Try to imagine a cell about ten paces by fifteen paces with one bed and one metal plated window too high to look through; one metal dustbin, which serves as a toilet; a daily routine consisting of breakfast, lunch and supper at 6:30, 11:30 and 2:30 respectively; no books or writing or others to talk to, with the long and silent hours in between. I've actually worked out approximately the size of my cell on this floor. It goes from about that wall to about here, this way and up to here this way. That was the limits of my world. Not sure of why you have been detained and not knowing when you will be released, knowing though that your family and friends do not know where you are or how you are. Imagine this and you might get some idea of the horror of detention. How then was I to survive? By survival here I mean mental survival, for mental survival is equally important to physical survival. This is not simply an academic question. I actually asked myself this very question at the time of my detention. Stuck in that cell with a massive steel grill and a very heavy metal door separating me from freedom, I asked myself if I should have a nervous breakdown as a means of escape. I decided that this would make my position far worse than I could imagine. One, it meant a loss of control. And two, it represented to me a defeat at the hands of the security police, something I wanted to avoid as far as possible. On deciding I did not want a nervous breakdown, it was necessary to work out ways to avoid it. At that point I took a decision which I think was the most important decision I took in detention. This was not ever to get depressed and never to despair that I would not get out. I remember thinking that even if I was given a fifteen-year sentence; I would still be young enough to study when I was released. In my four months of enforced holiday I never once got depressed. It is all very well deciding 'no depression', but how does one fill a twenty-four hour day with no books, no writing and no-one to talk to. I worked out a very rigorous system of exercises and yoga. This served a number of purposes. Firstly, it acted as a time filler. Sometimes I would spend up to two hours doing exercises and often I would do them twice a day, especially at night if I couldn't sleep. I must admit, I have no real idea if it was two hours as I had no way of telling the time. My watch had been taken away from me. Secondly, it helped me keep fit and healthy, which was imperative in the circumstances. Although in detention one has no external sources of distraction, we are still able to think and so this had to become a major source of entertainment. The problem is some thoughts are dangerous to one's sanity. I wanted to steer clear of thoughts about my family and friends; also what I would be doing if I was a free man. I began doing Maths problems in my head. This was by far my greatest source of distraction. When my mind wandered, as it inevitably did, onto my parents and home et cet era, I forced myself to focus on Maths problems. It is amazing the depth of concentration one can achieve in order to protect oneself. I do not believe I could [now] come anywhere near the concentration I reached in detention. An important lesson that detention taught me was humour. Humour always helps to take the edge off one's trouble. It is true that many of the incidents I felt were funny at the time would not sound so if I described them. The other point is that humour is always ironic, but everything takes on an ironic flavour in prison. I will tell you [about] one thing that never failed to make me laugh. Every morning the Commandant would come to my cell and ask: 'Are you still happy?' I believed he was genuinely trying to be friendly, but I could not help being amused by the inappropriateness of the remark. In prison, I desperately wanted to talk to someone. I was never allowed any contact with the other, common law prisoners, but I knew I had to make some contact. I eventually hit on an idea. In prison, a shower is mandatory, but being a political prisoner with far less rights and far more restrictions than other prisoners, the warders would often forget me and I would spend the day without a shower or the twenty minute period when I was allowed to walk around the corridor. I realized that if I reminded the Warden at supper time about my shower, he had to let me shower with the prisoners who constituted the cleaning team - a group of privileged prisoners who were not locked up when the others were. It was wonderful to be able to talk to someone again. And I must add that these prisoners were fantastic to me [even] though they consisted of murderers, thieves, fraudsters et cet era. After three days, the wardens got wise to my game and so ended the brief te te te. But, in that time, I had arranged to have a book smuggled to me. Peculiarly, the book I received was Papillon. I was afraid to read it at first as the book was about solitary confinement and the horror of prison. But on the contrary, I found it to be very humorous and about courage, which is what I needed most of all if I was to survive the ordeal. At this stage, I want to point out that things did begin to ease up after a couple of weeks in that I began to receive parcels and a few legitimate books. This thanks to the Detainees Parents' Support Committee who our Honourable Minister, Louis le Grange has chosen to label a front for the Communists, although all [the DSPC] are concerned with is the welfare of their children and friends who happen to be in detention. To be able to read without the fear of being caught is a pleasure hard to understand; without having to have read with one ear constantly attuned to the approaching sound of footsteps. As time went on, I managed to have a pen smuggled in. This helped with the Maths problems. I still didn’t have paper to write on so I used the only available thing; that is toilet paper. Eventually, a policeman asked me if there was anything I wanted from home. He said he would ask my parents. I requested a Maths book. He thought I was ‘around the bend’. On the off chance, but not really believing I would receive it, my parents sent me a pen and an exam pad. Thus did reach me and I filled many hours now teaching myself Maths I had never done before. Towards the end of my detention I began to write a diary [although] not a diary of daily events, as there are no events to talk about in detention. This diary consisted of writing down my thoughts and feelings as they came to me. Writing is an excellent therapy. It turns the subject, that is me in prison, into the object; that is me being observed. In other words, by writing about my plight, I