'To Love When Others Hate': A Journey of Obedience to God

He was born into the innermost sanctum of Afrikaner nationalism. His father was a hero of the Boer War (1899-1902), one of the stubborn handful who refused to surrender to the British, and a founder of the Broederbond, the secret society that conceived and manipulates South Africa's apartheid system of white supremacy.

He was the youngest person ever to join the Broederbond, rising quickly through the elite ranks of white South African society and the Dutch Reformed Church to become, like his father, a preacher and protector of the Afrikaner faith. Many said that one day he would be prime minister of South Africa.

But something happened to Beyers Naude. It can only be fully understood by comprehending the true meaning of Christian conversion. Like Saul on the road to Damascus, the journey of the young South African was interrupted and his course irrevocably changed by an encounter with a loving God.

This much-favored Afrikaner son would become the most implacable foe of apartheid that his people ever produced and, even more significant, the white South African most trusted by black South Africans. The Observer (London) writes that the life of Beyers Naude "is the longest journey any South African of any colour has made."

Naude was already in his 40s when the dawning of truth came. It first came, as he puts it, from "reading the Bible -- that's all" and somehow being gripped by the Word of God, which broke through the controlled and twisted interpretations of South African Dutch Reformed theology. Second, there was the compelling call to "go and see for myself the conditions of life experienced by black South Africans.

Beyers Naude, like most of South Africa's white minority, had grown up far removed from the sufferings of his country's black majority. On one particular visit to a mining compound, Naude was painfully confronted with the "terrible conditions" under which migrant black laborers were forced to live.

Finally, there was Sharpeville. On March 31, 1960, 69 people in a massive crowd that was peacefully protesting the pass laws (laws requiring blacks to carry identification papers at all times) were shot and killed, most in the back and from the side as they ran away, by the South African security forces. One of the many consequences of Sharpeville, and one that the South African government would come to regret, was that the conscience of Beyers Naude, as he later put it, "came out of hiding."

Beyers Naude knew the Afrikaner community and code of loyalty as well as anyone in South Africa. He knew what the cost would be of stating his new convictions to his own people, and it made him "terribly afraid."

"They warned me," recalls Naude, " 'Beyers, you're playing with fire. Do you realize if you start stating these convictions, your whole future is destroyed? There will be no acceptance within the Afrikaner community. You will be totally ostracized, pushed out, and left in the cold.'"

Allan Boesak, the charismatic black South African church leader, says of Naude, "I can understand a little bit what Beyers went through, but I don't think any one of us can fully understand what kind of courage that must take for a person to take that stand, at a time when he was not even sure that he would be accepted at all by the black community if he did that."

In 1963, the deep ties that bound Beyers Naude to the Dutch Reformed Church were formally severed, and he preached his farewell sermon, titled "Obedience to God." In his book, Move Your Shadow, Joseph Lelyveld, a former South Africa correspondent for The New York Times, said of Naude, "It took only a few years for him to hurdle across the political spectrum, moving from critical nationalist and reluctant dissident to active white supporter of black initiatives."

WHAT IS MOST STRIKING about Beyers Naude, now 72 years old, is how he continues to move, to grow, to deepen his insight, resolve, and courage. He could have stopped at many points along the way and remained in respected positions as a critical voice, courageous example, or liberal reformer. But instead he continues to allow himself to be taken wherever the biblical faith he so believes in may lead him. And that is why he is such a threat. As Lelyveld says, "It's as if his moral machinery were put together without a brake, as if the accelerator had got stuck ..."

Beyers Naude broke out of the lager of Afrikaner power and prestige because it proved not to be a true community of faith but rather a closed and oppressive society dependent upon human suffering for its survival. He knew his step of faith would lead him into the wilderness; but he also would find a faith and a community much richer and deeper than he ever imagined.

Naude soon became the director of the Christian Institute, a multiracial ecumenical body that so effectively challenged the moral basis of apartheid while promoting Christian unity and social justice that it was outlawed in 1977. Beyers Naude was himself banned and would remain so for seven years. When his banning order was lifted in 1984, he succeeded Archbishop Desmond Tutu as general secretary of the South African Council of Churches. His clarity of voice and courage of action once again bore public testimony to the truth and power of the gospel.

