Book Review- The South African Gandhi: Stretcher-Bearer of Empire

Last week I finished a book titled 'The South African Gandhi: Stretcher-Bearer Of Empire' and I immediately thought about doing a write-up on it because it not only made a strong impression on me but it also left me with some serious thoughts. The book is about Mahatma Gandhi but unlike a biography, it focuses on a specific period of his life and investigates the impact of his activities during that period. The era in focus is the 21 year stint he spent in South Africa between 1893- 1914 and the main subject investigated is his relationship with the British Crown.

Walter Rodney once said "Among the oppressed and unfree, the only great men are those who struggle to destroy the oppressor". It's with that same spirit that I dived into this book with the aim of finding out just what Gandhi stood for and whose interests was he representing during his stay in South Africa. I wanted to weigh him as a freedom fighter and man, and see how he measured up...

This is a very well researched book with carefully selected details and information to provide a context for the individual under investigation. The authors, Goolam Vahed and Ashwin Desai, did a remarkable job of not propagandising the narrative and instead lay all the relevant information in front of you as a reader so you can see what kind of a man Gandhi was, whose interests did he serve and whether he is really worthy of his sacred place in history.

Aside from putting Gandhi's activities under the microscope, this is a great book to help one understand the history and purpose of South Africa as a whole. Whether you are black, white, Indian, coloured or even Chinese, this book gives you an understanding of the long pre-determined role your race is meant to play in South Africa. Today much has supposedly changed from the late 1800's and early 1900's when Paul Kruger, Jan Smuts and the rest of their settler contemporaries unapologetically declared South Africa to be a white man's country but yet the economic patterns and race relations they were seeking out are still very much intact. By exploring the courses set in motion by the colonial criminals of the past, this book, whether advertently or inadvertently,  explains the racial and power relations South Africa today and the role that Gandhi played as a preeminent leader in the Indian community.

So what was clear to me after reading the book was that, regardless of what he did after he left South Africa,  the Gandhi myth is one of history's greatest frauds. The knowledge presented undresses Gandhi as a shameless stooge of the British Empire who used his professional prestige to further a colonial agenda with the hopes of Britain and the white power structure rewarding his efforts by recognising South African Indians as equal to the white counterparts. He was blatantly racist, he was an imperial and colonial Uncle Tom, he wasn't for women's equality, and he wasn't pro-poor, even with the Indian community that he was supposedly serving.

In relation to empire, Gandhi had an unbelievably romanticised and naive notion of what Britain stood for and his political aspirations Indians in South Africa were always attached to the British Empire. Gandhi believed that British Imperialism existed for the good of the world and even went as far as saying that "England will prove to be India's deliverer". Any realist will tell you that empires have nothing to do with deliverance; they are about subjugation, exploitation, and theft.

As far as his relationship with the native African community goes, after reading this book, I would go as far as saying that Gandhi was disgusted by black people. When his own words are examined, you get the impression of a man who doesn't merely dislike blacks, he absolutely abhors blacks! In fact his first win in South African court was in a case where he was arguing that Indians should not have to suffer the burden of sharing the same post-office entrance as blacks. Gandhi was enraged whenever  he sensed that whites were reducing his people "to the level of the raw Kaffir whose occupation is hunting, and whose sole ambition is to collect a certain number of cattle to buy a wife and then, pass his life in indolence and nakedness". His attitude towards blacks was always dismissive and hateful. He even went as far as describing whites and Indians as 'the two great communities of South Africa' despite the fact that blacks were and still are the overwhelming majority in South Africa. And when the Bhambatha Rebellion came, Gandhi was busy recruiting Indian troops to help the British slaughter the Zulu's. When his fighting troops were rejected, he settled for a nursing role. Vahed and Desai explain the motivation behind this supposed 'man of peace' participating in war by saying "Bloodied African bodies were stepping stones to gain favour with local whites and the crown". It's men like Gandhi that have put a perhaps irrevocable strain on the relationship between blacks and Indians in South Africa. It wouldn't be unfair to say that there is cohesion but mutual distrust between the two collective communities.