was able, in some sense, to remove myself from it. I could look at it as if it wasn’t me in detention but someone else. I no longer experienced the pain but observed it. Let me finish by reading some experts from my diary: These, things which I wrote…they actually came out of me. I didn’t think about them. I just wrote them down. There was no thought going into it. As far as possible not to think about what you’re writing about, but it helped me a hell of a lot. “Bitterness, like depression and despair, must be constantly guarded against in detention. One of the greatest causes of anxiety in detention is that those outside will become indifferent to your plight. While this is irrational, it is a battle not to be overcome by this emotion. I waited each week in anxious anticipation for a parcel from home and maybe a message or a few words of reassurance. Every Friday I tried to picture my father or Jane or someone else from my family going to John Vorster Square with a parcel for me. In this way I try to imagine I am with them and they are with me and I am with them. It helps to give me strength.” “To take refuge in sleep appears to be a good idea. To enter into the blissful state of non-being but this desired state is not to be. In sleep, the metal bars are transferred from the exterior to the interior. There is no escape from detention. Even in dreams when I am outside, there is the constant knowledge that I am not free, the knowledge that I have to return to my cell. Sometimes the anxiety is so great about being re-detained, if I am in the outside, that it is a relief to wake and find myself in the cell. Much of my time is wondering how I will settle down when I am out. Will the fear of being re-detained persist? Will I be afraid to sleep at night, extrapolating? Detention is hell, not merely in itself but in its after effects. I also think how it must affect those outside. I am sure the pain is equally intense. The dreams are almost Kafkaesque. I must read 'The Trial' again. I begin to understand these afflictions – that feeling of being trapped, nowhere to go, nothing that you do changes or alleviates the pain, the helplessness.” “All I do is sit and wait for a visit from the security officer hoping for some news or to take me for further interrogation. The thought of that may be frightening but almost anything is better than being cooped up here all day, everyday. There is nothing romantic, brave or heroic about detention. Firstly, as often as not, detention is merely circumstantial. You may be detained for some obscure action, which normally wouldn’t make you blink an eyelid. Secondly, to survive in detention you become an animal. It is purely instinctive. I’m not suggesting though that it is easy, just that to remain human in this hell is to invite mental breakdown. I'm also not suggesting one is never human in the circumstances. The feelings one feels towards his loved ones is completely human and the tears, anxiety and pain are also completely human, but it is these things one guards against if he wants to survive.” “In prison, everything seems to lose its beauty and meaning. Books, music, food everything are distracting; it is true, but comforting – No! I read that books only give comfort when you don’t need it. I would agree and say this is true for all other things as well, but I do not think life is meaningless or absurd. From this vantage point it looks beautiful. In prison, life ceases to exist. You are relegated to the role of insect. You are Kafka's bug. You are a madman who is sane, which drives you further into madness. You try to keep a semblance of normality – getting dressed every morning, combing your hair, trying to keep tidy and you keep asking yourself: 'What the hell for?' You even find it funny but there is no normality in a cell about twelve by fifteen foot and doors with key holes on one side only, key holes which give me nightmares. [There is] no normality in the scratching on the window frame: 'Detained for more than a year', 'Detained such and such a date', 'Release not known'. [There is] no, normality in having to look at a photograph to remind yourself what you look like.” “I spend a lot of time writing all this garbage down. It occupies my time. I become sort of detached as if it's not me I’m writing about. Thinking about things hurts and it hurts very deeply. Writing it all down seems to 'rayify' it, put it out there. It becomes more words. You can look at it and say that's good or bad or that’s not really what I feel. You can analyze it, give it a mark out of ten; praise yourself for being so sensitive. When you write you are split in two or three or a dozen pieces but writing is artificial. It is a mere epi-phenomenon, a shadow of the real images – pain, pleasure and hate.” If there are any questions I will try to answer them Do you know why you were detained? Yes! I know why! I was detained for a delivering a letter to Barbara Hogan who some of you might know has been sentenced to ten years [in prison[ for high treason, but I’ll say that the content of that letter I never had, and still do not have, any knowledge of, and the state has also admitted, in court, that they had no knowledge of what was in the letter. When you wrote all those things down in your diary, did they check all those entries? Were you afraid of the security police? I was expecting them to stop me from taking all this stuff out. The day I was released, which was the 26th of March, last year, there were about...there must have been eight of us, I think who were released at the same time. Now, the police, because they don’t want to be accused of thievery. Of course they’re not thieves…the fact that they stole four months or in the case of some detainees over a year of their time…that’s not considered thievery. But they would hate to be accused of stealing our property. We have to sign a form saying whatever we're taking away. Whatever we had we had to sign for. We have to sign a statement saying that we've taken everything with us when we leave. Now, because they were so busy in fact that morning they couldn't go through what we had, and anyway they would never have thought…because most of us…I was lucky in that sense…most detainees wouldn't have got pen and paper. I was very lucky for asking because I wanted to do Maths. That’s why I got it. What clothes did you use [in detention]? The same clothes that I’m wearing now or very similar. If you are a detainee you don’t have to wear prison clothes? Only if you’ve been convicted of a crime do you then have to wear the prison uniform. What do you think of the security police? They are difficult to really assess except that I realized after I'd been