At one of the massive funeral services for blacks that have become powerful symbols of black pain, protest, and hope, Beyers Naude was paid a rare tribute as a white South African. Tutu tells of the event as "one of the most beautiful things" he has ever seen, saying, "They carried him shoulder high. At a time of very high racial tension, Beyers appears on the scene, and the response of the people is tremendous, and I thought it was a tremendous tribute to him as a person and to what people saw him stand for, but also a message to white people, that blacks recognize a good person, whether he is black or white."

Naude says of the experience, "I realized that as far as white people were concerned, if I still needed a final kiss of death, that was the final one. But I also realized that as far as the black community was concerned, this is a singular honor; never exploit it as long as you live."

I had the opportunity to meet and interview this great but humble man when he was in Washington, D.C. for the premiere of The Cry of Reason, an excellent documentary film about his life and country. We are thankful to be able to share this interview with our readers and believe you, too, will find in Beyers Naude, as Desmond Tutu has described him, a "most resplendent sign of hope."
-- Jim Wallis

Jim Wallis: I'm greatly intrigued by your conversion, because conversion is the core of our Christian faith. Many of us in the United States are on the journey of conversion. There's so much from your history that bears upon ours and that helps shed light on our experience.

You have talked about how you finally had to go see for yourself the situation of black people in South Africa. And then, of course, you speak of the Sharpeville Massacre. I was particularly intrigued by your response when asked some time ago about your conversion -- how and why it happened and what was behind it. You said, "I read the Bible -- that's all."

Beyers Naude: I think I should start by saying that I am an Afrikaner, born in a deeply religious Afrikaner home that was very conservative politically, with a father who fought in the Anglo-Boer War on the side of the Boers and who deeply loved the Afrikaner people.

After four years of academic study, I continued with four years of theological study. During all those years, the question of apartheid being biblically unjustifiable never arose. It was simply taken for granted: The Bible supported apartheid, the Bible blessed it, and the Bible sanctioned it. And I never questioned this in any way critically, because I'd assumed that it was something that had been properly thought through.

I served a number of white congregations in South Africa until 1949, when I was called to become what you call here a university chaplain of the Dutch Reformed Church at Pretoria University. During that period I began to look at what was happening in Africa and realized that the period after the Second World War, with decolonization taking place in the vast continent of Africa, would deeply affect the life of the Christian churches, especially of the Dutch Reformed Churches.

In the course of that thinking, the questions arose about apartheid, and voices of dissent and rejection of apartheid increased on the part of other churches, especially in South Africa. So eventually I decided that I would undertake a self-study on the biblical justification for apartheid, which I did between 1955 and 1957.

I came to the conclusion that my own church's attempt at justifying apartheid on biblical grounds was simply not tenable. Although it may have been sincerely intended, in fact it had no proper, valid, biblical, or theological grounds. And for me that was a shattering discovery, because the whole moral basis of ministry with regard to the apartheid relationship between whites and blacks was removed. That was the first experience, or the first phase, in the process of conversion.

How is it that a church that no doubt prides itself on its biblical fidelity did not ask in a biblical way a question about something as fundamental as apartheid in South Africa? And how is it that you began to ask that question, when probably no one else around you did? I imagine that the more you asked the question, the more troublesome the question became.

I think it came about because of the fact that the Afrikaners were of a deeply religious background. They simply took for granted the belief that in a special way they were a part of the elect nation of God. They believed they were called upon to evangelize and Christianize the heathen community of South Africa. They believed they had a divine mission and a divine charge given by God.

But because of the outlook of the Afrikaner people -- their understanding of their divine calling and their deep-rooted, unconscious prejudices toward people of color -- they did not realize to what degree they were deliberately or unconsciously distorting passages of the Bible simply to fit with their political and ideological or their racial outlook. And with church leadership giving full justification, with universities offering no critical approach, with the Afrikaner society being so totally isolated, it was very easy to present that ideology.

What happened in your life that led you to question whether the apartheid system was justifiable biblically?

The first thing was that I was mandated by the church in 1953, together with another minister, to undertake a study tour of church youth work. I was elected as the first chair of a national church youth society, which I was instrumental in forming. We undertook a six-and-a-half-month intensive study tour through Europe, the United States, and Canada. A number of these questions about apartheid arose during that tour.

The second phase of my conversion was during the period I was acting moderator of the Transvaal synod. A number of young white ministers who were serving black congregations -- that means African, Indian, and those people of mixed descent, called "colored" in South Africa -- were confronted by members of the different congregations. In the suffering that they were experiencing as a result of apartheid, they challenged the ministers, asking, "How can you justify this suffering on the basis of the gospel? What kind of a faith is this?"

