftists inside and outside the country, especially those in the South African Communist Party.

AbstractFrom 1922 through 1936 Max Yergan, an African-American graduate of historically Black Shaw University in Raleigh, North Carolina represented the North American YMCA in South Africa through the auspices of the Student Christian Association. A student secretary since his sophomore year in 1911, with Indian and East African experience in World War One, Yergan's star rose sufficiently to permit him entry into the racially challenging South Africa field after a protracted campaign waged on his behalf by such interfaith luminaries as Gold Coast proto nationalist J.E.K. Aggrey and the formidable Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois. Arriving on the eve of the Great Rand Mine Strike of 1922, Yergan's South African years were punctuated by political concerns. Entering the country as an Evangelical Pan-Africanist influenced by the social gospel thrust of late nineteenth and early twentieth century American Protestantism that reached the YMCA and other faith-friendly but nondenominational organizations, Yergan became favorably disposed to Marxist and Marxist-Leninist doctrine in the course of his South African posting. Against the backdrop of the labor agitation of the post World War One era and the expansion and transformation of the South African Communist Party that occurred during the mid to late nineteen twenties, Yergan's response to what he termed "the appeal of Communism" made him an avatar of a liberation theology fusing Marxist revolution and Christianity. This paper details some of the trajectory of that momentous and profound personal evolution.

The widespread concern in recent South African poetry with landscape and the question of what place the poet occupies in that landscape arises less as a response to the turn of the millennium than to the historical end of formal apartheid, but nonetheless marks an epochal shift in sensibility. Whereas much poetry of the 1980s evoked a sense of extreme dislocation in recent time and local space (marked by references to a precarious present of forced removal and migrancy, and unspecified, unsettled futures), some significant recent work has been marked by a desire to relocate the human presence in South Africa in terms of geological time and continental space. This generalization needs to be qualified by reference to racial and political positioning within South Africa, and in this paper I distinguish between the work of committed white writers such as ex-political-prisoner Jeremy Cronin (now Secretary of the South African Communist Party) and Barry Feinberg (now curator of the Mayibuye Centre), and the work of black writers such as Don Mattera, Seitlhamo Motsapi, Lesego Rampolokeng, and Daniel P Kunene. The regrounding of the human presence in South Africa by white writers such as Cronin and Feinberg attempts a radical remapping of South African cultural identity in utopianly unraced terms, while the reclamation of continental African and local South African place names by black writers such as Mattera, Motsapi, Rampolokeng, and Kunene draws attention to the material reality of a postapartheid heterotopia in which South Africa's postmodern landscape is being divided up and sold off in ways that combine a very old-fashioned rhetoric of class and space with a new/old racial coding.

AbstractBased on the intensity and the volume of financial and economic dimensions as it pertains to the relationship between China and various African countries since the end of the 1990s, the debate on these relations has just begun within a global context. The discussion on the nature of South-South relations, especially between a newly emerging industrial country, located in Asia, and the African countries, which represent the least industrialized area of the world, has more recently brought the subject of the unequal balance of power between the two regions under intellectual scrutiny. Several intellectual debates on China-Africa relations have been mostly reactive in the sense that many analyses have focused on Africa’s past relations with the Global North. The existing literature on these relations has, to a large extent, not sufficiently located the discourse within the existing dominant ideologies, namely neo-imperialism and neo-liberalism. It is also important to localize these relations within the World Trade Organization’s dogmas and practices, the United Nations Charter, and African Union Charter in order to assess whether or not they can be characterized as either neo-imperialist or neo-liberal. Furthermore, it is important to identify on which specific areas these economic relations have generally focused and in which specific African countries they have been dominant. How do the Chinese government and the Chinese Communist Party perceive and define them? How do the African Union and specific African countries perceive and define these relations? And what are the policy implications in China and in the African public sectors? The main objective of this paper is, using the data and figures from Chinese sectoral investments and export-import of China and specific African countries to make a critical evaluative analysis of these relations and determine if they are qualified to be called neo-imperialist or neo-liberal. The article is both an empirically-based analysis and a reflection.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to discuss South Africa’s trajectory of socio-economic development since the advent of democracy a quarter century ago. This is done through a critical discussion and review of major policy interventions that have been implemented to achieve the goal of racial justice. The author argues that while the advent of democracy brought about significant opportunities for social justice, socio-economic development in South Africa has been characterised by increasing wealth and income inequality, which has undermined the cause of racial justice. The key argument the author advances in the paper is that the decline in the power resources of the working class and the poor accounts for the neoliberal turn in economic policy in South Africa. Design/methodology/approach The paper relies on primary policy documents of the government and on primary political and policy documents of the African National Congress and its political allies such as the Congress of South African Trade Unions and the South African Communist Party. The author also reviews the extensive literature on the subject of development policymaking in the new South Africa. Findings The main finding is that the advent of democracy a quarter century ago and the policy interventions by the government have brought about social progress in some areas. However, the colonial and apartheid domination still shapes access to social-economic opportunities in South Africa. In anything, income and wealth inequality has increased since 1994. The goal of racial justice appears far from being achieved. Research limitations/implications The key implication arising from the research is that strengthening political organisations of the working class and the poor is critical to attaining the goal of social equity. This is particularly true in a context where elite interests in the state and the corporate sector have been ascendant for the past two decades. Originality/value What is original about the paper is that it is one of the first papers that assess the progress that has made in bringing about racial justice 25 years after the advent of democracy in South Africa. Furthermore, the paper uses the power resources theory to explain the dearth of pro-poor social reform in South Africa. This is a departure from the dominant approach, which explains the adoption of neoliberalism in South Africa as either inevitable due to poor economic performance or an outcome of the sell-out by the ANC political elite.