out for about a week and a half that I was incredibly angry. I wasn’t bitter and I wasn’t angry at any particular security policeman. It's hard to get angry at people just like that. You actually become quite attached to the security police who come to visit you, who bring you parcels. That’s true. It's true. I realize it from experience and it's also what the psychologists have said that you actually identify with your captives, but I was very, very angry and sometimes I would …Well, once I went to visit a friend who I thought was a friend. And his mother was there and she said some very tactless things to me which, I won't repeat, but one of the things they said was that If I don’t like it in South Africa I must leave. I think that’s a very arrogant thing to say. I'm South African. I was born in South Africa and I don’t think that question comes into it at all. But I once did break down into tears because I was so angry when I heard that a friend of mine, a very close friend of mine, had been standing…on a weekend, the weekend after I was released, with a poster saying ‘Release Detainees’ and he was beaten up. So that was the main after effect. I was able to sleep except for the first night. I became totally extroverted for about a month. I would stop people who I hardly knew and I would rave on at them for an hour or two hours just talking. The day I came out I spoke for sixteen hours solid without stopping. It was quite amazing! It really was! Do you think that thinking about what you were going through, analyzing your time in prison and eventually writing a diary, was a constructive thing to do? I had two things in my mind when I started writing. One, it’s very important to be able to go to people and say this is what happens in detention, not from what they do to you, not what they do to you physically. That varies. In my case I was lucky I wasn't physically abused but I wanted to be able to go to people and say this is what happens; this is the kind of reaction you’re going to have - the emotional reactions. That was one of the things, but the other thing [was that writing] started out as an experiment and it turned out to be, as I said before, a complete objectifying of the whole experiment. I was able to stand apart. It was no longer me I was writing about. It was someone else. And in fact to this day, when I’m talking to you, or talking to anybody describing my experience in detention, I feel that I’m talking about someone else. I don’t feel I’m talking about myself. I can’t really believe that it was me. What physical damage did they do? Well, I don’t know if any of you followed the Neil Aggett inquest. I think they can tell you much better than I can about some of the things they do or are alleged to have done. I won't say they do it because the magistrate found them not to have done it, but they alleged...one thing for instance is to tie you up on a broomstick between two chairs and leave you hanging there upside down, or they’ll put plastic bags over your head– a wet plastic bag over your head or they use a towel, a wet towel around your neck, which they slowly tighten. You can just read the Aggett Inquest for a horror story, which is worse than any [fictitious] horror story you’ll have read. What about your friends? How did they come out…? I’m not sure what people did - those who were detained. While we were all waiting for Barbara’s trial to finish we weren’t allowed to say why we were detained. The state called it subjudice. We never used to discuss, in fact, what we did. The only reason why…Mine was common knowledge. What I had done was common knowledge. It appeared in the charge sheet, in Barbara's charge sheet. What I did appeared. What people like Maurice Smithers, Keith Coleman etc did I’m not sure but if they had done anything…the fact is that if they had done anything they wouldn’t be free today. They would have been brought to trial. That’s what you’ve got to understand about detention. You don’t do anything and you get detained. Did you have any contact with the other prisoners? Well, as I said, in Pretoria Central, I was able to make some contact with common law prisoners. I never came into contact with any political prisoners. When I was in Brixton for the last two months I never saw another human being except for the police who brought me my food and the security policemen who bought my parcels every Friday. Were you allowed to receive and send letters? One time they allowed me to send something was on the 7th of January. I requested permission to send a birthday card to my girlfriend. That’s all. But I did get things over Christmas and on my birthday. I did get cards. And every card you have to sign and they take it back to your parents to show that you’ve seen it. I was able to…for instance on the one card I requested cigarettes. At other times – the first card I said “I’m well and I’m eating and every body must be strong”. When were you detained and when were you arrested? I was detained…There’s a difference between being arrested and [being[ detained. If you are arrested they have to release you within forty-eight hours or charge you. If you are detained they can hold you forever. I was detained on the 27th of November, which incidentally was my mother's birthday, at five o’clock in the morning by three security policemen just arrived. At your home…? Yes! How come nobody in your family knew you had been detained? My parents were coming home from Capetown. There was no way of contacting them. My sister was with me that day and she…luckily…otherwise no one would have known. It probably would have leaked out but it could happen that no one would have known what had happened to me because there’s a law, which is now in enforcement, that you’re not allowed to reveal the names of detainees. The press is not allowed to reveal the names of detainees. Did you have any change of clothes when you were in there? Well, fortunately again, my sister was there. She had sense enough to pack me a bag with a change of clothes, toothbrush and other kinds of toiletries, which they did allow. I was detained on aFriday. On the Saturday I received my clothes and all those things. Do you find it difficult or easy to do cryptic clues and did anybody send you cryptic clues? It’s true. When you receive anything you look to see if there’s a hidden message. There never was. I actually went out and tried to find out if anybody had ever sent a hidden message. I did send a message home one day. I tried to be as cryptic as possible. I'm not sure. I must have asked my parents if they found the message, but I can't remember. All I know is that I wrote a message in a book. And I asked for permission to