Even in his treatment of Indian people, Gandhi was not a man 'of the people' or 'for the people'. Indians were divided by class and Gandhi's main priorities were the interests of the trader class. He had little tolerance for the labour class which he saw as uncivilised. He spent his energies not fighting for the indentured labourers in Natal but rather fought for the trader classes to be allowed access to Transvaal. The hardships of the indentured labourers left them in need of a champion but Gandhi neglected them and rather preferred to further enrich the privileged class by pushing for entry into the lucrative Tranvaal market. 

What was also telling about the South African  Gandhi's character was that he had no plans plans for Indians to play a political role and some of his proposals to the white power structure, both in Britain and here in South Africa, were pretty much an affront to the dignity of the Indian race. In a lot of his writings and speeches he underlines, over and over again, that Indians would be perfectly happy to be a politically servile group just so long as the racial distinction between them and whites was reduced. The need to feel white was so ingrained in his mind that Gandhi wanted all Indians to take pride in British subjugation and settle for the proximity to whiteness it brought. Such a man is a political coward. He even went to pathetic lengths to prove that whites and Indians were biologically joined by the same Aryan bloodline.

On the subject of women empowerment, Gandhi is on the wrong side of history on that matter too. He was happy to make use of them and also praise their efforts and courage in the Indian struggle but emancipating them from patriarchal institutions was never on his agenda. In fact the only time women's views influenced him was when he was dealing with white women.

Overall it must be said that information presented by this book provokes an opinion from the reader and I myself was no exception. I'll say that Gandhi did not play a constructive role in the building of South Africa and his mischief should not be swept under the rug just because he later went on to become a global darling and a liberation icon. Any monument in South Africa that commemorates him is a mockery of the notion of racial equality and an insult to the revolutionary martyrs of the Bhambatha Rebellion. But that's just my opinion based on the information I gathered from the book. I hope that after reading this, you acquire your own copy of the book and come to your own conclusions.

THE AFRICAN VS THE MOUNTAIN

….. Based on a true story……

Picture a heavyweight boxing contest where the champion is an immovable object and the challenger is a defiant dreamer. Picture a night of brutal torment and ground-breaking determination. Imagine a penniless young man looking up an emperor’s path, with the surest sense of destiny imaginable. Far above him, envision for yourself a destination that's said to be the first pillar holding up the heavens from the ground. And then after that, brace yourself for a hellacious showdown between a belligerent outsider and a sacrosanct national heroine.

In the one corner we had Taishan. 'Mountain Tai' as English speakers refer to her. She's not 'a' mountain, she's THE mountain. The jewel of all of UNESCO's World Heritage sites. She's the one that's on the bank notes. The one that 72 emperors tackled. The one that Confucius conquered 7 times before history judged him to be China's greatest ever philosopher & teacher. But she even ranks above him as the undisputed champion of Chinese antiquity. Her significance has transcended countless imperial dynasties and 2 revolutions. Some say a man is not a real man until he's made his way up her trail.

In the other corner there stood an odd opponent for the mountain. A plump foreigner with no experience of competing at this level and no past opponents anywhere close to the calibre of Taishan. His advisers had warned him that he was in no shape whatsoever to go toe-to-toe with Taishan but his ego had told him that he possessed the mental strength conquer The Mountain. And who could convince him otherwise- he was an African after all. An African who lived everyday with that Mau Mau warrior spirit and had traced his lineage all the way to the revolutionary Zulu heroes of Isandlwana.  Unlike the 72 emperors who had made their way to the top, he wasn't scaling the heights as a means of proving his worthiness to rule China or to honour ancient custom. No, for him this was a debt he believed was owed to his host nation. His embarrassing failure to acquire a firm grasp of the mandarin language during his 13 month stay in The Middle Kingdom required another gesture of loyalty to China. And there was no truer test of commitment than Mount Tai.