The Covid-19 pandemic has highlighted the importance of hydropolitics in South Africa. The country remains one of the driest countries in the world with a below average rainfall of 450 mm per annum. The country’s economic hub in the Gauteng province is largely dependent on water from the neighbouring Kingdom of Lesotho. On a geopolitical level the country also shares various water sources with neighbouring states. This is especially relevant due to the dependence on South Africa, as the regional hegemon, for access to markets and income. However, large areas of South Africa experience extreme water scarcity due to a combination of factors that include climate change related drought, urbanisation and government-related water management failures. In many local government municipalities across the country the lack of government capacity to supply water resources and manage waste water have reached crisis proportions. Many towns and communities across South Africa have been left with unreliable access to sustainable water resources. This is mainly due to a combination of corruption, poor management and the lack of institutional capacity at local government level. The institutional incapacity of government is a result of the governing party African National Congress’ ideological approach to government, combined with political factionalism, which has stripped the civil service of expertise and led to the exodus of skilled individuals from both government and the country. The government’s implementation of the communist ? based Leninist democratic centralism, commonly known as a cadre deployment strategy, has resulted in large scale state capture and corruption that has had a devastating impact on the delivery of basic services such as water. Hydropolitical civil unrest has increased to an extent that, in instances such as the Majakeng and Maluti-a-Phofung municipalities, unrest became extremely violent and disrupted businesses and well as state education and health facilities. This article is an ontological investigation into the hydropolitical impact of, and ideological reasons for, state incapacity to manage water resources and deliver safe and sustainable supply of water to the population. While reference will be made to the general situation in the country, the Majakeng and Maluti-a-Phofung municipalities will be used as a case studies for the impact of water insecurity on political stability. On the other hand, the City of Cape Town’s ability to manage water scarcity and avert a drought related “day zero” scenario is used as an example of what can be achieved through sound management. The article will combine ideological considerations with theoretical explanations of ideology and state failure within a hydropolitical context in order to explain the current water crisis at local government level in South Africa and the threat that this poses to the political order in the country. Being a regional hegemon, any political disruptions in South Africa also threaten the geopolitical stability of the entire Southern African region. There remains a great deal of scope for future geopolitical co-operation around water within the Southern African Development Community that can secure a sustainable sources of future water supplies for South Africa and generate further income for the country’s neighbours. The article evaluates the current water situation in the country, explains the water related geopolitical considerations that the country has to take into account, investigates the ideological basis for government policy and institutional strategy and the impact that this has on the capacity of the state to deliver sustainable and reliable water access to local communities, and then evaluates some case studies that include both failures and a success story. This assessment includes various sources of literature that supply a theoretical conceptual basis for terms such as hydropolitics and ideology. These academic concepts provide the basis for the practical considerations that are an integral part of the ideologically ? based hydropolitical ontological assessment. The article concludes with some broad recommendations on how the country could mitigate some of the hydropolitical challenges that it faces.

Abstract Objective – To determine the general public’s levels of social tolerance toward public library materials containing racist content in order to present opinion data to librarians within a framework of scholarly perspectives that they can use for making decisions about intellectual freedom and controversial materials in libraries. Design – Percentage and regression analysis of the General Social Survey longitudinal trend study dataset. Setting – United States, 1976-2006. Subjects – Random samples of 26,798 primarily English-speaking adults aged 18 and up. Methods – The author analyzed responses from the well-respected and frequently used General Social Survey (GSS), which has been conducted by the National Opinion Research Center since 1972. The GSS is a closed-ended survey including a variety of demographic measures. Between the years 1976 and 2006, it also included a question to gauge the support of removing a book with racist beliefs about African Americans from the public library. The surveys were conducted irregularly over this thirty-year span, and in total the question was asked nineteen times garnering 26,798 responses. Spanish speakers were not included until 2006. The author examined the data in multilevel cross-tabulations using percentages, and calculated chi-square for independence using frequencies. A multiple regression analysis was conducted to determine the predictive value of the independent variables examined on opinions of book removal. The author examined different variables, including education level, race, age, parental status, sex, geographic factors, religious affiliation, political party, and political conservatism. Occupation was not used in the regression analysis because sample sizes in some categories were too small. The two ordinal variables, age and education level, were available as ratio level data that are most appropriate for regression calculations. Due to the large sample size, very small differences in percentages are significant at the .000 level. In these cases the author made judgment as to whether these differences were meaningful, or divided the data into multi-layer cross-tabulations to reduce the sample size and make the significance test more informative. Main Results – Analysis revealed the most influential predictors of support for book removal from the public library were education level, religious affiliation, and race. Age was particularly influential for older respondents, while occupation and living in the South were moderately influential. Variables with only slight correlations to support of book removal included political party affiliation and conservatism, parental status, and sex. Across all years of the study only 35.3% of respondents supported removal of racist materials from the public library. Levels of support only changed slightly over the decades: in 1976, 38.1% supported removal while in 2006 only 34.5% did. The mean age of respondents was 44.1 years and the median was 42 years. Respondents over 