send home clothes and other materials to wash and just to send, because when I received my first parcel, which was three weeks after I’d been detained, all my friends had a meeting and they had gathered shirts and socks you name it, scarves the works. They’d piled it into a pillowcase and they’d sent the lot. It was their way of saying we’re with you. They couldn’t send me messages so they sent me parts of their clothing. I couldn’t really do anything with this clothing and in the small cell that I was in it just cluttered up the cell. So I asked for permission to send it home, which was allowed. But I also asked for permission to do it, so I could actually send a message home. But it didn’t make any difference because the message was a silly one anyway. The other thing is that I did send a message home on a card saying 'Has my friend Harry phoned’ or whatever? I can't remember his name. In fact I have no friend called Harry. Harry was a prisoner who came into Brixton for fraud and he was awaiting trial and he was very good to me. And I asked him if he would please phone my parents when he was released on bail, which he was going to be…to phone my parents and say I was well and was bearing up and just to give them some comfort, which he never did, and I really expected him to. Most of them I wouldn’t have expected it [of], but [with] this particular fellow I really expected it. About a month later I sent a card home. I managed to get a card out somehow and on it I asked if my friend Harry had phoned. This worried my parents until I got out. They didn’t know who Harry was. They thought I was going mad. They thought it was a bit crazy. How come you were the one who had to deliver the letter? How come I had to deliver the letter? We had an arrangement that I would receive a letter and that I would take it to Barbara [Hogan]. That was all. Who is Barbara? Barbara is a good friend of mine. I don’t know what she was doing. I had no knowledge that she was a member of the ANC. Did you realize at the time what you could have been taking on? No! Not really! Simply because I know Barbara is involved in…I know that it's legal. Barbara was involved in trade union activity. I also know that certain people had their post opened. I know I’ve had my post opened, or rather it wasn’t mine, it was a very close person to me but it came to my house and had been opened. Post is often opened. Sometimes people, even if they are doing things which are illegal, they choose other means to get it to wherever it's going. I actually think that it's an indictment on the society that we live in that we have to do these things because your post might be opened. Post should be absolutely sacred, as well as a telephone and yet we’re afraid to talk on the phone and we are afraid to send post by the normal channels because it can be opened. When you were transported from Pretoria Central to Brixton could you see…? Just by an ordinary car… So you could see? Oh, yes! Was it good? It was very good to see. In a way you see things which are beautiful which before you never realized - even going along a highway which is not the most beautiful thing. What was your diet like in detention? Well it varied. In Pretoria Central we had a diet of Millie Pap in the morning – mostly sugared – it was generally sugared – but it occasionally came without sugar. And they called it coffee although I’ve never tasted anything like it in my life and I hope I never taste anything like it again. That was our breakfast…That was at half past six. Then at half past eleven we had lunch which consisted of a blob of yellow and a blob of white and maybe a piece of meat or fish. And occasionally, we got a dessert of some kind of baked fruit or whatever, but that happened very rarely. Then at half past two we got soup, four slices of bread with white margarine and jam on it, and it was a treat when we did get, once a week, peanut butter with the jam, and Roiiboos tea which I hated before and I hate now. Did they give it to you in the cell or were you let out to eat it? No, we ate it all in the cell on a steel plate with a spoon. They’d never allow you to have a knife and fork. So you would never be let out, only when you needed to wash? Yes. How did they know you delivered the letter? Did you deliver it on that Friday morning? I’m not sure. I’m not sure how they knew. Apparently Barbara had sent a letter to the high command in England – the ANC High Command – saying that I had delivered a letter or otherwise she admitted it. I don’t think that’s the case though because if they didn’t know about it they would never have asked her. Were you detained after Barbara opened the letter you posted? I was detained on the 27th November. That’s all I know and Barbara was detained in September so I don’t really know what transpired between September and November. Did you ever get to speak to her after that? I did. I saw Barbara while she was awaiting trial. That was after I was released. That was last year in about August. Did you actually get to speak to her? Yes I did. I visited her at The Fort [prison] and I spoke to her. She was shocked. She was absolutely shocked and astounded when she heard I was detained. In fact she couldn’t believe it. When they told her I’d been detained, she couldn’t believe it. One of the tactics of the security police is often to tell you things like that. They tell you that your parents are ill or they’ll tell you all those kinds of things. So when they told her that I’d been detained she couldn’t believe it and only believed it when she saw the parcels when she was brought into John Vorster [Square] for interrogation. She saw the parcels. You could see them. There were piles of them in the rooms on the tenth floor at John Vorster Square. She could see I had been detained. If you’re on trial do you sit in a cell or do you…What is John Vorster Square? Is it just a square outside? No! It’s a police station. It has I don’t know how many floors. I just know that the tenth and eleventh floors are the security police. That’s all I really know. There are cells in John Vorster Square. I’ve never seen them. They’re on the second floor. But if you’re awaiting trial that’s different to being detained. They normally hold…depending of course where you are awaiting trial. But for instance if you’re awaiting trial in the S Court in Johannesburg or at the Magistrates court they’d probably hold you in the Fort. If you were awaiting trial at the Supreme Court in Pretoria they’ll hold you in Pretoria Central. Were you given a fair trial? I wasn’t given any trial whatsoever. There's no question of trials in detention. How did you feel when you came out of detention? Totally