The ministers called me in because of their deep concern and asked for advice. My first response to them was, "I can't believe what you are telling me is happening," because I was living in a happy, white, privileged ghetto of Afrikaner life in South Africa. When eventually I got the opportunity, I went out of my way to visit the parishes, the areas concerned. I discovered for the first time in my life what was happening, and I was shattered! To discover what apartheid was doing to human beings! That, to me, created a tremendous moral crisis.

The third and final phase was the event of the Sharpeville Massacre on March 21, 1960, when 69 people who were protesting peacefully were simply shot, most of them in the back as they were running away. That was a moment in my life when I just felt I could not allow this situation to continue any longer.

I've read your testimony in several places, where you said, "I just had to see for myself. I had to go where I had never been before. And just seeing it was a shattering experience." Here in Washington, D.C., most people who come to this hotel won't travel the few blocks necessary to see what is happening to poor people or the black underclass in the "shadows" of this city. It's really not deliberate in most cases; it's just that most people have never had the occasion to cross the barriers and boundaries that circumscribe their lives.

Your experience raises the question, not just in South Africa but here or anywhere, of whether we can even understand the meaning of our faith if we can't break through those barriers.

I fully agree. The problem in my country is that the church in the past has made a very serious mistake by presenting the Christian faith as primarily a rational belief based on a certain theological or theoretical, understanding and interpretation of the gospel. Another mistake was not realizing that faith is meaningless unless it becomes contextualized.

If you talk about hunger, go and see where hunger is. If you talk about injustice, go and view what kind of injustice. If you talk about human dignity, go and see where human dignity is being violated. If you talk about racial prejudice, go and meet with the people who know themselves and experience themselves to be the victims of that prejudice.

Unless you are willing to do that, you can never discover the full truth of the gospel. That was the example of Jesus himself. But it's much easier to sit in your study and to preach about it. Or to be in your theological school and theologize about it. Or to have academic, theoretical discussions and even write a book about it.

Dare yourself to be challenged by a faith that is real. Then go out into the highways and byways and say, "I want to be there when it happens. I want this to be part of my whole understanding of the Christian life and its challenge." But it's painful, because once you've set your foot on that new road it is a continuous process of conversion.

What makes that road so threatening to many people is that you never know where God is going to lead you next, what new challenge lies ahead, what new sacrifice, what new problems may arise. How will your Christian faith be able to meet that? To what degree does this require a greater form of sacrifice from yourself and your family? I suppose all of us are afraid to go that way, because we don't know the cost of going along that road.

There is a place in South African society, as there is here, for a kind of liberal position or stance that is concerned and aware. But you have broken through that, in a way most whites in South Africa haven't, and indeed as most white people in this country haven't yet either, to a radical stance. How do you stay on this road and not be diverted to a liberal position, if you will, of observing the conflict and being a voice of reason, and not really going where you need to go or taking sides with the people who are in fact really suffering?

I don't know what happens to other people. I can only describe what happened in my own life. First of all, I felt that if I wanted to commit myself to the truth, and therefore to an expression of the real love of Christ toward all human beings, I had to make myself open to others' feelings, concerns, pains, suffering, and joy. In order to do that, I had to set aside the time in order to make myself available to them, to move into where they are.

We must open our hearts and minds, our whole beings to others' needs, and absorb and allow the Spirit of God to interpret to us what is happening and what should be our message and our response. In that sense it is a process of continuous conversion of our own lives, and also of a deepening commitment all the time.

And what is helpful is if we specifically request those who suffer to challenge us and to indicate to us where they feel that our understanding is incomplete, where they feel that our commitment is not real or sincere, and where they feel more is demanded. It is the moment that we become willing to open ourselves to them, and therefore enable them to assist us, that there is growth. It's the spiritual and the political and the social growth and understanding that are required.

But if you're not prepared to do that -- out of fear that it may cost too much, the sacrifice may be too great, and the dangers could be very, very serious -- then that process of growth is stalled. It does not go any further.

That's when we become stuck in a rut, or a position, or a career that we maintain. But we've stepped off or detoured from that road that takes us to deeper involvement with suffering people.

That is true. But that is where the question of material security plays a very important role, because you can feel that there is so much at stake. From the viewpoint of material privilege and security, you find it becomes much more difficult even to risk the possible loss of these things.

But if you know there is very little to lose, because whatever you have you have committed to God, then you can say, "Well, it's not mine. I share this with whomever may wish to have this." Then there is an inner freedom that comes about as a result. There is also, therefore, a liberty that you experience of being available to people in their need. And that's a tremendously enriching experience.