57 years old were more likely to support removal (43.5%) compared to younger ages whose support ranged from 31.1–34.1%. The largest change over time was seen from respondents 57 years and older, whose support for removal dropped in later years of the study. Education level had a strong impact on opinions; the lower one’s education level, the higher their support for removal of the racist book from the public library. Of those with less than a high school degree, 50.6% supported removal versus 35.8% of high school diploma holders. Respondents with junior college, bachelor’s, and graduate degrees supported removal at 29.2%, 20.5%, and 15.3%, respectively. Over time, those with high school degrees maintained their level of support for removal while those with higher levels of education increased their support for removal. Race was strongly related to opinions on removing offensive items from the library. While half of African American respondents supported removing a racist book, only one-third of white respondents did. However, in all but a few subcategories of analysis, the majority of African Americans did not support removal, indicating a great deal of social tolerance on their part despite the possibility of being more sensitive to the implications of having racist materials in the library. When cross-tabulated with education level, the same pattern of support for removal was reproduced. There was little variation over time in white respondent’s opinions while African Americans’ varied slightly. Geographic factors affected opinions supporting removal of racist materials, though place size only had a small impact on opinions. Respondents in the South were most likely to support removal (42.1%) and those in New England were least likely (25.2%). About one-third of respondents from the Midwest (33%), Mid-Atlantic (36%), and the West (29.8%) supported removal. Opinions over time remained the same in all regions but the South, whose support of removal dropped to 38.8%. Religion was found to correlate with opinions on removing racist books from the library. Protestants showed the highest level of support for removal (39.5%), followed by Catholics (32.3%), Jews (21.7%), and respondents unaffiliated with religion (20.5%). Race had a strong impact within some religions on supporting removal, particularly among Methodists and those claiming no religion. When opinions by religion were cross-tabulated with education level, at every level Baptists were more likely to support removal than other groups, while Jews and those without religious affiliation were least likely. Other demographic variables had little effect on opinions concerning removal of racist materials from the library. Parents supported removal (37%) while nonparents were less likely to (30%), and men and women were almost equally likely to support removal (33% and 37% respectively). Political affiliation and level of conservatism only showed slight effects on opinions supporting removal. By a small margin Democrats were most likely to support removal (39.2%) followed by Republicans (34%) and independents (32.5%). Across the conservatism spectrum, moderates were most likely to support removal (37.7%) followed by conservatives (36.4%) and liberals (29.9%). The author also examined whether a respondent’s occupation influenced their opinions and focused this inquiry on the professions of library workers and educators. Librarians were overwhelmingly against removal of racist materials while library paraprofessionals were less likely to support it than other workers with a similar level of education. College and university teachers in disciplines other than library and information science were divided but in comparison to other similarly educated professions they were less likely to support removal. School teachers were significantly more likely to support removal than other occupations also requiring a bachelor’s degree. When contrasted with controversial materials of other types, such as those by openly homosexual or communist authors, different patterns of support for removal over time were observed. Support for removal of books by homosexuals and communists declined significantly over the decades. Similar to the support of the removal of racist materials, education and religious affiliation were the variables most highly correlated to support of removal of these other types of controversial books. Conclusion – The discomfort among Americans over the free expression of exclusionary speech about African Americans remained relatively consistent over the years of the study (1976 – 2006) despite some shifts within particular demographic categories. Tolerance toward free expression by homosexuals and communists increased over time, demonstrating exclusionary speech may be perceived as a different type of social threat. Librarians can use this information to: better understand how non-librarians view intellectual freedom in the context of materials with offensive content; inform collection development decisions and predict likelihood of challenges based on the demographics of their user communities; and to educate the public and library stakeholders of the implications of challenging these kinds of items within a library’s collection through upholding their professional values. Librarians should continue to serve their communities by acting as champions of intellectual freedom and to uphold the profession’s rigorous standards. The author suggests future research could: address attitudes about materials with racist views of populations other than African Americans; look for differences in opinions among library users versus non-users; and differentiate between adult and children’s materials containing controversial topics.

This is not the first time I have been embroiled in a boycott debate. In the 1980s, I was involved in solidarity work with the fledgling indepen- dent trade unions in South Africa. They were a living expression of non-racial democracy across so-called national lines. Solidarity included establishing direct links between South African and British unions at official and rank–and-file levels. As a result of our solidarity activities, we were pilloried by leading figures in anti-apartheid, the ANC, and the South African Communist Party for breaking the boycott! When we invited a South African academic, a leading advocate of the new unions and anti-apartheid scholar, to speak at our Comparative Labour Studies pro- gram at Warwick University, a demonstration was organized by a couple of SACP stalwarts to prevent him from speaking. When we wrote a trade union solidarity pamphlet, we were told that unions could only be legal in South Africa if they collaborated with the regime and that we were in effect collaborationists. Beneath the argument about boycott what was really going on was a political battle between a progressive socialist politics and quite reactionary nationalist politics. It is a battle that has not stopped and is rising to the surface in contemporary South Africa. I grant there is no direct analogy between the boycott of apartheid South Africa and that of Israeli academic institutions, but I contend that a similar political battle is taking place—a battle for our future political life.