Accompanying the African was an English man. He was a serial traveller, a budding photographer and a veteran of many mountain excursions. Legend has it that The Englishman had milked camels at the very top of the highest desert hills of Dubai, so as you can see, it was no big deal for him to climbing Mount Tai. The final part of the traversing trio, was The Artist. The Artist was a sketch impressionist, a daughter of the Peoples Republic of China and the paramour of The Englishman. She was the translator and also borrowed an air of grace to the evening with just her presence alone. Maybe viewing the sunrise from the top of the mountain will inspire her next masterpiece.

And there The African found himself. His greatest opponent stood before him ready for the taking and he had 2 invaluable guides I'm his corner. They would be there for him in the same way Eddie Futch and George Benton were there for Joe Frazier.  LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!!!!!

ROUND 1: And so it begins. The African comes out swinging. He talks, walks and smiles like a champion-in-waiting. His every breath already seems victorious and his every heartbeat is excited. There's still a hellacious path inclining to the peak but the early signs are good for the underdog. The Englishman suggests lowering the tempo significantly for this early stage. He says that the worst mistake The African can make at this early stage is to fall for the trap set up by the ego's impatience.

The Mountain though stands firm. Unmoved, unbent and unbroken. The Mountain has faced countless eager-beaver opponents so this early round is no cause for concern. At this point, the mountain is merely feeling her opponent out and evaluating the sort of man she's dealing with. There's no hurry to throw jab or even attempt to floor The African at this early stage.

The Artist wants to take a pause to properly appreciate the poetry of this moment and so they all rest. End of Round One. It's break time.

ROUND 2: The brief recess refreshed not just the body, but also the mind. The African is now conscious that the need for a strong finish far outweighs the need for a strong start. Every move he makes now has toned down the vigour of his climb and is a testament to shrewd tactics. His commitment to a disciplined approach at taking The Mountain requires all his powers of concentration.

The Mountain has now opened a wide berth. The Englishman is taking great pleasure in exploring these openings. He's amazed at The Mountains magnificence. The Mountain quietly accepts the Englishman's praise whilst The Artist takes great delight in seeing The Englishman's child-like excitement. The African wonders if they've both forgotten that the Mountain is an opponent and not a friend. The bell rings. It's the end of the round.

ROUND 3: It's the first sign of trouble for The African. His every step is now accompanied by a heavy breath. Every brief flatbed is now a welcome reprieve for him. Every sip of water tastes like saltwater for some reason. He gazes around and observes The Artist's body language and it doesn't look very promising either. But The Englishman is suspiciously resplendent. He even has a light spring in his step. Damn him.

Meanwhile The Mountain is looking strong. She's lit up and inviting but she also makes a point of being inhospitable to the weak. Her critics have often spoken of her unpleasant dimensions but that criticism never hurt her at all. When one enjoys the esteem of a few bold figures, the slagging and whining from umpteen weaklings is inconsequential.

ROUND 4: After a brief charge of determination, The African tumbles to the floor. Scarcely able to breathe, he now slips into a deep prison of self-doubt.  Something he would not dare have contemplated when he first undertook this adventure. He'd spent the last 7 days mentally preparing himself for all the fatigue The Mountain would bring but all this agony he was feeling brought about a sudden impatience at the fact that he hadn't yet finished.

The Englishman was standing nearby when The African looked around. He was besides The Artist and conversing with her about some other mountain they had both climbed in England. Mount Scarface or something like that.... The Artist looks like she's on the verge of collapse herself. The Englishman once again, seems full of energy. In fact he's barely broken a sweat. The African demands to know how this can be after all the uphill steps they've already climbed. "I'm from the hilliest part of Sheffield, England. Almost all the roads in my area are on a hill. I'm so used to walking uphill that my legs don't even feel it anymore", he explains. The African doesn't buy it. He refuses to buy it. The green eyed monster can only lead him to one conclusion: this man is on performance enhancing drugs! It's the only explanation that makes sense.