The Observer, a British newspaper, said in 1984 that yours was "the longest journey of any South African of any colour," from where you came from to where you are now. From the outside looking in, people say, "He could have been the prime minister of South Africa." All that you gave up, all that you've sacrificed, all that you could have had but have turned away from -- yet you are not a person who acts as if you have sacrificed or lost the great things in life. It seems that you have gained, somehow, more than you've lost.

Oh, there's no doubt about it! What I've gained is so much more. I would never exchange this for all the positions in the world, all the possible situations of popularity that I would have had in South Africa. There's no question about it. I've gained an inner freedom and an inner peace of mind. I've also gained the ability to continue to love when others hate, to forgive when others would wish to enter into a situation of revenge.

Because of my experience, I've been able to tell other white Afrikaners, who despise me or have rejected me and feel that I'm a traitor to their cause, "I pity you, because I feel that you, in fact, have become the victims of your own imprisoned philosophy of life. And therefore you cannot be free. You cannot be free to love people of color deeply and sincerely. You cannot be free to look at the future of South Africa outside the confines of your present political viewpoint. You cannot be free to think of a church that operates in a totally different way. You cannot be open to the concept of Christian community with Christians of all denominations around the world. And therefore, as a result of those things that you have imposed on yourself, your vision is limited.

But there is a cost. I have a feeling that one painful place in your heart must be how much love you have for the church of your birth -- a church that has so lost its way that it's labeled you traitor and heretic and worse. A break with the church is not painful if one doesn't love the church, but if one does, it's always a painful thing.

That is true. I think that was the most painful decision I had to make -- to terminate my membership with the white Dutch Reformed Church. But the moment had to come when I made the decision and eventually said, "I'm sorry. I cannot, with a truthful conscience, remain a member of this church any longer." I can only hope that the day will come when the Dutch Reformed Church will understand and and will realize that my motivation was one of deep concern and love for a church which, to my mind mind, has betrayed the essential call as being the church of Christ.

Your decision was also hard for your family. But you and your wife have shared in this journey through it all. That must be a source of joy as well.

I continually thank God for the fact that my wife is able to stand with me, to go with me, even though at times it was very difficult for her to understand. And I also made a serious mistake in not interpreting to her, explaining to her, sharing with her enough of the inner tension and the problems which I foresaw coming to us. I wanted to spare and save her the agony and the pain, which is the wrong approach. I should have shared this with her much more deeply. But eventually, when we did do that, it became a tremendously enriching experience for both of us.

You are one of the most careful and insightful observers of South Africa today. Many in the United States have followed carefully and been deeply involved in the struggle and have seen the relationship between the struggle in South Africa and their own struggle here. How do you see that struggle now? What are the critical points, and what are the prospects? What are the connections between the struggle there and the struggle here?

First of all, it's important to emphasize that our situation in South Africa has entered a much more critical phase than the world outside realizes. Part of that is due to the fact that through the tremendous restrictions that have been placed on the media, the situation in South Africa is not known or appearing on the television screens of the world. And therefore people begin to believe that things are beginning to return to normal, which is definitely not the case.

The fact is that the oppression continues, though the emergency regulations are such that it seems as if, on the surface, it is quiet. But underneath is a ferment of anger, of bitterness, and of resistance occurring all the time. We've seen this with the restrictions imposed on the universities when the government demanded of the university councils that they should be the policing, or spying, agency of the church. There was a spontaneous reaction on the part of thousands of students who said, "We will not allow it."

Another example is the area of trade unions and workers, who are engaged in a very deep, serious, fundamental battle -- a struggle for justice -- for the workers of the country. A majority of the churches still don't understand the importance of this, its significance, and the effect it is going to have. So, my first point is that I think the situation is much more serious than we realize.

Second, we in South Africa have come to the conclusion that we will have to work out our liberation ourselves. We are very grateful for all the support which will come from outside; but we are also aware of the fact that, for instance, the governments of the United States, Great Britain, and the Federal Republic of Germany will make no meaningful contribution to our struggle for liberation. So, we have to find ways and means in order to bring about or speed up that process of liberation.

We are also realizing that the resistance will have to become much more serious. And, therefore the danger of a conflict and clash leading to bloodshed, violence, and even death is increasing. I think we simply have to prepare ourselves for a long and hard and painful struggle.