This is a qualitative study which investigated whether the deputy president of the African National Congress (ANC) can be the heir and elected president in the December 2017 elective conference. The study found that the deputy president is not the heir to the position of the president but that anybody can be elected to the position in terms of the existing constitution. The study also found that while the ANC has a constitution that prescribes how members are elected to positions, it is open to manipulation by those who wish to position their preferred comrades. The ANC does not have a clear policy or procedure to decide who succeeds to the presidency. This lack of policy has led to infighting among the comrades along factional lines as they seek to capture the soul of the ANC. The study found that most former liberation ruling parties such as ZANU–PF and the South West African People’s Organisation are faced with the same challenge. The Chinese Communist Party has faced and overcome this challenge by formulating a clear policy and procedure on who becomes the president or leader of the party. The study recommends that the ANC should formulate clear policies and regulations to define and determine who becomes its president.

The South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) commenced in 1996, providing high hopes to those concerned with change and redress. By many it was seen as the first stage in the reconciliation process. Former General Secretary of the South African Council of Churches, Reverend Frank Chikane, himself a victim of attempted murder when poisoned with nerve gas, likened the role of the TRC in the disclosure and forgiveness process to the confessional, and suggested that "there can be no absolution without confession." However, Methodist bishop and long-time apartheid activist Peter Storey cautioned that "One of our problems is that we’re trying to find a legal framework for what is essentially a spiritual and psychological process." "The Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, No 34 of 1995" states that "amnesty shall be granted in respect of acts, omissions and offences associated with political objectives committed in the course of the conflicts of the past", on the basis of full disclosure. The hearings are over, the committees nearing completion, and on 29 October 1998, the Final Report of the TRC was handed to President Nelson Mandela. Now we have five neatly bound volumes, but how much has changed in the lives of those who have suffered gross human rights violations at the hands of the perpetrators? Some want retribution and will not rest until those who have tortured, abducted or murdered their loved ones or themselves have been tried and convicted. Others just want to bury their loved ones, along with "this shameful chapter of our history." Decisions on who will be granted amnesty linger since the hearings closed. Gillian Slovo, daughter of the late South African Communist Party leader, Joe Slovo, and his wife Ruth First, is one of those who is unwilling to let things rest. Her mother was killed by a letter bomb allegedly intended for Joe Slovo in 1982. She comments on the amnesty hearing of her mother’s killer, former student spy Craig Williamson: "We remembered the incredulity on the faces of the members of the committee when [Williamson] told the committee how he had looked at the intercepted envelope and seen the address, the postal mark and the logo, but not the name of the addressee." The Slovo family has now filed an application in the Cape High Court to set aside the amnesty accorded Williamson, whose testimony seemed contradictory, and not to meet the requirements of full disclosure. And what of reparations to the victims of these human rights violations? An initial payment of R30 million rand (approximately $US 3, 844, 000) was made. People who were part of the ‘urgent interim reparations’ payment received in the region of R2000 rands (approximately $US 250). In the case of those who have lost a loved one, says Duma Khumalo, a founding member of the Khulumani (Speak Out!) Support Group, and himself granted a stay of execution just 15 hours before he was to be hanged for a crime he did not commit, this has the effect of "the victims selling their dead." The government now wrangles over whether further payments will be made, urging business to engage in reparations payments, with business declining to do so on the grounds that it is the role of the state. In the meantime, the suffering of victims seems to have become something of a political football. Where does this leave us on the issue of forgiveness? There are two equally important parts to the issue of ‘sorry’: ‘I am sorry’, and ‘I hear that you are sorry, and I forgive you.’ Many South Africans feel that insult has been added to injury, because an assumption seems to have been made by some perpetrators that, having apologised, they must naturally be forgiven. This is at worst arrogant, and at best naïve. As anyone who has been through any kind of act of betrayal can attest, the healing process and forgiveness, take time. As Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote in Women Who Run With the Wolves, forgiveness is not "a singular act to be completed in one sitting", but has "many layers, many seasons." For many the concept of ‘re’-conciliation is inappropriate, as this suggests a restoration of positive relations that existed in the past. However, for all but the youngest generation of South Africans, division and/or discrimination is all that they’ve known. To some, conciliation seems more appropriate. Others see reconciliation as a personal process and journey of coming to terms with a painful history, and reconciling only within oneself. Still others have abandoned the idea of reconciliation and aim instead for resolution. As Gavin Harrison says, "Sometimes things are also resolved when a situation is clearly comprehended, when all personal work relating to the situation is done, and you realise that, for whatever reason, full reconciliation is just not possible right now." The mainstream media has become noticeably quiet in recent months on the issue of reparations. It would seem that after extensive coverage of the hearings, and then of the tensions between government and the TRC, they too have become burnt out. What has captured their