The Englisman suggests a long break so everyone can refresh properly. The African co-signs that suggestion. "We're probably a bit beyond the halfway point now so we've earned some major rest" he says in agreement.  This whole round belonged to The Mountain. The African stood no chance and hardly threatened.

ROUND 5: The African, now somewhat recovered after being planted on the ground in the previous round, is soldiering on towards his destiny. But even with this renewed faith he can't help but notice an unnerving change; The Mountain’s path is losing its beam, getting darker and darker with each step. It's not a figment of The African's imagination, The Artist and the Englishman have noticed it too and the tone of their speech suggests a cautious hesitancy. The African not only knows that 'the night is dark and full of terrors', he also knows that the path to the top is treacherous and full of casualties. People have died trying to conquer Taishan. And The African has no intention of joining them so he can't help but have misgivings about continuing further.

Eventually The Englishman speculates that the floodlights can't be out for the entire remainder of the path. They're probably just in an unmaintained section of the path with no supportive lighting and they just need to rough it for a bit. "There's gonna be light further up", he assures. The African, with his energy waning and his spirit shaken, shrugs his shoulders and accepts The Englishman’s conjecture. And they all agree to proceed cautiously.

The Mountain has all the advantage now. It's as if she's toying with her opponents before the finisher. They're there for the taking; blinded, frightened and dizzy! It's now The Mountain’s fight to lose.

ROUND 6: After stumbling forwards in pitch-black darkness for 20 or so minutes, The African can see the light again. The path begins to light up further along the route and this brings a huge grin to The African's face. The restoration of light is a psychological source of comfort after the nervy period he's just been through. For a while he could barely see The Artist and The Englishman even though they were proceeding in close proximity to one another. They just guided each other in the dark using their voices.

A few minutes and strides later, some music begins to play. Upbeat, party-like Chinese music. The African can hear a lot of happy voices in the distance and picks up the pace so he can also get a taste of this sudden festive atmosphere. It's as if his soul has been injected with a shot of adrenaline. His travel companions are also gaily curious about what awaits nearby.

What they find is paradisiac resting area, complete with small restaurants, ATM's, bathrooms, gift shops, loudspeakers, resting benches and even a section with arcade games. It's all very pleasing to the African. He tells himself that this place must mean that they're very close to the top. "We've been doing this for 4 hours now so there's probably another hour or so left of climbing". The African is radiating with pride. Smiling at the festivities and contemplating how close he is to victory.

That was the last smile The African  wore for the remainder of the journey. The Artist begins to translate some Chinese alphabetical characters on an information board and explains that they're currently at the halfway point. The African is instantly traumatised with disappointment.  'How can it be only halfway when I've probably used up all of my mental strength?’ he wonders to himself in a fit of subdued panic. His mental torture quickly affects his physical state. It's time for some meditation and series of massive gulps of water. End of the round!!!

Round 7: The African is on his feet after taking that big knockdown towards the end of Round 6. He’s ready to fight The Mountain to the wire and go the distance. He momentarily thinks of that Thabo Mbeki line saying 'Those who will complete the course will do so only because they did not, as fatigue sets in, convince themselves that the inclines are too steep, the road ahead is far too long, the loneliness is impossible to bear or that the prize itself is of doubtful value'. The words are a source of comfort but summoning that same defiant attitude is easier said than done. The African is in trouble now because this journey has stopped being fun. In the earlier rounds, even the tiring parts were fun but now his entire lower body hurts with every step.

The Mountain now seemed cold and ruthless, ready to pick The African apart, piece by piece. If The Mountain was into trash-talk, she'd look into the eyes of The African and say 'See me again when you are worthy, fat boy'. That's the level of dominance The Mountain is imposing at this stage.

Round 8: Systemic destruction from the mountain! The African is being shown no mercy whatsoever from Taishan. The steps are getting harder, the slopes are becoming higher and higher. The pathway is becoming narrower after every slope, and The African's footwork is limited. The Mountain is now turning what was once an even contest, into a prolonged and brutal execution.