elated. I couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. What did you do in the first hour after you were released from detention? Well, the police came at nine o’clock on Friday morning. I knew that it was the Security Police because you work out very quickly when they’re coming. Normally, they come on every Sunday to bring your parcel or in my case also every second Tuesday to take me to the doctor after the death of Neil Aggett. And on every second Friday the magistrate would come to see you or the Inspector of detainees. That’s the one thing written into the law of detention - that a magistrate has to visit you every two weeks. Of course the fact that the magistrate need only to report to the security police doesn’t count. But that particular Friday wasn’t the Magistrate’s visit so I knew it was the security police. I suspected that they were coming to fetch me to take me to the Attorney General because I thought maybe they wanted me to become a state witness. When they opened the door I said to they guy, “What are you here for,” just like that. And he said “Good news you’re going home”, and I couldn’t believe it although I thought this time it was true. After a month in Pretoria Central they [had] come to fetch me and they told me I was going home but, instead of going home, they took me to John Vorster Square for my interrogation and then straight to Brixton where I remained for the next three months. So I was a bit worried that they were doing this again; that they were saying I was going home and I wasn’t. But I waited for three hours before I left John Vorster Square. When I got home it was just amazing…I can’t really say…except that I didn’t stop talking for sixteen hours. When everybody - all my friends - had gone home I knocked back half a bottle of brandy and started raving at my poor sister until four in the morning. And I couldn’t sleep. It was impossible for me to sleep. And I'm just lucky that I have a sister who actually listened to me and parents who also listened to and helped me and gave me strength when I needed it. How did you keep track of time? When I was first detained I searched my cell for anything which could be used for anything. You look for whatever you can find because a cell is pretty empty. There's nothing really and sometimes you're lucky if you have a cupboard, which is just a makeshift box. I looked around the cell and found a nail or something like that and I actually scratched on the wall…every day - the passing of every day I scratched on the wall. And then I have a problem with my one ear so I had to see the doctor and he gave me these revolting ear drops, which were black in colour and I started painting with them on the wall. I wouldn't stick them in my ear; I wouldn't do that, but they were useful for that and in fact I saw Cedric Mason the other day and he says he still has a calendar, which I drew up. Of course he was another detainee who was transferred from Brixton into my cell in Pretoria and he found the calendar, which I had kept there and he's still got it. Are you restricted to South Africa? No. I'm not restricted at all. I'm not a banned person and I'm not listed either. I've got no restrictions. Were you studying when you were arrested? Yes! I was doing my Psychology Honours and I was due to write my exams in January but I was unable to of course. The security police wouldn't allow it so it brought a very untimely end to my Psychology Honours. When I came out of detention I didn't feel like doing them anymore. Did you have enough light around you to assess the difference between night and day and did they not leave an artificial light on? Yes! In Pretoria Central, they left a light on. A light came on at about anywhere between half past four and five o'clock in the morning and it stayed on until ten o'clock that night. But the sun came into the cell anyway. In Brixton, the light stayed on all the time. It never went off. But in Brixton it was very, very dark because you had a sixty watt bulb covered by shaded glass. A sixty watt bulb doesn't give off much light. It was covered by shaded glass. The windows were all covered in black in Brixton and the cell itself was very dull so it made reading very difficult and so used to give me headaches. What were your sleeping arrangements? How did you sleep? Well, except for one day which was the first day I was detained when I slept on a mat, a mat on the floor, I was given sheets and blankets, I slept on a bed. I always had a bed to sleep on but in Brixton I was never allowed a pillow case or sheets. They were afraid I might hang myself. The fact that there were so many other things you could use makes it absurd. It's nonsense. How high was your cell? How high were the walls? I actually wrote it somewhere. I think it was probably about twelve foot to the roof. Did they confiscate all sharp things? They confiscated everything although in my case it was odd. I took a belt with me when I went. It just happened to be in my trousers. They took it away from me but then returned it so that was another thing that I could use to write with. It was this belt [I'm wearing now] and I used the buckle to write with occasionally; scratch that is. Scratch on the wall or on the cement floor. Was escape impossible from where you were? In Pretoria Central I was put in a place called 'the bomb'. I'm not sure why it's called the bomb but a lot of the prisoners there, they've committed crimes in prison. And for a lot of them, the crime they've committed is trying to escape. And they're put in the bomb, which is a kind of maximum security in a non maximum security prison so there's no way you get out unless you can get help from the inside - from the warders. Did they let you keep books in Pretoria Central? Well, at first not. In the first three weeks the only book I read was the one which the other prisoners had smuggled to me which was Papillon which I had to keep putting under my bed. But then I was allowed books and they built up, and when I came home I must have brought over sixty books home. Sixty? Over sixty - six, o. Because people, once they knew I was allowed books just started sending [them]. How did you know the time? You said that at eleven o'clock the guards or somebody like that came? But how did you know the time? Well, I asked. You see the prisoners, the other prisoners in Pretoria Central, they bring you your food, and I would ask them the time. I would also ask the warden the time quite often, not always, but quite often they would tell me. In Brixton it was easy. I worked out a system of telling the time by just looking where the sun was. Of course it had to be a sunny day but most of the days