attention, however, and the attention of the public at large, is the controversial Declaration of Commitment by White South Africans, initiated by apartheid activist Carl Niehaus and others. Sociology lecturer at the University of the Witwatersrand, Eddie Webster observes ironically that "it seems as if the signatories are largely drawn (with the puzzling exception of the South African rugby team) from prominent anti-apartheid figures." Quite absent from the signatories is the "white leader who will say, ‘We had an evil system with awful consequences. Please forgive us’" for whom Bishop Tutu had wished in his Forward to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Final Report. The absence of such a leader, says Tutu now, remains his biggest regret. (It should also be noted that a number of black South Africans chose to sign the declaration in support of the initiative.) Possibly the best we can hope for are more people like Wilhelm Verwoerd, grandson of the architect of apartheid, Hendrik Verwoerd, whose openness about his own painful personal revolution can provide us with inspiration. Verwoerd reminds us that: "As a beneficiary [of apartheid] I thus tend to take for granted my good education, my ownership of a house in town and my access to a family holiday home near the beach, my inheritance from parents, my relatively high income and low risk of unemployment. While individual effort and skill must be acknowledged, it is important to unmask a false, overconfident sense of entitlement, to help white South Africans see how much of what we have is built on unfair, systematic privileging." Perhaps he can symbolise for us that hope lies not in the ‘New South Africa’, but in the new generation of South Africans, committed to change, and not waiting for government or big business to ‘do it for us.’ There are ever-increasing television documentaries about ordinary South Africans, black and white, "who never made a proclamation or held an office, but were handed a place [in South Africa] and are quietly making a life out of it" (Dietz). Such people seem often the strangest of bedfellows, stumbling around in the dark together and finding creative solutions to apparently insurmountable problems. Not politicians or academics, just ordinary people, with the ability to say ‘I am sorry, I will try to make amends.’ Equally important is the ability to say, ‘I recognise that you are sorry, and I will give you another chance.’ This, not the 1994 first democratic election, is the real miracle of South Africa. References Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation and Khulumani Support Group. "Submission to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission: Survivors’ Perceptions of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and Suggestions for the Final Report." 1998. http://www.csvr.org.za/papers/papkhul.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Chikane, Frank. "The Role of Truth Commissions in the Process of Reconciliation in South Africa." Seminar presented at the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, 1 June 1994. Cronin, Jeremy. "Sorry Can Help, But on Its Own Its Not Enough." Mail and Guardian 12 January (2001). http://www.sn.apc.org/wmail/issues/010112/OTHER50.html Downloaded 22 January 2001. Daniels, Glenda. "Superspy’s Pardon Challenged." Mail and Guardian 15 December (2000).http://www.mg.co.za/mg/za/archive/2000dec/features/15dec-craig.html Downloaded 22 January 2001. "Declaration of Commitment by White South Africans." http://www.homeforall.org.za/ENG/declarationENG.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Dietz, Steven. "Lonely Planet: Preface." Dramatist’s Play Service, 1994. http://sunsite.wits.ac.za/holistic/loneplan.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Estes, Clarissa Pinkola. Women Who Run With the Wolves. London: Rider, 1992. Friedman, Steven. "Too Afraid To Leave the Laagers." Mail and Guardian 5 January (2001). http://www.mg.co.za/mg/za/features/friedman/010105-friedman.html Downloaded 22 January 2001. Harrisson, Gavin. In the Lap of the Buddha. Boston, MA: Shambhala, 1994. Khumalo, Duma. Personal communication. 6 February 2001. "Mad Scientists": South Africa’s Chemical and Biological Warfare Projects. http://www.geocities.com/project_coast/index.html Downloaded 22 January 2001. Miller, Andie. "A Time To Remember." Odyssey 19.4 (1995). http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artrcod.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Powell, Ivor. "Where have all the apartheid bastards gone?" Mail and Guardian, 21 June (2000). http://www.mg.co.za/mg/news/2000jun2/21jun-bastards.html Downloaded 22 January 2001. Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, No. 34 of 1995. http://www.truth.org.za/legal/index.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Reparations Update, June 2000. http://www.reconciliation.org.za/cgi.pl?&page=http://www.reconciliation.org.za/repare/jun00.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Slovo, Gillian. Red Dust. London: Virago P, 2000. Storey, Peter. "Reconciliation and Civil Society." Making Ends Meet: Reconciliation and Reconstruction in South Africa (Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation conference), World Trade Centre, Johannesburg, 18 August 1994. http://www.csvr.org.za/papers/papstory.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Truth and Reconciliation Commission Final Report, 29 October 1998. http://www.struth.org.za/index.pl?&file=report/index.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Truth and Reconciliation Commission Special Hearings on Prisons: Duma Khumalo, 22 July 1997. http://www.truth.org.za/special/prison/khumalo.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Verwoerd, Wilhelm. My Winds of Change. New York: Raven Press, 1998. ---. "The TRC and Apartheid Beneficiaries in a New Dispensation." Lecture delivered at "Politics and Promises: Evaluating the Implementation of the TRC’s Recommendations" conference, Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, Johannesburg, 27 October 2000. http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artrcver.htm Downloaded 22 January 2001. Webster, Eddie. "It’s Too Late for Symbolic Gestures." Mail and Guardian, 12 January 2001. http://www.sn.apc.org/wmail/issues/010112/OTHER49.html Downloaded 22 January 2001.

