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10 interview questions on bantu education and answers

10 Interview Questions on Bantu Education and Their Answers

The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a South African segregation law which legalized several aspects of the Apartheid system. This legislation had profound implications on the quality and nature of education provided to non-white South Africans. Below are ten interview questions that could be asked about Bantu education, along with detailed, informative answers.

1. What was the Bantu Education Act of 1953?

The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a South African law which institutionalized and enforced racially segregated educational systems. The Act sought to restrict educational opportunities and achieve political and economic subordination of Black South Africans, maintaining the principles of the broader Apartheid regime. It aimed to prepare Black individuals primarily for roles as labor workers under white domination.

2. Who was the primary architect behind the Bantu Education Act?

Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd, who was then the Minister of Native Affairs and later became the Prime Minister of South Africa, is often regarded as the chief architect of the Bantu Education Act. He advocated for an education system that limited Black South Africans to an education that would reinforce their subservient status in society.

3. How did the Bantu Education system differ from the education system provided to white South Africans?

The Bantu Education system was designed to be fundamentally inferior to the education provided to white South Africans. It focused more on basic education and vocational training, preparing Black students for manual labor rather than intellectual or professional careers. In contrast, white South Africans received a more comprehensive and higher-quality education, fostering their socio-economic dominance.

4. What were the main objectives of Bantu Education?

The primary objectives of Bantu Education were to:

• Enforce racial segregation in educational institutions.
• Reduce the level of education provided to Black students to conditions that ensured their subservience in the job market.
• Ensure that Black South Africans received an education that suited the economic needs of the Apartheid state, which often meant preparation for manual labor and menial jobs.

5. What immediate impacts did the Bantu Education Act have on teachers and students?

The Bantu Education Act resulted in the closure of many mission schools that provided better education and the transfer of their control to the state, which imposed inferior curricula. Many qualified teachers resigned due to the oppressive conditions, leading to a severe decline in the quality of teachers and educational standards for Black students.

6. How did the implementation of the Act influence the political landscape in South Africa?

The implementation of the Bantu Education Act exacerbated racial tensions and contributed to the growth of resistance movements among Black South Africans. It sparked widespread protests and resistance, including the Soweto Uprising of 1976, where students protested against the imposition of Afrikaans as the medium of instruction. These events were significant in mobilizing local and international opposition against the Apartheid regime.

7. What were some of the long-term social and economic effects of the Bantu Education system?

The Bantu Education system had long-term detrimental effects on the socio-economic status of Black South Africans. By limiting their educational opportunities, it contributed to high rates of unemployment, poverty, and under-representation in skilled professions among the Black population. This legacy of educational inequality persisted even after the end of Apartheid, continuing to impact South African society.

8. How did Bantu Education affect gender roles and opportunities?

Bantu Education perpetuated gender stereotypes and reinforced traditional gender roles within the Black community. Girls were often encouraged or forced into subjects and roles deemed appropriate by the Apartheid regime, such as domestic work or nursing, thereby limiting their access to broader educational and professional opportunities.

9. What role did missionary schools play before the Bantu Education Act was enacted?

Before the enactment of the Bantu Education Act, missionary schools played a crucial role in providing education to Black South Africans. These schools generally offered a relatively higher standard of education compared to government schools. They operated with a greater degree of autonomy and focus on academic and moral education, often challenging the status quo promoted by segregationist policies.

10. How has post-Apartheid South Africa addressed the issues stemming from Bantu Education?

Post-Apartheid South Africa has taken numerous steps to address the inequalities created by the Bantu Education system. These include integrating the education system, standardizing curricula, and implementing policies to ensure equal access to quality education for all students, regardless of race. However, systemic challenges and disparities remain, reflecting the deep-rooted impacts of decades of educational segregation.

Bantu Education remains a significant example of the impact of segregationist policies on education, and understanding it is crucial for comprehending the broader context of apartheid and its enduring effects on South African society.

Bantu Education in South Africa Essay

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Introduction

Views of structural functionalists on education, neo-marxist perspective on education, nature of bantu education, criticism of bantu education, works cited.

Education is an important aspect of development in any society. It contributes towards societal development by preparing learners with the relevant skills, values and attitudes they require to take occupational roles in their future lives. This implies that educational systems play a vital role in determining the well-being of a country.

For many years, South Africa was exposed to discriminatory actions resulting from the apartheid system. This was extended to the education sector through the introduction of the Bantu Education. This Essay focuses on the nature of the Bantu education system and its shortcomings in the eyes of structural functionalists and neo-Marxist sociologists.

There are different structural-functionalist approaches used in the study of sociology of education. However, the most important ones are derived from the works of famous sociologists Durkheim and Parsons. Until the late 1960s and early 1970s, sociological thinking on matters of education was dominated by structural functionalism. Functionalist sociologists of education look at how education contributes towards the well-being of the society.

The provision of social solidarity and value consensus is the strongest of the functional contributions that education makes to the society. Education as socialization is associated with transmission of culture, values and norms that enable people to stick together and facilitate social life in highly traditional social communities. Similarly, the modern education system is supposed to hold modern societies together.

This thinking is founded on the need to deal with the characteristics associated with the transition from simple traditional to complex and modern societies. Complex modern societies involve a change from a homogeneous life based on rural kinship into concentrated but heterogeneous populations in societies which live in urban areas and characterised by differentiated division of labor.

Mass education is a tool that can be used in such societies to instill proper rules and curricula in children that bind them and the new form of society together. This makes it possible for non-kinship -based, consensual and cooperative lives to be established. This was the argument of sociologist Durkheim (Martin 6).

After the establishment of industrial capitalist society, Parson advanced an argument that the function of education was to create a bridge between the primary socialization that took place at home and adult life preparation. He focused on the role of the school in equipping children with universalistic values as opposed to the particularistic ones obtained from the family.

Particularistic roles are the ascribed ones such as the role and status of an individual, such as his/her place in the family. Universalistic roles on the other hand emphasize the teachings that on the basis of birth, nobody is better than the other. According to structural functionalists, education is the basis of modern society where it socializes children and equips them with the necessary skills for adult life and to function in a modern society marked by universalistic values.

They also believe that education plays an important role in modernizing the society as opposed to mere transition from simple to modern. In addition, the role of education in helping the society adapt to changes in the broader environment such as the competitive advantage cannot be underestimated.

There are numerous neo-Marxist approaches to education but the most influential ones are those of Bowles and Gintis who argue that the education system leads to the production of a capitalist society. According to them, the purpose of education in a capitalist society is to reproduce capitalist relations of production meaning profit, capitalist power and capitalist control of power. They believe in a correspondence principle which explains how the school corresponds with work that serves this purpose.

Its function is to reproduce labor in the sense that it provides enough quantities of the different labor types capitalists need. In addition, it reproduces the right type of the labor required by capitalists since it dampens the desire towards class struggle and instead isolates pupils into the highly class-stratified roles they will occupy in the job market once they leave school. Ideally, the purpose of the school is to isolate and integrate pupils into the capitalist society (Blackledge and Hunt 136).

Neo-Marxists argue that for both capitalist and working class children, schools take over from families and socialize the child into the primary societal values, norms, roles and attitudes. The correspondence they talk of between the school and workplace is meant to prepare pupils to assume occupational roles. Schools are organised in a hierarchy and run along authoritarian lines. Learning is also extrinsically motivated rather than being intrinsically motivated.