The African collapses once more. He's short of breath and his legs are cramping. These cramps are so excruciating that only the tears of a unicorn could remedy them. The African looks around and notices that The Englishman is now also looking very tired. The Mountain has caught up with him too now. He doesn't look too good.

The Artist eats a peanut butter sandwich and rejoices about how far they’ve come. That sense of achievement is lost on The African. His mind is rather weighed down by wandering how much more of this torturous task is still left. For The Artist it’s still about winning, for the African it’s now merely about survival. Another big recess is declared. 

ROUND 9: Every inch of The African’s skin is moist with perspiration. There is so much sweat dripping from his forehead that his vision is blurred by all the sweat a falling into his eyes. His shorts, which fit him fine at the start of this quest, are now so soggy that they seem like thigh-hugging pyjama’s. But The African marches further still. He marches and then marches some more. His confrontational vigour is eventually rewarded when he reaches a point with a definitive sign that the summit is end is near; the staircase!

In the days leading up to the climb, The African had researched all he could about Taishan and his research led him images of this soaring staircase at the end of the climb. The largest staircase the African had ever seen. It looked imperial and grandiose, befitting Taishan’s reputation. To see it in a picture was one thing but now the African stood before it and marvelled at how the path of the staircase shot up to the sky before disappearing into the darkness. It was intimidating and alluring all at once.  Now there was just the small matter of all these steps…

The African, with all the hope his heart has left to give, takes to the railing and begins making his way to the top whilst leaning on the barricade for support after every step. About 2 minutes later, he collapses of fatigue. His heart is in it but his body is tapping out. This staircase is The Mountain’s answer to the figure-4 leg-lock in that it puts the opponent on his backside and has him begging for mercy. There is no way to go for The African because he’s too far gone to quit but he’s also way too banged up to continue.

Now it was time for the ethos of teamwork to save the day (or rather the night). The Englishman, The Artist and The African all agree on a fresh approach to taking this dizzying staircase. They agree to recess for 5 minutes with every 20 steps they climb. This rigorous plan to reach the top is not only goal-orientated enough to keep them focused but also lenient enough to make sure that nobody is burned out by the inward stress of inevitably calculating how much further is left. Everything must be considered and then balanced carefully now.

And for a while this method was working. It worked so well that it restored everyone’s excitement to finish off The Mountain and soon enough The African began to see the top of the staircase. He knew it was the top because he could see the red temple at the top of the staircase. He’d seen it in all the pictures and now here it was right before him, at a distance. Although the temple looked bigger in the pictures, it must be said. In fact it looked way bigger in the pictures but The African didn’t care at this point. The red building loomed above him, drawing him closer to his target like the carrot that draws the donkey closer to its target, so who cares really about the details of dimension. All that mattered to him was that he was about to be done with all this agony. Let’s give this round to The African.

ROUND 10: As it turns out, that red building at the top of the stairs wasn’t the temple nor was it the peak of The Mountain. The red building was just a tuckshop on a flatbed that looks like the temple, but only way smaller. A tuckshop where some jolly old man sells refreshments and urges his customers to hurry to the top so they don’t miss the sunrise.

And that humongous staircase the African just completed actually wasn’t the staircase he’d seen in the pictures. It was the light warm-up before the staircase from the pictures. He’ll find the real staircase if he walks slightly to the right where there are a few more hurdles awaiting him. The African is crushed with despair and is certain that a cruel joke is being played on him. And when he listens really closely, he can hear The Mountain laughing at him in the darkness of the night. The Englishman looks to be up for the challenge and he also encourages the African not to give up now because they are so close. The African understands that they are close in the context of distance but the he’s still reeling from this last staircase tells him that he’s further than ever before.

  

The African is a beaten man. A broken man with nowhere to go but the asylum of his self-pity. He’s done and would happily forfeit a TKO to The Mountain. He instructs The Artist and The Englishman to leave him be and go their own way whilst he recovers and concedes defeat.