were. How long were you in Pretoria and how long were you in Brixton? I was one month in Pretoria Central and I was three months in Brixton. If they wouldn't give you knives how could they give you books because you can cut your wrists with the pages? Well, there's a million ways you can end your life in the space of half an hour. It's just that certain things are more likely…you're more likely to use. I never actually thought about suicide. I'm not a suicidal person and to me a lot of things there represent defeat. I'd hate to think that I was defeated by the security police. I don't want that, and to me, having a breakdown, committing suicide, all these things, is a defeat, sometimes unavoidable. But suicide is such a final thing. You can't describe it. I used to think a lot about death in prison, but to me it's something that is so final, something, which is not part of life and I didn't consider it. Did you ever try attacking the wardens? No! There were times when I would have liked to. It's true, but no I sometimes punched the wall, but I didn't punch it hard enough to hurt. Would your friends have reacted to the situation in the same way as you? I don't know! It varies from person to person but there are a few things that are constant - the fact that you come to identify with your captors. You look forward to the security police visits. That's generally a common thing for instance. The fact that you might, and very likely will, get depressed, that's a common thing. Alot of the things here are usual and fortunately I knew that those were the things I had to guard against. Did your psychology help you? I don't know. A lot of people have suggested that it did. There's no way of knowing if it did or didn't because I've never been in detention without it. I assume it did. Were the wardens abrupt to you? The wardens…they never stopped shouting. It's not really a case of abruptness or being nasty. They just are. They just shout that’s all. In fact the police- the blue police, not the security police - are more respectful than wardens. Did you ever find that, besides tactless and saying inappropriate things, did they ever say anything that was offensive? Well, it depends on what you mean by offensive. Once I wasn't called…I won't use the words. The day I was released Captain Strubic called me “the f-ing Jew”. They often called me stupid. They told me that I want them to think I'm stupid, but they know I'm not [and] that I think they are stupid. I quickly learnt in interrogation that if they shout at you you're quite safe. It's because they don't know anything anyway. They once accused me of knowing everybody in the ANC. They said I'd been born with them. And I said, “Well, name them” and they couldn't so they called me bloody stupid at the tops of their voices. This happened all the time. At any time during your four months of detention were you ever tortured by any of them? No. I was never tortured. I was never physically tortured. Solitary confinement is a torture, which is often not really recognized [as such] by a lot of people but in fact it is. But I never had to stand for any length of time. I never was physically abused. Was Keith Coleman also in solitary confinement? Yes! Keith Coleman was in a much worse position than I was. What was his…..? I don't know! I can't talk to Keith. I don't know why he was detained and I don't really know exactly what they did. But I know that his detention was far worse than mine. I believe that he never had a bed to sleep on for one thing. He had a concrete bunk. That's all! And with maybe one blanket! If you were a teacher at a school at that stage and you were detained would they have actually told the headmaster immediately or would they [the school] have been left to find out [for themselves] that they didn't have a teacher? Well, he probably would have been left to find out. But one thing is that when they came to detain me they searched my room. They made a hell of a mess. But the other thing is that they wanted to know where I worked. I actually wasn't working at the time because I was studying but I had been working. And the reason they wanted to know was because they wanted to go and search the place immediately so they probably would have had to phone up my boss to get the key. Are they allowed to search you? Yes! They are absolutely allowed to search. They can do what they like with that warrant. I must tell you [about] what I consider to be very funny. I studied Philosophy at university so I have a large library of Philosophy books. One of them is called The Structures of Scientific Revolution, which has absolutely nothing to do with revolution or military revolution. It's got to do with how science moves. The day they came to search my room or to detain me, they found in my bookcase this book The Structures of Scientific Revolution. The Warrant Officer who found it came running out saying “Captain, Captain we've got him”. So I said to the captain, I said “Really, you don't want that book; it's just a Philosophy book”. So he looked through it and he saw I had made lots of writing in it. And in Philosophy we often use ps and qus for different theories. It's the same as in Maths. We use ps and qs for different objects. So he said , “What does all this mean?” So I proceeded to start telling him how at one stage it was believed that the sun and all the planets revolved around the earth. That was Ptolemy's idea. And then Copernicus came along and showed that actually the earth and the planets revolve around the sun. By that time the Captain was so muddled he just told me to shut up and threw the book on the bed. So even in those very dire circumstances you can find things that are very funny. And you really can. And that's the most important thing I learnt in detention - to look for humor whatever the situation and you'll find it [although] some situations are harder to find humor in. But I really think that [humor] is very important. It helped me to survive a hell of a lot. Were there any times during detention when you just felt like…….. You mean giving up? Well, something like that, yes! Well, there are, but all you can do really is to hit the wall or shout. I used to shout quite a lot at the wall. But there's nothing you can do. Often you do think of anything; you try to be defiant in your head but, as I said before, whenever I started getting that way I tried to force myself to think of other things on Maths or whatever else but Maths helped me the most. I really think so. It's a good reason to learn Maths I tell you. Did you build up fake friends, you know, imaginary friends, and speak to them? No! I didn't do that but I would imagine conversations with friends of mine, and family who are dead. And that helped quite a lot because that's the same thing as making fake friends. But it actually helped because I could picture the people; I could see them. Did you ever get to the stage where, although you were pretty much in control of yourself, and could assess what was happening and could balance it out by stopping yourself thinking about anything, did you ever get to the stage where you thought well now maybe I'm going to go overboard? Or did you really get upset or show intense emotion? Three days before I was released I didn't know I was to be released. I decided..