These characteristics of schools the neo-Marxists argue that are replicated in the workplace where the workers follow the orders given by their bosses without questioning. There motivation is only an extrinsic one in the form of the wages they get.

While formal curriculum is mandated with the task of giving pupils the basic literacy and numeracy they require in their future jobs, the correspondence between school and work is a form of hidden curriculum that prepares them to politically and ideologically embrace life in a capitalist society.

They are prepared to be obedient, docile, passive and loyal to authorities and hierarchy. According to the neo-Marxists, the bottom line is that only a revolutionary transformation of the capitalist mode of production as a whole can lead to a transformed education system.

After the national party came into power in 1948, the neglect and limitation that had characterised native education from 1910 paved the way for strict state control for black education. This control marked the disappearance of the mission school system which was faced by many challenges despite the fact that it was an important educational institution.

The national party government was committed to eliminate the tolerant laissez-faire perceptions towards black education. The Bantu Education Act of 1953 made it possible for the enactment of legislation that was aimed at promoting Christian National Education separate development.

Bantu Education in South Africa was intended at providing the ruling elites with a cheap and submissive labor. In addition, it aimed at resolving the urban crisis that had developed in the 1940s and 1950s due to industrialisation and rapid urbanisation. This was caused by the collapsing homeland agriculture and the expansion of secondary industrialisation after the Second World War. Transport, housing and wages were not enough for the increasing number of working class people who lived in towns.

The response to the breakdown of these services and poor conditions was squatter movements and the formation of trade unions. Radical oppositions to political activities became the norm, accompanied by the leadership of the African National Congress. The increasing levels of poverty became a threat to the physical productivity of the white elites. Social stability in the 1940s was either obstructed by the presence of education or lack of it (Hyslop 80).

Educationalists attributed the increase in crime rates and the defiant nature of youths to the lack of enough schools. They were afraid that political mobilisation was going to be on the increase. Bantu education was therefore ideally aimed at exercising social control over youth and especially those who were working. In addition, there was the need to socialize them in relation to the norms that were regarded as appropriate by the ruling elites alongside producing properly trained and trainable labor.

The uniqueness of Bantu Education was in its adherence to non-egalitarian and racist education. Intellectually, it was believed that such a system of education was important in spreading the idea that the mentality of a native made him suited for repetitive tasks. Such ideas were important in producing a mass education system that was characterised by constrained spending. Although Bantu Education was regarded as a racist-based cheap education, ironically, Africans were responsible for the costs.

They suffered additional taxation in order to fund the cost of African education. The contribution of the state was an annual grant that originated from the general revenue. Taxes raised were used in supplementing the grant where a small percentage was used to develop Bantu Education. The government policy of financing Bantu Education and the increase in the number of students affected the quality due to the worsening of the pupil-teacher ratio.

During the early years of Bantu Education, a lot of effort was made to use the wages earned by Africans as the basis of funding the education instead of taxing employers. Although the national party was not willing to endorse adequate academic training and skills training, the education served the interests and needs of the industry hence there was no ill relationship between capital and the state.

Anybody was in a position to tell that the educational policies of the government were intended at ensuring that black people secured very few opportunities with regard to employment. They were only prepared to render ready unskilled or skilled labor. This was the relationship between the Bantu Education and the industry (Ballantine 55).

Later in the 1950s, Bantu Education was compatible with the significant expansion of the capitalist economy. However, in the 1960s, the educational policies of the state brought about friction between the government and the industry.

The state used force to give its organisational and ideological interests the first over more particular interests of business and the industry. Under the guise of concentrating growth of secondary, technical and tertiary education in the homelands, the government succeeded in using the urban school system as a tool of influx control. Education was used to propagate apartheid policy.

The purpose of any educational system is to equip pupils with relevant knowledge that prepares them for future occupational roles and transforms the society as a whole. However, the Bantu Education that was practiced in South Africa was a faulty education system that could not transform the society.

In the eyes of structural functionalists and neo-Marxist sociologists, it was detrimental to the social and economic development of the country. The main focus of structural functionalists is to look at how education contributes towards the well-being of the society. It plays an important role since it forms the basis of modern society by equipping learners with relevant skills that prepare them for adult life.

However, according to structural functionalists Bantu Education was devoid of this important function of education. It was racist in nature and could not bring the society together. It was inspired by apartheid and instead of preparing the learners for a cohesive society, it led to more divisions. The system was aimed at ensuring that the black people did not get jobs that were regarded as white men’s. In this structural functionalist perspective, the education system was detrimental to the social and economic development of South Africa.

In the eyes of neo-Marxist sociologists, Bantu Education was still harmful to the social and economic development of South Africa. Education to them is supposed to equip the learners with the right attitudes, values and norms that allow them to thrive in a capitalist society.

However, Bantu Education was only interested in giving learners skills that could not allow them to thrive in a capitalist society. For instance, the skills that were being passed to them could only allow them to be used in the provision of cheap unskilled or semi-skilled labor.

Neo-Marxists also believe that education is supposed to equip learners with the right skills to provide various labor types required by capitalists. On the contrary, Bantu Education provided learners with skills that could only be applied in limited areas. It was even a disadvantage to the capitalists since they could not get skilled labor whenever they required it. The education system was therefore detrimental to the social and economic development of South Africa.

Education plays an important role in preparing children for their future occupational roles by equipping them with the right values, norms and attitudes. This enables them to make positive contributions in the society. Although structural functionalists and neo-Marxists hold some differing views on the purpose of education, they both share a common belief that education plays an important role in transforming the society.

However, the Bantu Education in South Africa was discriminatory in nature and prevented societal development. According to the two groups of sociologists, it was detrimental towards the social and economic development of South Africa.

Ballantine, Jeanne. The sociology of education: A systematic analysis, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1993.Print.

Blackledge, David and Barry Hunt. Sociological interpretations of education, London: Routledge, 1985.Print.

Hyslop, Jonathan. The classroom struggle: policy and resistance in South Africa,1940-1990, Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1999.Print.

Martin, Ruhr. The Sociology of Education, Pretoria: University of South Africa, 2006.Print.

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10 Effects & Impact of Bantu Education Act in South Africa 

The Bantu Education Act was a law passed in South Africa in 1953 that established a separate and unequal education system for black South Africans.

Negative Effects of the Bantu Education Act 

The effects of the Bantu Education Act are still felt in South Africa today, more than 65 years after its implementation. Here are ten effects that are still evident today.

Educational inequalities

Inequality in education in South Africa was severely exacerbated by the Bantu Education Act of 1953. A separate and subpar educational system for black South Africans was formed under the law, which was enacted by the apartheid administration.

Black pupils were prohibited from receiving a high-quality education, even in specialized fields like science and mathematics, as a result of the Bantu Education Act. Instead, students were instructed in areas deemed relevant to physical labor or domestic chores.

Also, the curriculum was created to inhibit political activism and critical thinking while promoting apartheid ideology.

In addition to having sometimes obsolete and badly written textbooks, black schools frequently had underqualified and overburdened teachers.

The Bantu Education Act badly underfunded, understaffed, and insufficiently supported the education of black South Africans. Because of this, there is a sizable educational divide between white and black South Africans that has lasted even after apartheid was abolished.

Racial inequality and segregation were institutionalized by the Bantu Education Act, and they are still present in the educational system today. 

The funding, availability of materials, and performance of historically white and historically black schools continue to differ significantly.

Related: 13 Bibliography of Bantu Education Act 1953

One of the elements that contributed to the skill gap in South Africa today was the Bantu Education Act of 1953. This is another effect of the act that lingers today.