The African lies on his back and stares into the sky before pulling his earphones to provide a soundtrack for his transition to Loser-ville. About 30 minutes go by with by with The African just staring at the sky before the night is saved again, this time by music. Conquest of Paradise, an instrumental track by Vangelis pops up on the playlist and inspires The African to rise once more. The combatant tone of the song paints a glorious picture to the African about the power of resilience and further reminds him that he still has a Mountain waiting to be conquered. He looks around and sees that The Englishman and the Artist are still waiting for him after all this time and so now he’s compelled to push on, no excuses. He thanks them for their patience and declares that it’s game on!     

ROUND 11: At the very offset of the renewed initiative, The African realised that his body could no longer walk or climb forward & upwards, irrespective of whatever faith had been restored by the music. The front muscles and joints could barely move forwards on a flatbed, never mind on an incline. No matter though, he was ready to lean on the railing and climb this brutal staircase backwards. That way he would move a lot quicker and there’d be a whole different part of his body doing the hard work now, even if it meant looking odd and somewhat silly to onlookers

And so he leaned on that railing for support, and repeatedly dragged his worn out body backwards, yelling in determination whilst also vowing to never ever even look at another mountain after this, let alone climb one. And then he falls. He knew it was coming. Like the boxer that knows his opponents’ hook is coming but yet still gets floored because his reflexes can no longer keep pace with his mind.

A few steps above The African, there stood The Englishman. He looked down and asked The African if he was okay to continue. Before the African even began to answer he saw a splendid sight; It was the red temple at the top of the mountain. It was the real one this time, no doubt about it. It had every significant detail he’d seen in the pictures.

With barely enough energy left to talk, The African nodded to the Englishman and stood up to reaffirm his power. He could never forgive himself if he failed to finish now. Just as he still hadn’t forgiven Real Madrid for not winning the league the previous season. The frustration of that collapse will haunt him for a while still.

ROUND 12: The African is still climbing backwards. His body is too worn out to move forwards now. Or stand up straight, for that matter. His every backward step towards the summit requires a firm grip of the railing at the edge of the staircase. It's the abject defiance of a boxer who's taken such a beating that he can't continue the fight nor move about within the ring without leaning against the ropes.  It's a woeful scene. Moving in its courageous moral but distressing due to the possible consequence.

After a seemingly eternal period of climbing, screaming and grunting, The Englishman tells the African they're about to do it. They will make it in time for the sunrise. He tells The African to turn around and look how far he's come; there are only 18 more steps. Out of 7000 or so steps, there are only 18 left.

The mountain still stood strong as  the fight closed. The African's pitiful physical state ensures that the mountain will maintain its fearsome reputation. And it's not just physical punishment that's been dished out, The Mountain has wounded The African's pride. All the torment of the staircases has ensured that the African doesn't finish the contest gracefully.

The African has crawled past the last step. The contest is over. And it's ended just before sunrise too. The Artist and The Englishman are there besides The African to congratulate him on going the distance.

POST-FIGHT REPORT: IT IS OVER! It's finally over and The African has done it! The winner of the contest, without needing to check the judge's scorecards, is without question The Mountain but by going the distance, the African has ensured that he will at least leave with his honour intact.

The scene is littered with post-bout wanderers who are scrambling around, taking pictures, singing victorious songs and celebrating The Mountain's summit. Amidst all this mayhem, The African spots The Artist. Somehow she can still stand. She walks over to him and talks of her excitement to see the sunrise. 

Across the heavens, the sun slowly begins to make its presence felt and seen with all its majesty. Everyone is in awe and gawks at its brilliance. The thing about witnessing a sunrise from 5000 ft in the air is that the great fireball, at first beam, looks like a little speck adorning your view. And as the dawn gets brighter, the speck grows larger and then seems like a little trinket. It comes closer and closer towards you, leading you to almost be convinced that at any moment now, it will be close enough for you to reach out and touch it.

The Artist and The Englishman take out their cameras and join the crowds to capturing this splendor. It’s The Mountain’s crowning moment and so The African turns his back to the entire spectacle and licks his spiritual 
wounds. He breathes heavily and thinks of Belinda.