Saturday, 24 July 1971, Tower Mill Hotel The man jiggles the brick, gauges its weight. His stout hand, a flash of his watch dial, the sleeve rolled back, muscles on the upper arm bundled tight. His face half-erased by the dark. There’s something going on beneath the surface that Murray can’t grasp. He thinks of the three witches in Polanski’s Macbeth, huddled together on the beach, digging a circle in the sand with bare hands, unwrapping their filthy bundle. A ritual. The brick’s in the air and it’s funny but Murray expected it to spin but it doesn’t, it holds its position, arcs forward, as though someone’s taken the sky and pulled it sideways to give the impression of movement, like those chase scenes in the Punch and Judy shows you don’t see anymore. The brick hits the cement and fractures. Red dust on cops’ shined shoes. Murray feels the same sense of shock he’d felt, sitting in the sagging canvas seat at one of his film nights, recognising the witches’ bundle, a severed human arm, hacked off just before the elbow; both times looking so intently, he had no distance or defence when the realisation came. ‘What is it?’ says Lan. Murray points to the man who threw the brick but she is looking the other way, at a cop in a white riot helmet, head like a globe, swollen up as though bitten. Lan stands on Murray’s feet to see. The pig yells through a megaphone: ‘You’re occupying too much of the road. It’s illegal. Step back. Step back.’ Lan’s back is pressed against Murray’s stomach; her bum fits snugly to his groin. He resists the urge to plant his cold hands on her warm stomach, to watch her squirm. She turns her head so her mouth is next to his ear, says, ‘Don’t move.’ She sounds winded, her voice without force. He’s pinned to the ground by her feet. Again, ‘Step back. Step back.’ Next to him, Roger begins a chant. ‘Springboks,’ he yells, the rest of the crowd picking up the chant, ‘out now!’ ‘Springboks!’ ‘Out now!’ Murray looks up, sees a hand pressed against the glass in one of the hotel’s windows, quickly withdrawn. The hand belongs to a white man, for sure. It must be one of the footballers, although the gesture is out of keeping with his image of them. Too timid. He feels tired all of a sudden. But Jacobus Johannes Fouché’s voice is in his head, these men—the Springboks—represent the South African way of life, and the thought of the bastard Bjelke inviting them here. He, Roger and Lan were there the day before when the footballers pulled up outside the Tower Mill Hotel in a black and white bus. ‘Can you believe the cheek of those bastards?’ said Roger when they saw them bounding off the bus, legs the span of Murray’s two hands. A group of five Nazis had been lined up in front of the glass doors reflecting the city, all in uniform: five sets of white shirts and thin black ties, five sets of khaki pants and storm-trooper boots, each with a red sash printed with a black and white swastika tied around their left arms, just above the elbow. The Springboks strode inside, ignoring the Nazi’s salute. The protestors were shouting. An apple splattered wetly on the sidewalk. Friday, 7 April 1972, St Lucia Lan left in broad daylight. Murray didn’t know why this upset him, except that he had a vague sense that she should’ve gone in the night time, under the cover of dark. The guilty should sneak away, with bowed heads and faces averted, not boldly, as though going for an afternoon walk. Lan had pulled down half his jumpers getting the suitcase from the top of the cupboard. She left his clothes scattered across the bedroom, victims of an explosion, an excess of emotion. In the two days after Lan left, Murray scours the house looking for some clue to where she was, maybe a note to him, blown off the table in the wind, or put down and forgotten in the rush. Perhaps there was a letter from her parents, bankrupt, demanding she return to Vietnam. Or a relative had died. A cousin in the Viet Cong napalmed. He finds a packet of her tampons in the bathroom cupboard, tries to flush them down the toilet, but they keep floating back up. They bloat; the knotted strings make them look like some strange water-dwelling creature, paddling in the bowl. He pees in the shower for a while, but in the end he scoops the tampons back out again with the holder for the toilet brush. The house doesn’t yield anything, so he takes to the garden, circles the place, investigates its underbelly. The previous tenant had laid squares of green carpet underneath, off-cuts that met in jagged lines, patches of dirt visible. Murray had set up two sofas, mouldy with age, on the carpeted part, would invite his friends to sit with him there, booze, discuss the state of the world and the problem with America. Roger rings in the afternoon, says, ‘What gives? We were supposed to have lunch.’ Murray says, ‘Lan’s left me.’ He knows he will cry soon. ‘Oh Christ. I’m so sorry,’ says Roger. Murray inhales, snuffs up snot. Roger coughs into the receiver. ‘It was just out of the blue,’ says Murray. ‘Where’s she gone?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘She didn’t say anything?’ ‘No,’ says Murray. ‘She could be anywhere. Maybe you should call the police, put in a missing report,’ says Roger. ‘I’m not too friendly with the cops,’ says Murray, and coughs. ‘You sound a bit crook. I’ll come over,’ says Roger. ‘That’d be good,’ says Murray. Roger turns up at the house an hour later, wearing wide pants and a tight collared shirt with thick white and red stripes. He’s growing a moustache, only cuts his hair when he visits his parents. Murray says, ‘I’ll make us a cuppa.’ Roger nods, sits down at the vinyl table with his hands resting on his knees. He says, ‘Are you coming to 291 on Sunday?’ 291 St Paul’s Terrace is the Brisbane Communist Party’s headquarters. Murray says, ‘What’s on?’ ‘Billy needs someone to look after the bookshop.’ Murray gives Roger a mug of tea, sits down with his own mug between his elbows, and cradles his head in his hands so his hair falls over his wrists. After a minute, Roger says, ‘Does her family know?’ Murray makes a strange noise through his hands. ‘I don’t even know how to contact them,’ he says. ‘She wrote them letters—couldn’t afford to phone—but she’s taken everything with her. The address book. Everything.’ Murray knows nothing of the specifics of Lan’s life before she met him. She was the first Asian he’d ever spoken to. She wore wrap-around skirts that changed colour in the sun; grew her hair below the waist; sat in the front row in class and never spoke. He liked the shape of her calf as it emerged from her skirt. He saw her on the great lawn filming her reflection in a window with a Sony Portapak and knew that he wanted her more than anything. Murray seduced her by saying almost nothing and touching her as often as he could. He was worried about offending her. What reading he had done made him aware of his own ignorance, and his friend in Psych told him that when you touch a girl enough — especially around the aureole — a hormone is released that bonds them to you, makes them sad when you leave them or they leave you. In conversation, Murray would put his hand on Lan’s elbow, once on the top of her head. Lan was ready to be seduced. Murray invited her to a winter party in his backyard. They kissed next to the fire and he didn’t notice until the next morning that the rubber on the bottom of his shoe melted in the flames. She moved into his house quickly, her clothes bundled in three plastic bags. He wanted her to stay in bed with him all day, imagined he was John Lennon and she Yoko Ono. Their mattress became a soup of discarded clothes, bread crumbs, wine stains, come stains, ash and flakes of pot. He resented her when she told him that she was bored, and left him, sheets pulled aside to reveal his erection, to go to class. Lan tutored high-schoolers for a while, but they complained to their mothers that they couldn’t understand her accent. She told him her parents wanted her to come home. The next night he tidied the house, and cooked her dinner. Over the green peas and potato—Lan grated ginger over hers, mixed it with chili and soy sauce, which she travelled all the way to Chinatown on a bus to buy—Murray proposed. They were married in the botanic gardens, surrounded by Murray’s friends. The night before his father called him up and said, ‘It’s not too late to get out of it. You won’t be betraying the cause.’ Murray said, ‘You have no idea what this means to me,’ and hung up on him. Sunday, 9 April 1972, 291 St Paul’s Terrace Murray perches on the backless stool behind the counter in The People’s Bookshop. He has the sense he is on the brink of something. His body is ready for movement. When a man walks into the shop, Murray panics because Billy hadn’t shown him how to use the cash register. He says, ‘Can I help?’ anyway. ‘No,’ says the man. The man walks the length of the shelves too fast to read the titles. He stops at a display of Australiana on a tiered shelf, slides his hand down the covers on display. He pauses at Crocodile Hunt. The cover shows a drawing of a bulky crocodile, scaled body bent in an S, its jaws under the man’s thumb. He picks it up, examines it. Murray thinks it odd that he doesn’t flip it over to read the blurb. He walks around the whole room once, scanning the shelves, reaches Murray at the counter and puts the book down between them. Murray picks it up, turns it over, looking for a price. It’s stuck on the back in faded ink. He opens his mouth to tell the man how much, and finds him staring intently at the ceiling. Murray looks up too. A hairline crack runs along the surface and there are bulges in the plaster where the wooden framework’s swollen. It’s lower than Murray remembers. He thinks that if he stood on his toes he could reach it with the tips of his fingers. Murray looks down again to find the man staring at him. Caught out, Murray mutters the price, says, ‘You don’t have it in exact change, do you?’ The man nods, fumbles around in his pocket for a bit and brings out a note, which he lays at an angle along the bench top. He counts the coins in the palm of his hand. He makes a fist around the coins, brings his hand over the note and lets go. The coins fall, clinking, over the bench. One spins wildly, rolls past Murray’s arm and across the bench. Murray lets it fall. He recognises the man now; it is the act of release that triggers the memory, the fingers spread wide, the wrist bent, the black watch band. This is the man who threw the brick in the Springbok protest. Dead set. He looks up again, expecting to see the same sense of recognition in the man, but he is walking out of the shop. Murray follows him outside, leaving the door open and the money still on the counter. The man is walking right along St Paul’s Terrace. He tucks the book under his arm to cross Barry Parade, as though he might need both hands free to wave off the oncoming traffic. Murray stands on the other side of the road, unsure of what to do. When Murray came outside, he’d planned to hail the man, tell him he recognised him from the strike and was a fellow comrade. They give discounts to Communist Party members. Outside the shop, it strikes him that perhaps the man is not one of them at all. Just because he was at the march doesn’t make him a communist. Despite the unpopularity of the cause —‘It’s just fucking football,’ one of Murray’s friends had said. ‘What’s it got to do with anything?’— there had been many types there, a mixture of labour party members; unionists; people in the Radical Club and the Eureka Youth League; those not particularly attached to anyone. He remembers again the brick shattered on the ground. It hadn’t hit anyone, but was an incitement to violence. This man is dangerous. Murray is filled again with nervous energy, which leaves him both dull-witted and super-charged, as though he is a wind-up toy twisted tight and then released, unable to do anything but move in the direction he’s facing. He crosses the road about five metres behind the man, sticks to the outer edge of the pavement, head down. If he moves his eyes upwards, while still keeping his neck lowered, he can see the shoes of the man, his white socks flashing with each step. The man turns the corner into Brunswick Street. He stops at a car parked in front of the old Masonic Temple. Murray walks past fast, unsure of what to do next. The Temple’s entry is set back in the building, four steps leading up to a red door. Murray ducks