The law deprived black South Africans of access to a high-quality education, including specialized fields like mathematics, science, and technology. It also created a separate and subpar educational system for them.

Black South Africans who were raised in this educational system were not fully prepared for the complex technical and analytical demands of the modern workplace.

Because of this, there is a sizable skill disparity between black and white South Africans, which is one of the causes of the high unemployment rate in the nation.

The Bantu Education Act’s consequences are still felt today, despite the South African government’s efforts to redress its legacy through funding training and education initiatives.

The South African government must keep funding training and education initiatives that give disadvantaged populations the abilities and information required to thrive in the contemporary economy to close the skill gap.

Unemployment

The Bantu Education Act has contributed to the high levels of unemployment in South Africa today.

The skills gap created by the Bantu Education Act has contributed to high levels of unemployment, particularly among black South Africans.

Black South Africans are more likely to be unemployed or working part-time because they frequently lack the education and skills needed for formal employment in today’s economy.

Likewise, it has been challenging for many South Africans to launch their own businesses or pursue self-employment due to a lack of access to high-quality education and training.

South Africa’s current level of poverty is partly a result of the Bantu Education Act. Many South Africans have found it challenging to find well-paying employment or launch their own enterprises due to a lack of access to high-quality education and training options, which has added to the country’s poverty.

The Bantu Education Act’s legacy has also exacerbated racial and economic disparities, making it more difficult for black South Africans to overcome poverty.

Furthermore, because families are unable to give their kids the tools and opportunities they need to break the cycle of poverty, poverty is frequently passed down from one generation to the next.

This indicates that the consequences of the Bantu Education Act are still being felt in South Africa today, where they have a negative impact on social inequality and poverty.

Political instability 

The Bantu Education Act is one of the factors causing the political instability in South Africa today. The law was a component of a larger system of apartheid policies designed to uphold the democratic rights of black South Africans while preserving the authority of the white minority.

Black South Africans found it challenging to engage in politics meaningfully and to acquire the critical thinking and analytical abilities necessary for effective political engagement due to the inferior educational system that the Act produced.

Because of this, black South Africans experienced a lack of political representation and a sense of estrangement from the political system.

Moreover, apartheid measures like the Bantu Education Act and others led to severe social and economic inequalities, which inflamed the concerns of black South Africans.

This sparked political rallies, strikes, and other forms of resistance, which were addressed by the apartheid regime with brutality and repression.

Ultimately, the fight against apartheid culminated in a time of political unrest and violence in the 1980s and early 1990s, which saw a lot of demonstrations, riots, and skirmishes with the police and security forces.

As a result, apartheid was finally abolished in 1994, and a democratic government was installed in South Africa.

Hence, by restricting the political rights and possibilities of black South Africans and maintaining social and economic inequality, the Bantu Education Act significantly contributed to political instability in South Africa.

Limited access to higher education

Another impact of the Bantu Education Act is the limited access to higher education it gave black citizens.

The Bantu Education Act created an educational system that was intended to generate a low-skilled workforce rather than developing critical thinking and academic subjects, which has contributed to the restricted access to higher education in South Africa today.

The low numbers of black South Africans currently enrolling in universities and other post-secondary institutions reflect this.

Related: 47 Questions and Answers Based on Bantu Education Act

Linguistic barriers

Another effect of the Bantu Education Act is the linguistic barriers it contributed to in South Africa.

Black South African students were required by the Act to receive teaching in their home tongue rather than English or Afrikaans, which were the languages of instruction in the majority of the nation’s higher education institutions.

This has a number of unfavorable effects.

First off, because many colleges require competence in either English or Afrikaans as a requirement for entrance, it has restricted the opportunities available to black South African students seeking higher education.

Second, it has kept the nation’s linguistic divisions alive, making it challenging for students from various linguistic backgrounds to interact and collaborate successfully.

In addition, the focus on teaching in mother tongues has resulted in a shortage of training and resources for teachers who are needed to instruct in several languages, which has lowered educational outcomes for children.

The expansion of English language instruction and the provision of support for children who might not have had access to high-quality English language instruction in their earlier schooling are two initiatives that have been taken to alleviate these linguistic barriers.

But even now, language divides in South Africa are still a result of the Bantu Education Act.

Cultural erasure

The elimination of Bantu culture in South Africa was facilitated by the Bantu Education Act. The act included promoting the languages and cultures of South Africa’s various ethnic groups as one of its key objectives.

Nonetheless, the act’s execution led to the erasure and suppression of several traditional customs and behaviors.

The curriculum was made to value and marginalize traditional African culture while promoting Western culture and ideals.

In order to fit into the Westernized educational system, many students were compelled to give up their cultural customs and traditions, including their languages.

The Bantu Education Act caused many indigenous African cultures and languages to be destroyed or significantly decreased, which has had a long-lasting effect on South Africa.

The negative effect of the act is still being felt, even though attempts are being undertaken today to promote and preserve these cultures and languages.

Limited opportunities for social mobility 

Black South Africans’ low socioeconomic mobility is partly a result of the Bantu Education Act. Black South Africans’ access to a decent education and career possibilities was constrained by the act, which created a separate and unequal educational system for them.

Because of this, many black South Africans were unable to pursue education and acquire the skills necessary to compete in the labor market and advance their social status.

The act also had a lasting impact on the growth of the black economy in South Africa.

Black South Africans had few professional or skilled workers in a variety of industries due to the limited educational possibilities accessible to them, which further hampered their ability to compete for better-paying positions and develop in their professions.

A small and poorly educated black working class was also created as a result of the Bantu Education Act, and it has lasted even after apartheid ended.

This group of people continues to have restricted access to social and economic possibilities, which feeds the cycle of inequality and poverty.

Related: Bantu Education Act Essay (300 Words) + PDF

Inter-generational impact

The effects of the Bantu Education Act have been passed down through generations, with many black South Africans still suffering from the consequences of the lack of access to education and opportunities created by the law.

Yes, the Bantu Education Act had a negative effect on South Africa.

The act was put into place to foster the cultures and languages of the various ethnic groups, but it ultimately had a negative impact on black South Africans’ access to opportunities, particularly in the disciplines of science, engineering, and technology.

Proven by the uneven distribution of resources, poverty, and social injustice that still exist in many areas of South Africa today, this restricted access to education has had a long-lasting effect on the nation.

Moreover, the Bantu Education Act led to the establishment of a small class of black South Africans who only received an inadequate education, furthering the generational cycle of poverty and limited opportunity.

All things considered, the act had a significant role in the injustices and inequalities that persisted during the apartheid era and still influence South Africa today.

Olusegun Iyejare is a career coach and certified counselor. He helps individuals discover and maximize their potential to live satisfying lives regardless of obvious limitations holding them back.

