21.3.1960. 69. 180.

Everyone has the right to freedom of expression, to impart information or ideas.
Today we can flaunt logos and t-shirts, watch controversial films, write a heated opinion on Julius Malema. We can protest, strike and march without the fear of handcuffs and bullets.

21.3.1960. 69. 180.

Years ago, South Africa was different. If a book spewed out the realities of apartheid’s madness the government would gag the message with proclamations of ‘democracy’. The Madiba t-shirts many wear today would have been one’s life sentence or immediate exile. There was a blanket of propaganda over South Africa – one that even affected the white population. My father was stationed at the Angola border in the early 1980’s away from his new girlfriend - my mother. They would write back and forth, exchanging expressions of love and gossip as they counted the weeks until my father returned. When my father received his mail, the envelope would already be open. The personal sentiment of opening an envelope was left to stern generals who were ‘protecting’ the state’s power. For them, any soldier could be a spy. A threat could be anywhere and secret messages and political instruction could be inked in young slang and personal jokes. In other cases, words and paragraphs were scratched out, words that were deep in innocence and young love.

21.3.1960. 69. 180.

As a journalism student, freedom of expression is valuable. There are no boundaries as to what we think, what we say and what we report. There are no handcuffs if we oppose our politicians and there are no military generals watching us over our shoulders. We are given a universe to report and choose what to say, what to read and what to write. Our generation is fortunate for we did not grow up in a world where everything we consumed was edited for the benefits of racists.

21.3.1960. 69. 180.

The government repressed and concealed. From Playboy and Hustler to Eddie Grant’s “Gimme Hope Jo’anna”, the freedom to consume and express remained a mere vision to the many. The government’s ploy to ‘cleanse’ and co-ordinate left many to breathe propaganda.

21.3.1960. 69. 180.

It takes a lot of courage to stand up to authority. Many have challenged the status quo and many have failed but their struggles have constructed democracy thirty four years later. On the 21 March 1960, 69 protestors were killed and 180 were wounded.

Don't take your rights for granted.

Two faces of Terre Blanche

Amongst the flashes of the old flag and cameras, I walk out to the church. Tears hurry down my cheek. There is a picture of Eugene on his beloved horse, smiling at the camera. Outside, the rich-red AWB flags flurry as supporters hold up crosses. Today does not feel real. I can’t anymore, my man is dood.

In front of the lenses and on front-page headlines, he is a man without a soul. Eugene Terre Blanche was the figure for white supremacy, preaching for a land for whites and all other aspects that apartheid taught. No one can excuse what he stood for. He had a will of menace. While democracy grew, he fought against South Africa’s rainbow nation. He believed in white, nothing else. So it becomes hard to believe that the man that mimics Hitler and Nazism is a family man, a father and loving husband, someone who doted on his wife and children with an overpowering amount of responsibility and adoration. There is a side that the media do not show. When journalist Denis Beckett spoke to Terre Blanche in 1983, signs of humanity were clear. At that time he had written a poem for his daughter, read it with a love that any father owns, a promise to protect her against the world. While his right-wing views stink of racism, he holds a matter of decency in his heart – something that is not photographed and filmed. Sparks of human nature were evident in his family life and daily life in Ventersdorp. When chatting to Beckett, he revealed how he gave poor children clothes and a petrol attendant in Ventersdorp revealed how Terre Blanche was a giving and helping man. Terre Blanche’s politics overshadowed his true self some might say. His ogre front blurred his soft heart.

As the coffin creeps further down I close my eyes, not listening to Dominee’s se laaste woorde. Eugene is all over the news, the people are everywhere. Why can’t they leave us alone now? Why can’t they just leave him alone?