But the important point is that we should realize what basic moral, political, and economic issues are at stake. What is being tested in South Africa is, in fact, our whole value system, our concepts of justice, of love, of human concern.

The unwillingness of people in other parts of the world, including the United States, to confront similar challenges in their own societies makes our situation in South Africa much more difficult. But the moment we begin to see that there is a direct and a very meaningful link between the issues you are struggling with here and the issues in South Africa and Central America and the Middle East, is the time we place our struggle in a wider perspective. And then it becomes meaningful.

What are the connections and links that you see?

First of all, as a Christian and an active member of the church, I feel that the churches of the different countries -- all those religious leaders and religions that subscribe to the same spiritual and moral values that we subscribe to -- must stretch out their hands. We must act in greater cooperation and unity in order to present this challenge to apartheid to the world.

Second, as churches and religious bodies, we must be more honest in admitting our own failures, in repenting for the fact that we could have done much more than we have done. We must challenge ourselves as Christian communities to be true to the deepest belief that we hold in our Christian faith.

Then it would be possible for us to begin to challenge the secular communities, governments, and other organizations by saying, "We require a new vision. We require the understanding of a new world. We also require the understanding that God has made this world a kingdom for all people. We have enough to live in the world."

God, through creation, has given enough for every person in the world to survive. God gives us all the opportunities we need to develop ourselves out of the totality of our being to build meaningful, responsible, sustainable societies -- it is possible if we have the wisdom and the willingness to make that available. But the churches and the religious organizations have the major responsibility to offer that vision, to share that vision, and to make it a reality.

In this country, people sometimes have difficulty understanding the relationship between the system of apartheid and our own system, or the global system under which apartheid exists. They say things like, "South Africa has a problem of racism now just like we had in the 1960s." The problem is not seen systemically by many people, and some people use apartheid's existence to focus energy on a problem "out there" rather than dealing with problems here. What are your systemic, theological reflections on this?

First of all, it's important to realize that the challenges to our faith and to our understanding of the responsibility that we have toward each other are basically the same, whether you deal with them in the United States or South Africa.

Certainly we have a racial problem, but we have much more than a racial problem. We've got a problem of social justice; we've got a problem of different classes; we've got a problem of some people living on a First World standard and some on a Third World standard; we've got a problem of wealth and poverty; we've got a problem of a much higher and a much lower quality of education being given to different people.

So basically it is a problem of what we are willing to do and how far we are willing to go to share our lives, our opportunities, and our privileges with those who don't have those things. In that sharing there will be, first of all, a tremendous transformation of all people concerned. There will also be an enrichment of our culture and our society. There will be a new possibility of making that available to all those around us.

South Africa is often described by journalists as one of the more hopeless situations in the world today. It has that reputation in the media. And yet you don't come across as a hopeless person, but as a person with a deeper theological kind of hope. What do you have to say to those of us in the middle of the same struggle, or in our own latest struggles, about hope and perseverance and how to sustain one's life in the midst of lengthy struggles?

Well, it is true that, on the face of it and for the foreseeable future, our situation in South Africa is bleak and certainly presents very little grounds for hope. I agree with that. But I think that is a superficial analysis; there's much more to it.

It is important that we constantly remind ourselves and others who believe that they are on the side of truth that we must not only maintain but also increase the demand for truth and seek to implement it in a spirit of love and understanding. The openness that you have toward other people, including your most bitter opponents, once you have discovered that truth, is a source of continuous strength and hope, because you know truth will eventually prevail. I think it is very important that we never forget that.

Second, if we believe that we are dealing with a God of justice and love, a God who wants to see the kingdom become a glorious reality, then we know that whatever we are doing through God's grace is part of that process of renewal. It takes time. I may not be able to see it all happen, but I know with the strength of my faith and my convictions that that moment will come.

Those of us who are suffering in South Africa are aware of the fact that the struggle may be a long one; but we know with a deep inner certainty that the day of liberation will come. Our people and our country will be free. We realize that sacrifice is needed. We realize many of us may not be able to see the eventual realization of it. But we know it will come.

Third, if you are involved in the struggle, you are constantly encouraged by the incredible commitment on the part of people, the quality of their leadership, the willingness to sacrifice time, energy, and life in order to attain that goal. That is a continuous source of inspiration.

I'm thinking, for instance, of young people who have been detained. How do they feel when they come out of jail? Are they willing to continue? With an immediacy and a deep sense of conviction, they say, "The period of detention, even the torture, has strengthened us. It has made it possible for us to move out with a greater commitment in order to obtain what we believe is the goal of a just society and a free South Africa."