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Bantu Education

"In 1953 the government passed the Bantu Education Act, which the people didn't want. We didn't want this bad education for our children. This Bantu Education Act was to make sure that our children only learnt things that would make them good for what the government wanted: to work in the factories and so on; they must not learn properly at school like the white children. Our children were to go to school only three hours a day, two shifts of children every day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, so that more children could get a little bit of learning without government having to spend more money. Hawu! It was a terrible thing that act." Baard and Schreiner, My Spirit is Not Banned, Part 2

There is no space for him [the "Native"] in the European Community above certain forms of labor. For this reason it is of no avail for him to receive training which has its aim in the absorption of the European Community, where he cannot be absorbed. Until now he has been subjected to a school system which drew him away from his community and misled him by showing him the greener pastures of European Society where he is not allowed to graze. (quoted in Kallaway, 92)

The introduction of Bantu education and the question of resistance, co-operation, non-collaboration or defiance?: the struggle for African schooling with special reference to Cape Town, 1945-1960

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“Bantu Education or the Street” by Norman Levy

This article was taken from the book The Final Prize by Norman Levy (Chapter 11)

“Bantu Education or the Street”

The first half of the 1950s was the formative period of apartheid and the liberation movement fought simultaneously on four fronts against a new wave of fascist measures that restricted education, movement, residence and work. For the most part, the action occurred while the majority of the Congress Alliance leadership was either banned, on trial or serving short sentences in prison. The main activities revolved around the introduction of “Bantu education”, the threatened extension of the pass system to African women, the forcible removal of Africans from the Western Areas of Johannesburg and new labour legislation – in which Africans were seen as “unfit for trade unionism”. The policies of Group Areas and Bantu Education, supported by the core of legislation that regulated the labour market and managed industrial relations, formed the kernel of the apartheid system. Despite the obnoxious character of all this legislation, the Bantu Education Act was the measure that provoked the most prolonged resistance, which ended only with the Mandela government in 1994. While the new laws restricting movement, residence and work were strenuously opposed by the Congress Alliance there was none so inherently disempowering as the Bantu Education Act. What made it especially offensive was its essential idea that future generations of Africans were to understand that they were unequal, inferior and different.

In 1954 African parents were faced with the cruel dilemma of accepting a “rotten education” for their children or “no education at all”. As the more militant church leaders said, it was “Bantu education or the street!” Although the Bantu Education Act was potentially the most disabling act introduced by the apartheid regime, the resistance to it in 1953 was vocal and well-intentioned, but insufficient to prevent its passage through parliament – or to make it inoperable once it had become law. When its contents became known in 1953 the ANC campaigned against it and in 1954, with the act’s implementation, a boycott of government primary schools was organized. Thereafter it prepared for an interim alternative education system to meet the demands of an anticipated student withdrawal. Apart from a lack of capacity to do this, the ANC’s resources were severely stretched. Its leadership was banned and it did not have the expertise to provide an alternative educational system – the legality of which was in any case exceedingly uncertain. Hatred of the principles behind the legislation, however, continued to simmer for the rest of the century, until Mandela took office in 1994. Until then there were at least 15 education departments, one for each of the ten Bantustans, a department for each of the four population groups and a national department. These were disbanded and welded into one in 1994. As a teacher I volunteered to assist the campaign against Bantu education and helped to develop an “interim alternative” to the new system. This last, in the legal-speak of the 1950s, was tactfully described by Professor Z.K. Matthews as “a programme of cultural activities”.

Verwoerd introduced the bill on Bantu Education to parliament in 1953 with a wordy statement that was as provocative as it was objectionable. The more he said, the more he revealed the real intentions behind the measure, which were to prepare African children for the lower echelons of the labour market. Under the new system, education would be transferred to the Native Affairs Department (NAD) where Verwoerd (as minister) could more effectively control it. Z.K. Matthews, acting president of the ANC at the time (Chief Luthuli had suffered a stroke and was seriously ill) communicated his thoughts on this in a letter to Tambo, saying: “The more I think about the system of education under review, the more I am satisfied that the underlying philosophy and the administration of it are even more important than the content of the syllabuses.”2

He was right. The statements and debates in parliament that I read were unashamedly blunt about the bill’s intentions. In the eyes of the government, the new education policy was clearly too ideological and too important to be left to the management of the Christian mission schools or the four provincial administrations who were previously responsible for the provision of African education.3 Once removed as a function of the provinces and made the responsibility of the Native Affairs Department, African education would be treated as a “native affair’ and be seen in its “proper” context as a preparation for labour.4 In 1954, six years after the National Party victory, the NAD was already burdened with the multiple tasks of undertaking the re-tribalising of the African population under the Bantu Authorities Act, overseeing the operation of the pass laws, collecting the poll tax, and in the words of I.B. Tabata, writer and activist, would now place African education “in the service of these activities”.5 He went on to say: “It is well known that when a government wants to juggle with the social order, it reconstructs the system and the substance of education to suit its own aims.”

This insight became more apparent with each new statement made by Verwoerd. For him the “Bantu” family was traditional and almost changeless. Boys and girls received their training from their parents and older relatives. The chief was the father, judge, guardian and link with the spirits. Men tended the cattle, sheep and goats and the women undertook the work of hoe culture – which was “poor in technique and based on the extravagant use of land”. Ideas of an almighty or creator had no practical effect on their conduct, while the paramount belief was in the immortality of the spirits and supernatural phenomena.6 The long-standing entry of Africans into wage labour in mining, manufacturing and farming was not seen to contradict this view. For him, migrant labour was “the customary life of tribal peoples within the Union” and had been encouraged “to make manageable the enormous, if not overwhelming burden of adjusting the Bantu population to modern standards of health, order and civil life”.7

Neither Verwoerd’s spurious references to the spiritual virtues of the “Bantu” community nor his senseless rationale for Bantu education could change the perception of African parents that this was a measure for the intellectual enslavement of their children. Africans spoke of it as a “poison”. For the most part, National Party legislators had made it abundantly clear years before Bantu Education was enacted that they did not approve of education for Africans beyond reading, writing and elementary arithmetic. Their speeches repeated the conventional wisdom that “native education” should do no more than “teach Africans to work”. The speakers seemed quite oblivious of the poor logic of their statements: “No member on this side of the House wishes to impede the progress of the native”, one National Party MP said in 1945, “[but] we say that he must live in the hut and we must live in the house ”¦ We want to retain the respect of the native but we are not going to sleep with him in the kraal”.8 Another outspoken MP declared:

We should not give the native an academic education as some people are prone to do ”¦ If we do this we shall later be burdened with a number of academically trained ”¦ non-Europeans ”¦ and who [then] is going to do the manual labour in the country?9

Their vision of the future South African economy was one of a low paid, labour-intensive workforce where all but the basic industrial skills were the privilege of the whites – and where “the natives knew their place”.

As a teacher in a privileged white school, already an activist in the Congress of Democrats and the SACP, there was no question of my not placing my expertise – such as it was – at the disposal of the Cultural Clubs that were soon to be formed. There were, of course, consequences – not least my inclusion in the Treason Trial, suspension as a teacher by the Transvaal Education Department and consequent loss of income. It was difficult to stand by and do nothing as the National Party’s plans for African education unfolded. The contents of the Eiselen Report, named after the Commission’s chairman, Dr W.W.M. Eiselen, secretary for Native Affairs were even more unpalatable than those expressed at the turn of the century.10 Referring to the functions of Bantu education, Eiselen cited statements from 1903 and 1908 in the Transvaal and Cape respectively to lend weight to his recommendations.11 According to the 1903 statement, education had the effect

of creating in the natives an aggressive spirit [and] ”¦ an exaggerated sense of self-importance, which renders them less docile and less disposed to be contented with the position for which nature or circumstances has fitted them.12

It is difficult to believe that the Eiselen Commission, reporting in 1951, could be more retrograde than this. But judging from the commission’s extraordinary racist terms of reference, it based its recommendations on the assumption that Africans were a “race” set apart from the more rational varieties of the human species.

