Читать книгу Verwoerd: My Journey through Family Betrayals - Wilhelm Verwoerd - Страница 5

Blaas ’n Bietjie, Bettiesbaai

25 January 2014

Dear Oupa Hendrik

Nearly 50 years ago, I was drinking milk in your lap. It’s been almost 50 years since your bloody death. Still, it feels strangely right to write this letter to you now. Where do I begin? Perhaps with why I am sitting here today, in the spacious living-dining room of your holiday home, Blaas ’n Bietjie (Take a Breather).

I recently came back to South Africa after twelve years of overseas peace work. During my time in Ireland and Northern Ireland, I helped to facilitate dialogue between former enemies. We encouraged former combatants to listen deeply to one other’s life stories – despite the bloody past between them, and in the midst of serious ongoing political divisions – and, by doing that, to accept one another as fellow human beings.

Increasingly I wondered whether I would be able to do the same with you. Could I humanise you? Could I try to understand you better without rubbing salt in the wounds of those who suffered and continue to suffer under Dr Verwoerd’s policies? Would it be possible to include you in the humanisation task, considering the raw connection between my family name and most South Africans’ historical dehumanisation?

I am surrounded by you here at your oval dining table. On the wall behind me, in one corner, is a large painting of you fishing in the Vaal River. Next to it, on my right, a small, side-view bust in white marble. On the chest of drawers against the opposite wall, a framed picture of you and Ouma, smiling on the lawn outside on the mountain side of this house. In another corner, you next to a huge seven-foot tuna, the proud fisherman. Above the photo hang the dried tuna tail and the sturdy line and hook you used to catch this fish all by yourself. And there’s this framed photo from the Huisgenoot:

“Oupa and Ouma Verwoerd with their grandchildren, Libertas1, Pretoria, 8 September 1964”.

I’ve looked at this picture often. I can’t remember a thing about that day, nor do I have any later, personal memories of you. I was only two and a half when you were murdered. But I grew up with only positive images of the kind of man you were, Oupa. It was only about 30 years ago that I truly came face-to-face with the unrecognisable image of “Verwoerd – the architect of apartheid”.

This confrontation resulted, Oupa, in a time of intense, inner grappling, a protracted crisis of faith and, eventually, a political distancing from that Verwoerd, though I tried my best to stay loyal to you. But by the early 1990s, I really couldn’t reconcile your policy of separate development with the apartheid experiences of so many fellow South Africans – most of whom who were also fellow Christians.

It became very difficult to be your grandson. Some members of our family, Pa especially, were convinced that I had shamed the Verwoerd family. They experienced my public criticism of your political policies and actions as a betrayal.

I spoke to Ouma at the time. She wanted to know whether I was motivated by my values and my faith. I was able to answer “yes”, sincerely. As far as I could tell, this was enough for her. At least she subsequently never questioned my membership of this family.

Oupa, so many times I have longed to really get to know you. There is an unbridgeable gulf between us. It is difficult to get a reliable sense of who you truly were. If only you’d also kept a diary like Ouma, or written more personal letters, to help me understand your inner life: the questions, the fears, the feelings you grappled with; the joys and dreams you cherished; your faith journey…

I’m cautious to be this honest with you. I am not even sure how to address you. In Afrikaans, out of respect, we address our elders in the third person. “Oupa” comes naturally, and I am reluctant to use the informal “you”. I am your kleinkind 2, but I am also old enough to write to you as one adult to another, with an open-hearted directness that you would hopefully not immediately reject as disrespect towards an elder, an ancestor.

I am not sure how to sign off. “Kind regards” sounds too cold. “Love” feels inappropriate, especially since I am often uncertain of my real feelings towards you. So, let me conclude for now with:

Your kleinkind

Wilhelm