inside the alcove, looks up to see the man sitting in the driver’s seat pulling out the pages of Crocodile Hunt and feeding them through the half wound-down window where they land, fanned out, on the road. When he’s finished dismembering the book, the man spreads the page-less cover across the back of the car. The crocodile, snout on the side, one eye turned outwards, stares out into the street. The man flicks the ignition and drives, the pages flying out and onto the road in his wake. Murray sits down on the steps of the guild and smokes. He isn’t exactly sure what just happened. The man must have bought the book just because he liked the picture on the front of the cover. But it’s odd though that he had bothered to spend so much just for one picture. Murray remembers how he had paced the shop and studiously examined the ceiling. He’d given the impression of someone picking out furniture for the room, working out the dimensions so some chair or table would fit. A cough. Murray looks up. The man’s standing above him, his forearm resting on the wall, elbow bent. His other arm hangs at his side, hand bunched up around a bundle of keys. ‘I wouldn’t of bothered following me, if I was you,’ the man says. ‘The police are on my side. Special branch are on my side.’ He pushes himself off the wall, stands up straight, and says, ‘Heil Hitler.’ Tuesday April 19, 1972, 291 St Paul’s Terrace Murray brings his curled fist down on the door. It opens with the force of his knock and he feels like an idiot for even bothering. The hallway’s dark. Murray runs into a filing cabinet, swears, and stands in the centre of the corridor, with his hand still on the cabinet, calling, ‘Roger! Roger!’ Murray told Roger he’d come here when he called him. Murray was walking back from uni, and on the other side of the road to his house, ready to cross, he saw there was someone standing underneath the house, looking out into the street. Murray didn’t stop. He didn’t need to. He knew it was the man from the bookshop, the Nazi. Murray kept walking until he reached the end of the street, turned the corner and then ran. Back on campus, he shut himself in a phone box and dialed Roger’s number. ‘I can’t get to my house,’ Murray said when Roger picked up. ‘Lock yourself out, did you?’ said Roger. ‘You know that Nazi? He’s back again.’ ‘I don’t get it,’ said Roger. ‘It doesn’t matter. I need to stay with you,’ said Murray. ‘You can’t. I’m going to a party meeting.’ ‘I’ll meet you there.’ ‘Ok. If you want.’ Roger hung up. Now, Roger stands framed in the doorway of the meeting room. ‘Hey Murray, shut up. I can hear you. Get in here.’ Roger switches on the hallway light and Murray walks into the meeting room. There are about seven people, sitting on hard metal chairs around a long table. Murray sits next to Roger, nods to Patsy, who has nice breasts but is married. Vince says, ‘Hi, Murray, we’re talking about the moratorium on Friday.’ ‘You should bring your pretty little Vietnamese girl,’ says Billy. ‘She’s not around anymore,’ says Roger. ‘That’s a shame,’ says Patsy. ‘Yeah,’ says Murray. ‘Helen Dashwood told me her school has banned them from wearing moratorium badges,’ says Billy. ‘Far out,’ says Patsy. ‘We should get her to speak at the rally,’ says Stella, taking notes, and then, looking up, says, ‘Can anyone smell burning?’ Murray sniffs, says ‘I’ll go look.’ They all follow him down the hall. Patsy says, behind him, ‘Is it coming from the kitchen?’ Roger says, ‘No,’ and then the windows around them shatter. Next to Murray, a filing cabinet buckles and twists like wet cardboard in the rain. A door is blown off its hinges. Murray feels a moment of great confusion, a sense that things are sliding away from him spectacularly. He’s felt this once before. He wanted Lan to sit down with him, but she said she didn’t want to be touched. He’d pulled her to him, playfully, a joke, but he was too hard and she went limp in his hands. Like she’d been expecting it. Her head hit the table in front of him with a sharp, quick crack. He didn’t understand what happened; he had never experienced violence this close. He imagined her brain as a line drawing with the different sections coloured in, like his Psych friend had once showed him, except squashed in at the bottom. She had recovered, of course, opened her eyes a second later to him gasping. He remembered saying, ‘I just want to hold you. Why do you always do this to me?’ and even to him it hadn’t made sense because he was the one doing it to her. Afterwards, Murray had felt hungry, but couldn’t think of anything that he’d wanted to eat. He sliced an apple in half, traced the star of seeds with his finger, then decided he didn’t want it. He left it, already turning brown, on the kitchen bench. Author’s Note No one was killed in the April 19 explosion, nor did the roof fall in. The bookstore, kitchen and press on the first floor of 291 took the force of the blast (Evans and Ferrier). The same night, a man called The Courier Mail (1) saying he was a member of a right wing group and had just bombed the Brisbane Communist Party Headquarters. He threatened to bomb more on Friday if members attended the anti-Vietnam war moratorium that day. He ended his conversation with ‘Heil Hitler.’ Gary Mangan, a known Nazi party member, later confessed to the bombing. He was taken to court, but the Judge ruled that the body of evidence was inadmissible, citing a legal technicality. Mangan was not charged.Ian Curr, in his article, Radical Books in Brisbane, publishes an image of the Communist party quarters in Brisbane. The image, entitled ‘After the Bomb, April 19 1972,’ shows detectives interviewing those who were in the building at the time. One man, with his back to the camera, is unidentified. I imagined this unknown man, in thongs with the long hair, to be Murray. It is in these gaps in historical knowledge that the writer of fiction is free to imagine. References “Bomb in the Valley, Then City Shots.” The Courier Mail 20 Apr. 1972: 1. Curr, Ian. Radical Books in Brisbane. 2008. 24 Jun. 2011 < http://workersbushtelegraph.com.au/2008/07/18/radical-books-in-brisbane/ >. Evans, Raymond, and Carole Ferrier. Radical Brisbane: An Unruly History. Brisbane: Vulgar Press, 2004.