Its findings were premised on the understanding that the “Bantu” were “an independent race in which their past, [and] inherent racial qualities” were to be taken into consideration when it came to providing education.13 In the language of the Eiselen Commission, the word “Bantu” denoted the many tongues spoken by original tribes living south of the equator, “some of whom were dwarfs or dwarf-like”. Others again, “can hardly be distinguished from the black West African negro”.14 As to whether Africans and whites were equally intelligent, the commission kept an “open mind” on the matter, noting that “while the volume of evidence on this subject ”¦ was considerable, it was of a very contradictory nature”.15 As this line of enquiry was evidently inconclusive, they conceded (awkwardly) that, “no evidence of a decisive nature” could be adduced to show that as a group “the Bantu could not benefit from [the same education as whites] or that their intelligence or aptitude were of so special and peculiar a nature as to demand on these grounds a special type of education” (my italics).16

They therefore found other grounds on which to base their recommendations, retrieving the sentiments of the earlier commissions they cited and adding their own perceptions on the relevance of the family unit and the significance of the “Bantu” social structure to “native education”.17 Verwoerd was immersed in this rhetoric and drew on it when introducing the Bantu Education Act to parliament in 1953. The guiding aims of the new system were to be based on the assumption “that the sale of African labour was of evident importance to the educator” and that “native education must be coordinated with a definite and carefully planned policy [for the development of Bantu societies]”.18 The concept was less benignly expressed in Verwoerd’s assertion that “there is no place for [the African] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour ”¦”.19 It was these values that we tried our utmost to counteract when designing the activities for the Cultural Clubs we formed after Bantu education was introduced into the schools in 1954. The new system was based on the assumption that Africans in the urban areas were only there as temporary, unskilled workers and that Bantu education would produce the sort of individual “who may safely approach ‘his’ future without the enervation brought about by his imitation of European ways of life”.20 Much of the curriculum depended on what the ruling party considered to be its guiding principles that “Bantu education should stand with both feet in the Reserves and have its roots in the spirit and being of Bantu society”. The starting point of this understanding (pre-set in the Eiselen Report) recommended the teaching of social values “that make a man a good member of the [‘Bantu’] community”. These were specified as loyalty to the chief, selfconfidence, reliability, a sense of duty, good manners and the “power to concentrate”.21 All of them good qualities for a job.

The system strove to undermine all previous primary education. By 1953 (prior to Bantu Education Act) most of the Africans who attended school were enrolled in the various mission, government, private and community schools. The principle of compulsory attendance did not exist.22 Only about 40% of approximately 2.1 million African children between the ages of six and sixteen attended the state and state-aided schools – “most of them in the lowest classes”.23 Africans were at the bottom of the racial hierarchy in the allocation of financial resources. Each African pupil received only 14% of the amount spent on a white pupil and just over half the sum spent on an Indian or Coloured student.24 Significantly, whilst the facilities were grossly unequal and the teachers under-qualified there was no official ideological slant to the curriculum, although the prejudices of each of the providers (church, government, community or private) were apparent in the limited scope of the curriculum. Verwoerd’s Bantu education system changed all that for the worse.

The coercive instrument to relieve the state-aided schools of their control of the curriculum was the withdrawal of financial subsidies if they failed to register with the Department of Education (DOE). These schools included the church mission and community establishments who received financial subsidies for approved staff as well as schoolbooks and equipment. The extent of state aid depended on the size of their enrolments. For these schools, which were chronically cash-strapped, it was either registration or closure. All existing non-government schools were required to apply for registration with the DOE and no new schools could be established without its approval.25 It was not so much a reform of the existing education system (which was ragged), but the end of education for any African child who aspired to a world outside Verwoerd’s singular perception of the “Bantu community”. “The present native schools,” he argued “may be characterized as schools within Bantu Society but not of that society [it] is the government’s intention to transform them into real Bantu community schools” (my italics).26 This was in line with his specious statement: “[u]ntil now [the African] has been subjected to a school system which drew ‘him’ away from his own community and misled him by showing him the green pastures of European society in which he was not allowed to graze.”27 As it turned out his version of the new Jerusalem had very little substance to graze on.28 For most Africans between the ages of seven and ten years old, four years of schooling after two years in the infant grades, were the norm and the ceiling. Ideology was as important as the cost of African schooling. Even before Bantu education was introduced, Verwoerd had made it clear that “it was wrong to utilize expensive teaching staff to supervise large classes of bored children while thousands ”¦ entitled to some measure of primary education are kept out of school”. The new system would cut costs and double the enrolment of pupils in the sub standards by shortening the number of hours of attendance to three hours a day. The pupils in the morning session would keep the seats warm for those who attended school in the afternoon ! 29

“A devil’s piece of legislation”

This sophistry elicited an unusually bitter response from Chief Luthuli in December 1954 at the ANC’s annual conference, a few months before the implementation of the Bantu Education Act. “Leaders of white public opinion”, he remarked,

take every opportunity to present us in the world as sub-human beings incapable of assimilating civilization ”¦ This matter of dwarfing our personality and trying to make us believe that we are nobodies is the worst sin the white man has committed against Africans.30

He called the act “a devil’s piece of legislation”,31 Aware of the demoralizing effect it would have on every African parent, Luthuli was adamant that the ANC had to fight it “to the bitter end”.32 Because he was banned from entering Durban where the ANC had chosen to have its 42nd annual conference, 200 delegates travelled in buses from Durban to a location closer to his home-town near Stanger, to enable him to participate in a preconference debate on a possible boycott. His address to the delegates at the conference the next day was read by Professor Z.K. Matthews. Luthuli did not speak directly of a boycott but called for a multiracial front to challenge the menacing wave of reaction facing the country. The three issues of greatest concern were the Western Areas removal scheme, the threatened extension of passes to women and the question of the new Bantu education. When it came to the latter, the overwhelming revulsion at Verwoerd’s utterances in parliament, and the belief that the system spelt the destruction of all meaningful schooling for African pupils, led the delegates “to call upon the African parents to make preparations to withdraw their children from primary schools indefinitely as from 1 April 1955”.33 This was the date on which the new syllabus was to be implemented by the NAD. The resolution itself insisted that the correct policy was the total rejection of Verwoerd’s evil act whose purpose was “the moral and spiritual enslavement of our children”.34

Seen in its context the resolution, although taken in haste and over-estimating the parents’ ability to comply, was predictable. But in their statements before the conference the leadership (banned from attending the gathering) were apprehensive of a total boycott. Their views (heavily nuanced) were made known through the columns of New Age, which stated: “Bantu Education is a vital aspect” of the National Party’s programme, part of its preparation for a fascist state. It was evidence of the government’s determination to subject the majority of the people “to the lusts of a few greedy mining magnates and labour barons”35 but a total withdrawal of African children from the government primary schools was not recommended as the first recourse against the government’s plans.

For their part the parents, faced with the choice of having their children fed with “Verwoerd’s poison” or removing them from school for an indefinite period, was a difficult choice to make. Already, acting on the conference resolution, some of the ANC branches in the Transvaal, the Orange Free State and Western Cape had begun to agitate for the boycott of government primary schools for an indefinite period of time. In Orlando West there were reports that anti-Bantu education committees were being set up and that volunteers had come forward to pledge that every household would be organized to resist the act.