Therefore, if you ask me whether there is hope for South Africa, I say, without any doubt. Tremendous potential exists in our country, not only by way of the material riches that we can share, but in the tremendous potential of recreating and transforming this evil, immoral, and totally objectionable system of apartheid into a new society where there is the possibility of all of us -- people of all colors, all religions, all classes -- being able to live and work together. And to do so on the basis of our past experiences -- our sufferings, the injustices of the past -- to see that through God's grace they will not again occur.

Do you have advice, encouragement, or practical suggestions that have been helpful to you over the years to offer to those engaged in struggle?

I would say, first of all, ensure that your understanding of faith, of the gospel, of the message of Christ's liberation is clear, relevant, and comprehensive of the whole of humankind. That's number one. Make your Christian faith real, meaningful, vibrant, and relevant.

The second piece of advice is to realize that this can never be done in isolation. God wants us to be Christians and to be human beings in community. You can never be fully human unless you've discovered the humanity in other human beings. You become human through him or her. Therefore the building of the sense of community, of mutual responsibility, of the sharing of joys and sorrows, of the need to grow together, is a vitally essential element in our life.

Third, stretch out your hand and discover those communities, areas, and countries where there is suffering, injustice, or a system of oppression. Discover to what degree there are similar patterns of life and suffering being enacted and being experienced in your own country. Don't close your eyes to the injustices of your own country by trying to solve the injustices of another country. That's an evasion of Christian responsibility.

Instead, see in the light of that discovery what is needed at home. Then begin to share, in the deep and meaningful sense of the word, by going out to Christians and others, saying, "We are one with you. We are one in the realization of our weakness. But we are also one in the realization of the tremendous potential for change that God has given to all of us. Let us build together so that we may truly make this world God's kingdom."

Sharpeville's Outcry

"THE EVENT OF SHARPEVILLE created a massive outcry. I remember so well that day I drove into Johannesburg, and I saw the posters. I said to myself, 'There is no way in which I can remain in hiding any longer with regard to my deep, moral concern of what is happening in the country.' I came to the conclusion that if I wanted to retain my integrity as a human being and as a Christian, I had to state clearly, unequivocally, and fearlessly whom I believed in, what I believed, and why I believed. And that I did."

--Beyers Naude

An Emotional Farewell

"WHEN I PREACHED that farewell sermon, I was called upon to come down from the pulpit. I stood in front with my robe on, and the moment that the document which severed the bond between me and the congregation was read and handed to me, I took off my robe as a symbolic gesture, not that I was leaving the ministry of the gospel, but that that was what my church was saying to me.

"Then my wife and I moved out to the front door, where we stood and waited for the congregation to come out so we could greet them. It was like a funeral procession. Some people's eyes were full of tears. Other people were looking the other way. Still others were simply passing by without greeting us.

"My own emotions were those of deep sadness, feeling torn in my own heart, again asking the question at times, 'Did I do the right thing? Was this God's will? Will this ever lead to anything worthwhile for the sake of the church and the Afrikaner people?' But there was a feeling of deep conviction in me that what I was doing was right. Otherwise it would have been impossible to continue to follow that path.

"I felt very deeply for my wife, because for her it was a severance of a very deep bond between "her and the women of the church. She had been very active in the different women's organizations and to her it meant tremendously much.

''So there were many emotions, of sadness, of being torn in your own heart, of the feelings about the responsibility toward my wife and children, of looking toward the future and asking, 'Where would this lead us to? Would this bring us anything which we'd hoped to achieve?'

"When we went home after that, we had our lunch meal in almost total silence. Neither of us felt like speaking. We were too overwhelmed by our emotions. And it was only toward evening, when my wife and I went for a walk outside, that we were able to begin to talk about it. Then it was possible for us to say to one another, 'Whatever happens, we will be together and God will be with us.'"
-- Beyers Naude

The Banning Order

"A BANNED PERSON cannot be quoted by the press. A banned person cannot write anything with a view to publication. A banned person can never meet socially with more than one person at a time. A banned person is restricted to a specific area of a city or a town.

"A banned person is not allowed to enter any educational institutional institution or any place where any material is being prepared with a view to publication. A banned person is not allowed to give any educational instructions to anybody except his or her own children.

"So, for all practical purposes, a banned person becomes a non-person. A banned person is simply removed from the public eye, the public ear, and the public voice."

-- Beyers Naude