….I had been sent pictures of my girlfriend Jane and my sister and my family and normally I would just look at the pictures and put them away, but the cell is terribly drab so I thought I was going to brighten it up, so I put these pictures up….. What with? No! I just rested them against the wall. And I didn't realize how much anxiety that would engender. I did realize that something was wrong but I couldn't quite work it out. But by five o'clock I decided I'd take the pictures down so I'd left them up there the whole day. When I took them down it was such a relief. It was an incredible relief. And I suddenly realized that I was walking a very…..you know, I was walking on a tightrope. And that was the only time I was really afraid in detention. I really didn’t want to have a nervous breakdown. I didn't want to lose control. That scared the hell out of me and I've written somewhere in the diary that I was still shaking the following day. And the following Tuesday was the day I was going to go and see the doctor and I was planning what to say to him because I was very worried. Mr Purkey, did you ever used to talk to yourself aloud or sing or…..? I used to sing, quite a lot. That helped. The other thing is [that] in Brixton…most of the prisoners in Brixton are black and a lot of them are black women and they used to sing every Saturday and Sunday. And it was magnificent to listen to them sing. And if I knew the song, which occasionally I did and sometimes I would sing Nkosi Sikelele and a few others, I would actually join in, although I don’t think they could hear me. But I could hear them because there were so many of them singing and it really helped a hell of a lot. Then, about three weeks before I was released, they brought my guitar. I don't know to this day why they allowed me a guitar but they did and it helped quite alot. I then used to sing then a hell of a lot. You said you shouted quite a lot. Would the other prisoners have heard you? No! Very unlikely. The walls…I shouted mostly in Pretoria Central because there I had no books, nothing! For most of my stay in Pretoria Central I had no books, no writing material or anything but the walls are very, very thick. One night the prisoner next to my cell started shouting and banging on my wall and for a long time I didn't realize that he was trying to make contact with me. Eventually, I realized and we had a very loud shouting match between the two of us but we both stood by the open window and we managed to talk and make some sense. I heard that he was awaiting trial and that he was going to Cape Town within a month. And I told him that I was there under Section 6 [of the Terrorism Act]. I was really afraid that when they heard I was under Section 6 they were going to really be nasty because you imagine criminals to hate all of us who are in their eyes on the left, but they were magnificent. They really were. I have nothing but warm feelings for most of those I met. What did your friends think of you when you came out? Did you still have friends? Yes! I was worried in detention that a lot of my friends wouldn't show any concern and wouldn't be my friends anymore. And that is true to some extent. That is one of the most difficult things to bear. When a friend is suddenly no longer your friend because of some vague political action you do. But most of my friends, some of them who I actually expected not to be my friends, I discovered supported me all the way. And some people, a lot of people, most people, are magnificent. People are really…you can't believe how good they can be. But on the other hand you can't believe how bad people can be. They're a very interesting breed. What does Section 6 state? Section 6 says that you can be detained. Section 6 is the Section 6 under the Terrorism Act. It's no longer in operation. It's now Section 29 of the Internal Security [Act]. But it states simply that you can be detained for an indefinite period of time until they discover that you aren't a terrorist, or until they feel like releasing you. They first detained me, which has also fallen away now, under Section 22 of the General Laws Amendment Act, which says that in fact that you can only detain a person for two weeks and then they must be released. What people don't realize until you're detained or unless you know people in detention is that Section 22 is simply…..you don't detain someone under Section 22 and then come to them after two weeks is up and say “Well now you're under Section 6”, which is what happened. So there's nowhere in the law that says you're released. You're never released until they decide to release you completely. Could they come and detain you again? Well they could come and detain you. Are you likely to be detained again? I don't think so. I think I'm…at the moment I think unless things really get hot then they'll round up a lot of us and stick us all in detention. But I don't think so. Maybe I'm being unrealistic but I do feel that the police…now that they know about me – they know of my activities - and they know that they are not harmful and in a way I feel safer than I felt before. After you were released did you find it difficult to settle back into white society? No! No! Not white society; into society in general maybe for a while. I did find it difficult but that's expected, and after a month I settled down and in fact came to work at Woodmead. Do you think that if you had been in detention any longer you would have had a nervous breakdown? I can't say. You fluctuate in detention. One day things are really bad , the next day you feel fine. I don't think so because of my visit to the doctor for instance, which helped a hell of a lot. It was fantastic to drive through the streets of Braamfontein and recognize…I had been at university for a long time…I knew a lot of people at university and I would recognize people. Some of them I only recognized their faces. I still don't know their names. But it was such a pleasure to see faces that you could recognize. And that helped. And I think that following Tuesday they would