Speakers at the numerous meetings were in a militant mood, positioning themselves in such a way that there was no exit if the boycott failed. One speaker declared: “Every African – young or old – should be ready for sacrifice rather than compromise.”36 He was not alone in taking this view. Elsewhere, another speaker, the Reverend E.G. Mokoena, chairman of the ANC branch in the town of Bethlehem, confidently told the distraught parents: “what does it matter if the whole of this generation will be without education if we know that through our struggle we will achieve our aim?”37 He was supported at the same meeting by the branch secretary, J.M. Motaung, who said that the government schools were “youth Camps for our children, ”¦worse than prisons”. 38 In line with the ANC resolution, the local branch there resolved to encourage parents to keep their children away from school from l April 1955 “when Verwoerd’s poisonous syllabus” was to begin operating. It was the same at Langa, in the Western Cape.

Re-interpreting the Resolution

Despite the rhetoric, the general response to the call for the withdrawal of African children from government primary schools was uneven. At its annual conference the ANC had decided in principle to boycott the government primary schools, but it was for its NEC to clarify the precise intention of its resolution and the process to be adopted in carrying it out. An editorial in New Age similarly noted some difficulty in reading the resolution correctly, adding that there were already conflicting views about the conference’s intentions. Was the withdrawal of children from Verwoerd’s schools to be a once off “demonstration” or was it to be “a stay-away from school for a week or so?”39 The editorial feared that an effective boycott on 1 April 1955 was unlikely and suggested a temporary stay-away on that date “provided it was not seen as the beginning and the end of the campaign”. This, it felt, would be an important step in the direction of preparing for a full boycott in the future.

Meanwhile, the ANC’s NEC met in March 1955 and after a more temperate debate than that held at the conference decided to postpone the action. The NEC saw few signs of a general readiness on the part of parents to withdraw their children from government primary schools by 1 April and postponed the proposed action “to a later date, soon to be announced”.40 It had a broader strategy in mind, which Oliver Tambo (acting secretary general after Sisulu’s banning) later explained.41 The plan was to allow the ANC regions more time for preparation and for consultation with parents’ organizations, church bodies and other associations opposed to the act. The strategy was to broaden the campaign, secure greater consensus for the boycott and provide an opportunity to discuss the best methods of defeating the new education system with religious organizations, teachers’ associations, as well as the congresses, the Labour Party and the Liberal Party. Two positive decisions taken at that meeting were: first, to hold a broad conference (as outlined by Tambo) during the Easter holidays in Port Elizabeth. Second, it called for a National Council of Education composed of representatives of organizations opposed to Bantu education. The idea behind this body, which would be wider than the ANC, was that it should draw up plans for alternative educational activities for African children “to be set in motion as and when the withdrawal from the schools is effective”.42 I had no idea at the time how greatly, or how soon, this would affect my life. But I agreed to work in the new body when it was established in April 1955 and to contribute to the design of what we somewhat grandiosely referred to as a temporary alternative to Bantu education.

Helen Joseph and I served as representatives from the Congress of Democrats on the regional committee of the new body, which became known as the African Education Movement (AEM). Its brief was to provide “an effective alternative” to Bantu education, a tall order given our limited resources and the restrictive nature of the act, to say nothing of the depressing contents of the report of the Eiselen Commission and to Verwoerd’s sickening speech in the senate on the aims of the Bantu Education Act.43 As far as I could see, it was difficult to think of any way of preparing “alternative” educational material that would not contravene the rigid terms of the act.

The Act Comes into Effect (April 1955)

I thought Oliver Tambo’s skirting of the issue of boycott and calling upon African parents not to collaborate in the “administration” of the act was potentially confusing. He appealed to the teachers and the parents to refuse to participate in the elections or serve on the school committees and boards that were hastily being constructed by the Bantu Education division of the NAD – but he said nothing of boycott.44 Aware that the effective functioning of Bantu education depended on the parents’ participation in these structures, the chief education officer, a naÁ¯ve NAD official named Prinsloo, called for the establishment of “thousands of school committees”, and invited greater African involvement in the “reformed” system.45 It was an especially tense period for the parents, who not only had to resist the bullying of Bantu education officials and school principals, but also had to overcome their fears of punitive steps from the NAD for whatever action they might choose to take.

It was also a frustrating time for the teachers who saw the shameful syllabi for the travesty they were and had to suffer the ignominy of administering the “medicine” of Bantu education, as the parents called it, to African children. As members of the same African communities the teachers were in an invidious situation. Those who failed to resist the act for fear of losing their jobs would incur the wrath of the parents and selfhumiliation for their cooperation with the NAD. The government knew that the success of the education programme was to a large extent dependent on their ability to co-opt the teachers. They knew that the vast majority of the 22 000 black teachers employed by government in 1953, were “strongly against Eiselen’s recommendations, despite subsequent inducements of greater mobility by promotion to the sub-inspectorates and its guarantees of job protection”.46 It did not help to allay the teachers’ sense of uncertainty when Eiselen stated in his report that the payment of teachers would be protected by the State unless they broke their service and that if they did so, female teachers would be recruited in their place.47 Oliver Tambo, himself a former teacher, tried to assuage their alarm by noting empathetically just before the boycott began: “the position of teachers is a particularly difficult one because they can only oppose Bantu education at the risk of immediately ceasing to be teachers”. Aware that only a small proportion were prepared to take this risk, his advice to the remaining number was that they should not do anything that was calculated “to undermine or obstruct the national struggle” against Bantu education.48

The mission schools – run by the Roman Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, Seventh Day Adventists and the Anglicans – were also caught up in this dynamic of threats and inducements. They objected to the principles of the Bantu Education Act, but were divided for reasons of finance, fear and indecision on the desirability of resisting the state on this issue; they lacked the spirit to take a united stand against the provisions of the act. Ultimately each religious denomination salved its troubled conscience in its own way, with the result that only the Roman Catholics and Seventh Day Adventists refused to register their schools with the NAD. They alone rejected the view that “it was better for children to have a rotten education than none at all”. Some Anglicans thought otherwise, but closed their schools in the Johannesburg Diocese, notably the famous St Peters School in Sophiatown.49 However, all the other Anglican educational establishments capitulated to the government. Later, reflecting on the almost complete surrender of the Anglican schools, Trevor Huddleston noted with characteristic starkness: “[t]he truth is that parents have no choice; or rather they are faced with the same hideous dilemma: ‘Bantu Education’ or the street.”50

The ANC had set no new date for the boycott to start and the system would be implemented after the Easter holidays, when the pupils returned to school on 12 April.51 The leadership in the Transvaal were seriously troubled. They were critical of the NEC’s initial decision to postpone the boycott date and quickly called two (very vociferous) local conferences to discuss it, the first agreeing to ignore the NEC’s decision and go ahead with a boycott as planned, and the second agreeing to rescind that decision. The other ANC regions were in various stages of preparedness and it was not clear from their statements what they would do when the school term started and the new education system began. There were two options: indefinite withdrawal or a “strike” by the pupils for a day or two or more. The national leadership evidently favoured the idea of withdrawal for a day or a week as a signal of protest, but some of the activists (Chief Luthuli referred to them as “enthusiasts”) preferred a policy of indefinite boycott. Would they follow that option?

Brian Bunting highlighted the extent of the dilemma in an editorial he published in New Age on 31 March, on the eve of the introduction of the new system. “When African children go home for their holidays tomorrow,” he noted:

they will leave for the last time the schools run by the missionaries and the others who for all their shortcomings, aimed at giving them a general education in the universally understood meaning of the term. They will return on 12 April to institutions controlled by the Department of Native Affairs ”¦ in which they are to be drilled in the lies of ”¦ inferiority, baaskap and servitude.52

The editorial spoke for the ANC leadership when it urged against a policy of uniformity of action in the hope that “somehow or other, everything will happen nicely and tidily on the same day, just as the planners have planned”. Activists in each region, it suggested,

should work and win the support of the parents to prepare for a mass withdrawal of the children when they were ready . In the interim, the ANC branches were to mount “some kind of protest demonstration ”¦ for the 12 April when the education of 900 000 African children would be taken over by the NAD and the new system put into place”. It did not matter whether this was a leaflet-distribution or a conference of teachers and parents: that would depend on the state of organization of the people in each area.53 (It was not unusual for New Age to clarify a confused situation. In view of the banning of national leaders and difficulties in rapid communication with the regions, its editorials almost certainly reflected the views of the Congress leadership. The paper would comment on events and policies, sometimes critically, but would not appear to make decisions for the Congress Alliance). In this instance New Age addressed the timing and tactics of the pending boycott. It was confident, along with the national leadership, that no “magical date” should be set for the boycott.

With less than a fortnight to go before the schools restarted, the parents’ would have to respond to “this devil’s piece of legislation”. The mood in the Transvaal and the Eastern Cape was militant.54 Chief Luthuli issued a hard-hitting statement reiterating the NEC’s position, which was to defeat the intention of the government to regiment the African people and make them a “docile and willing nation of labourers and servants”.55 He stressed the importance of co-ordinated action, stating that if the fight against Bantu education was to succeed, it had to be based on a “comprehensive plan directed by the elected leaders of the ANC and not on haphazard and spasmodic efforts.”56

As in other campaigns, there were to be three phases of the action: phase one would be an intensive period of explanation of Bantu education and of the futility of joining school committees, school boards or accepting posts under the system. In most areas this phase, in which we had all been very active, had passed. However, there was still time to persuade parents who had already joined these committees to resign. Phase two would see the withdrawal of children in the organized areas and the establishment of broad provincial and local “peoples’ education councils” to provide educational and cultural facilities for the children. The National Educational Council (now referred to as the African Education Movement ) was directed “to proceed without delay” to draft plans for alternative educational and cultural facilities for those children withdrawn from the schools. Phase three, which referred to “total non co-operation on a mass scale” throughout the country, did not materialize.57

The NEC meeting at which this strategy was outlined was planned to coincide with the broad-based conference of organizations opposed to Bantu education to be held in Port Elizabeth on the same weekend of 7–9 April 1955 as the NEC. The planning for this conference was less than brilliant and Helen Joseph and I made hasty “last-minute” arrangements to attend the conference on behalf of the Congress of Democrats. Setting a precedent for future trips, we travelled in Helen’s beloved all-purpose mini, a miniscule vehicle, which I got to know quite well. (I had at least three cramped trips in it to different parts of the country, two in 1956 to workshop sessions with cultural club leaders, and again later, on another related mission just before the Treason Trial.) Helen was passionately fond of this car, providing it with quaint human attributes, such as “gallant” and calling it “Congress Connie”. She had come to the Congress movement in the early 1950s and had recently become the Transvaal secretary of the newly formed Women’s Federation. Remarkably young in spirit, with a commanding appearance and an imperious quality to her voice – she was fifty at the time – she led us in the campaign against Verwoerd’s schools as soldiers marching as to war. Robert Resha, who always accompanied us, was a considerate traveller, close to Helen and a good companion in “Congress Connie”. In 1955, in his mid-thirties, he was a sports editor on New Age and acting president of the ANC Youth League (succeeding Joe Matthews who had been banned). He was short, solidly built and formal in his dress. He was just as historians later described him, “aggressive, shrewd, and powerful on the public platform”.58

The conference itself has been quite well described by Joseph and by fragments of commentaries elsewhere. It began more than two hours late because the police had arrested Z.K. (still the acting ANC president) on a permit matter and the proceedings only commenced when he had paid the fines and was released from custody.59 He was seemingly unperturbed by the police harassment he had suffered the previous night and from his subsequent arrest. He told the delegates in his usual didactic way that the campaign to withdraw the children from schools had been postponed and not cancelled; the NEC would decide on a future date, which would be announced later by the president. In the meanwhile, the move to establish a National Council of Education had been endorsed and local, provincial and regional educational councils would be set up as part of the NEC’s plan to provide cultural activities for the children that had been withdrawn from the primary schools.60

According to Helen Joseph, it was her first experience of a large ANC conference (the Congress of the People where she was prominent, was held a few months later, in June that year) and she was impressed by the militancy, the singing and the discipline at Port Elizabeth. “The Congress volunteers from the former Defiance Campaign days,” she wrote, were “out in full force in khaki shirts and black berets to welcome and usher in visiting delegates and to maintain order. Many of the women were wearing the newly adopted black skirt and green blouse of the ANC Women’s League.”61 Her description, as far as I can remember, was accurate and confined to the scene of the meeting, rather than the debates, but is nevertheless still evocative. Another contemporary account by a member of the Liberal Party, noticeably alienated from mass politics, was less exuberant:

Most [of the 700] delegates represented the ANC branches and local ‘vigilance committees’. The COD sent two delegates from Johannesburg, and the Liberal Party sent three from Cape Town ”¦ It was perfectly organized. There were all these young, uniformed men, around the sides. They saw that everyone was seated properly ”¦ And then, of course, they always had the singsongs ”¦ But this time it was a serious meeting ”¦ The COD was there. They got up and started to talk emotionally again. And Helen Joseph was the one rapped over the knuckles ”¦ She talked about the suffering of the people and Matthews cut her short. He said, ‘Mrs Joseph, we are here to talk tactics, policy. We know that there is suffering’.62

It hardly seemed a reprimand. Z.K. always spoke that way, as most people knew. The Port Elizabeth conference was seminal in many ways: for determination to frustrate the implementation of Bantu education; for its anticipation of the sporadic militancy that was to follow the opening of the schools a few days later; and for the innovative model it helped to conceptualize for a system of alternative education. It also formally agreed that the National Education Council, renamed the African Education Movement, should steer the process nationally. I do not recall all the details the conference as well as Helen, for whom this was one of her first mass meetings of the ANC, but she recounts an incident on our return trip in “Congress Connie” which I do remember.

Apparently we needed petrol urgently after closing hours and in order not to arouse the suspicions of the white petrol pump owner “with our odd mixture of races”, we resorted to some reshuffling of places in the car. She was put into the driver’s seat and (she recalls): “Norman was squashed into the back with instructions not to show his white face ”¦ while Robert appealed [to the sleepy white attendant] to help us out because his Missus ”¦ had to get back to Johannesburg.” After that, Robert “nobly” continued to teach her some African freedom songs, but her ignorance of African languages and an unfortunate lack of a musical ear, left her “la-la-la-ing” while we made our way to Johannesburg.63 It was difficult to forget that incident and the other rough overnight trips I took with her during which we argued amicably, slept in cramped upright positions, drank coffee and ate fish and chips when we were hungry.