have taken me to the doctor and that would have put me back onto an even keel. Did you apply for any other jobs before you got the job at Woodmead? Not after detention. Do you think they might have turned you down; if you went to another school - a TED [Transvaal Education Department Government] school? A TED school? Probably! Well I don't know because it depends on what kind of checks the TED does. But if the TED knew I'd been detained I wouldn't have got the job. Hanchen Koornhof, who was also a fellow detainee, lost her job at a government school when she was detained. Were you physically ill at any time? Well, you suffer all sorts of things. I suffered…but they weren't serious. I think most of them were anxiety related. I suffered for instance from what seemed to be a bladder problem, but the doctor couldn't really find anything. But the doctor in Pretoria Central…I sometimes wonder where he got his medical certificate. I was told this story about him once. One of my fellow prisoners - not a political prisoner - was taken to the doctor for kidney stones and his check up. The doctor listened to his heart and all of that with his stethoscope. He then proclaimed that the fellow was fine and the fellow pointed out to the doctor that his stethoscope wasn't in his ears. But you suffer all sorts of things. But the main thing that I suffered from was tension headaches which was a real killer. Do detainees have access to a doctor or a lawyer? A detainee never sees a lawyer. A doctor they'll see sometimes. Every detainee or…..? Theoretically, every detainee has to see a doctor every so often. When Neil Aggett died they didn't want another Aggett on their hands so they took us to the doctor every two weeks. Apparently, the doctor was the one who made them do it. I don't think it was the security police. Made them go to the doctor…..? The doctor, the district surgeon said to the police he insists he sees the detainees every two weeks. It wasn't a security police decision. Mr Purkey, did you know that Neil Aggett was dead? I did hear. I heard. What happened is that after the interrogations were finished we received radios, which again was thanks to the DPSC [Detainees' Parents Support Committee] and the first bit of news I actually heard was that Dr Neil Aggett had died in detention. I didn't know Dr Aggett at all. I'd never met him but it came as a hell of a shock. Anyway, we were allowed to see our parents the following day. Yes! It must have been the following day, which was good news. In that sense it was good that we were able to see them but when we saw them we were only able to see them for fifteen minutes and the security policemen made sure that we didn't talk to them about anything. We couldn't describe our cell. We couldn't do anything like that. We could only talk about so-called domestic things. I couldn't talk about my domestic life in the cell though. That was something else. Tell me, in regard to this objectivity, didn't you feel afraid that you'd lose reality? Did you ever feel as if you weren't there, that it was just one big nightmare that didn't exist? wasn't it a problem that way? I don't really know. I…It's not so much that you objectify, that you actively objectify things. It's that without other people, if there's nobody around. There's nothing to tell you about reality anyway. So it's an unreal situation anyway. But the funny thing is it's ironic, and in a way it's a paradox because in detention you actually have nothing but your own subjectivity. You have nothing to compare. But you still…When I wrote…That's how I actually got company. In a way I created another person who I spoke to. Of course it's not a very interesting conversationalist – a piece paper - but it is a possibility though. I don't know! Perception is strange because I think any experience is like that because you can't …When you are describing your experience, you're actually not experiencing. An experience is something that happens and then it's gone. And in a way all experiences aren't real in that sense because all you have is memories about it and I think that memories are far more real than the actual experience. In detention are you tortured according to the type of detention you have? Sorry! In detention are you tortured by the type of detention that you have? I'm not sure that I understand. You were detained for delivering a letter….. Yes, it does depend very much on why you were detained how they are going to treat you. And of course it depends on your colour. I don't like to say it but it's true. If you're white detention automatically becomes...well not automatically...If you're white and you're not a known communist and you're not a known ANC supporter, then it becomes a lot easier. If you're black or Indian I think you're detention automatically becomes more difficult. Is there anything you're not allowed to speak about now that you're out? I was told…When I was released I was told by Captain Strubic in his nice way, as he always did, that I wasn't permitted to tell anybody why I was detained. That was only though while Barbara's [Hogan] trial was proceeding. Once that was over I could talk about what I liked. Of course you aren't allowed to talk about some things. Nor is anybody here. Those things I can't talk about either. What do you mean? I mean simply that there are certain subjects, for instance in schools we are not allowed to teach you the black history of South Africa for instance. We're not allowed to teach you about the Communist party of South Africa. We're not allowed to talk about those things. Those are the kinds of things that neither you nor I nor anybody is allowed to talk about, except for the people on the news of course. They can say what they like! Mr Purkey, on behalf of the class, I would like to thank you very much for talking to us. |
| Colin Purkey was a teacher at Woodmead in the early 1980s. Prior to his appointment to the school he was detained under Section 6 of the Terrorism Act and placed in solitary confinement for four months. The following document is an abridged transcript of his address to a Grade 9 (St 7) Integrated Studies class. What is interesting about this address is not only that it reminds us of what things were like under apartheid, but it is also an extraordinary insight into the spirit of Woodmead. Here some fifty students sit absorbed as one of their teachers reiterates his experiences in prison. Questions asked by the students are underlined. |
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| Colin Purkey - 1983 |
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| E-mail: woodmeadschool@yahoo.com.au |
| How I Survived Detention Without Trial |