The next eighteen months were totally schizophrenic. I went through the motions of teaching by day at the over-endowed white school where I worked, giving all my remaining energy at the weekends and on some evenings, to a bizarre version of primary “teaching” in the townships when those schools re-opened. A wave of protest shook the Transvaal and parts of the Eastern Cape in April and May 1955, bringing the total number of African children who had withdrawn from the schools to approximately 7 000. On the East Rand the withdrawal of the pupils was immediate.64 This was due to the intense organization there when the ANC Youth League held an all night meeting and songsession “preparing for the death of Bantu education”.65 They set out in a procession in the early hours of the morning of the 12 April, headed by two buglers, reminding residents that the boycott would take place on that day.66 The results were impressive. Elsewhere, in Boksburg, Brakpan and Germiston – all along the East Rand – the parents heeded the call and (in the words of the ANC and New Age ), “the children led the country”.67

Anticipating turmoil, parents kept their older children out of the secondary schools with the result that many of the classrooms were empty there too. It was the moment of the youth. They took to the rough Benoni pavements, shouted anti-government slogans, sang the congress songs they’d learnt from their parents and were quite undaunted by the mounted police who towered over them as they marched six-abreast along the dusty streets of the township.68 Sometimes regular police personnel followed them in vans, indiscriminately shouting threats of punishment – directed at the organizers, the parents, the children, the teachers, anyone in the vicinity! Unperturbed by the noise that came through the police loudhailers and buoyed by the attention they received from police and press, they returned the taunts of the special branch with jeers and cries of “Afrika!” and kept on marching. Nothing could stop them! The authorities would have liked to arrest them, but as one confused police officer in command of the Benoni operation reportedly told the media: “as African children are ‘very regretfully’ not obliged to attend school, [they] could not be legally prosecuted.”69 He added that there were however, some regulations governing African townships under which they could be charged. Curiously, the officer did not refer to the demonstrators as children – or boycotters or pupils – but as “strikers” which in tune with the new legislation on labour relations, had a criminal connotation to it.

The processions in Boksburg, Brakpan and Germiston lasted the entire week. By the start of the second week, the authorities had become frantic. They were more than ready to arrest, expel, threaten and punish. Verwoerd’s frustration was also evident. He threatened 4 000 African children with expulsion from the Reef schools and dismissed 116 teachers. (Significantly 71 of these came from the Western Areas of Johannesburg, indicating how much the teachers had identified the struggle against Bantu education with the overall fight against apartheid). Verwoerd equivocated on the dismissal of the teachers70 but would not budge on the exclusion of the children, stating that they “must return to school or lose their educational facilities for a long time”.71 He gave them a fortnight to return – until 25 April. The ANC’s National Working Committee responded by describing Verwoerd’s outburst as an “ hysterical and panic-stricken ultimatum”. Instead of retreating in the face of his threats, it called on all ANC branches “to intensify the campaign against Bantu education in their areas”.72

There were soon lengthy analyses assessing the situation and reviewing the preparations and planning so far employed, but the first round had shown a greater readiness on the part of the parents to react to Bantu education than the leadership had anticipated. Having achieved their purpose by the protests that followed the reopening of the schools, the ANC now urged the parents to send their children back to school and make Verwoerd’s threats of expulsion superfluous. There would be another day, the ANC told them, when the children throughout the country would participate in a total boycott of the schools and the system of slave education would completely collapse. For the most part the masses followed this directive diligently, but not all parents were so persuaded. Significantly, the campaign suddenly gathered momentum and the boycott spread to the Western Areas of Johannesburg and then to the townships of Alexandra (near the northern suburbs of Johannesburg), Moroko in the South West of Johannesburg and Natalspruit. The tactics were not the same everywhere and the responses were uneven in intensity.

In nearby Dube, south west of Johannesburg, the ANC announced the establishment of local committees to ensure that no parents accepted positions on the school boards and other posts in the system. The same occurred some distance away in Lamontville, in Natal. And so it went. Parents in other parts of the country, including the small town of Bethlehem in the Orange Free State, imitated the pattern of the demonstrations in the Transvaal. Here there was no picketing, the children simply joined the ANC-led processions and stayed away from school. Wary of prosecuting the children on boycott charges, the security police vindictively threatened the local leaders instead. The outspoken Rev. E.J. Mokoena (remembered for his fiery speech exhorting the youth to stay away from school until liberation if need be) was arrested on a charge of staying in the township without a permit and threatened with eviction. He had lived there for 15 years. In another instance, in the same town of Bethlehem a teacher (H.Z. Nzimande) was dismissed for wearing an ANC badge! He took the matter to court but I don’t remember whether he succeeded in forcing the NAD to reverse its blatantly desperate decision to ruin him professionally.

The instances of personal hardship are too numerous to relate, but the solid commitment of the teachers who would not acquiesce in the travesty of Bantu education was well known at the time. There is, however, little record of their contribution and there is no question that they deserve more recognition than the few paragraphs I can provide in this personal history. The parents received a richly deserved tribute from New Age when it noted that “they were not so [ill-prepared] after all ”¦ The silent classrooms on the day the schools opened were loud testimony to the peoples rejection of Verwoerd’s slave education.” The paper queried the ANC’s earlier decision to postpone the boycott and asked whether it was correct to doubt “that the forces of the Liberation Movement were strong enough to mobilize in a few short months an effective boycott”. Adding a gloss to what it thought might initially have been a tactical error in postponing the action, it concluded: “We are confident that other areas will follow the example of the East Rand ”¦ for [invariably] ”¦ each mistake leads to a greater clarity for the future.”73

This was not wishful thinking. By the last week of May 1955, just when the government believed that the boycott movement had peaked, the parents in the Eastern Cape withdrew their children in force. The action occurred in the townships of Korsten, Veeplaats, Kirkwood and New Brighton, all dotted around the city of Port Elizabeth, always a militant area. In New Brighton at that time a large, populous township with muddy streets, no pavements, church halls and more than one primary school, some 2 000 out of a possible 4 500 pupils stayed away – creating a huge need for “alternative” tuition, which they looked to the AEM and the Cultural Clubs to provide.

The Cultural Clubs

Helen Joseph and I represented the Congress of Democrats on the provincial and other committees of the AEM. Father Huddleston and later Father Jarret-Kerr, both of the Anglican Order of the Community of the Resurrection, were the respective chairpersons of the new movement. Myrtle Berman, a comrade from the former CPSA and principal of the old CPSA night school, was its indefatigable secretary. The work in the Cultural Clubs and the AEM took precedence over all my other activities, private and political. The short hiatus between the actual launching of the school boycott and the establishment of the clubs gave us time to prepare material and attend the preliminary meetings of the AEM, which was to oversee the development of the Cultural Clubs. I have never met any of the clubs’ “graduates” since that time, but there ought to be many of them still alive who attended that extraordinary class of 1955/6. I have seen a few photographs of the club leaders standing close to the children during the police raids. In the background were exercise books, slates, blackboards and chalk strewn about the makeshift school space – frequent exhibits in the courts – but regrettably, I have never since met any of the former pupils, now probably in their fifties. Their oral histories would be an inspiration to young people today. Trevor Huddleston sensed the children’s political perspicacity as well as the “vibrant élan” of the clubs, despite the grim environment in which they functioned. Visiting a Cultural Club in Brakpan on the East Rand, he was greeted by the children with cries of “Afrika!” They gave him the “thumbs-up” salute and when he left sang “There are two ways for Africa, one way leads to Congress, and one way to Verwoerd!” This would not normally seem exceptional, but some of the singers, he notes, were only seven years old!74

Helen and I (from COD) and Robert Resha and James Radebe (from the ANC), visited the clubs as often as possible, meeting many of the African ex-teachers who assisted the club leaders. In most cases the clubs were run by women, many of them parents. We did what we could to help with the “training of trainers” and with the planning of practical activities for the children. Fortunately, the ANC seem to believe unconditionally in our expertise. This was generous as none of us knew what we were doing and frankly learnt on the job, trying not to think of the serious responsibility we shouldered. I had no idea whether I was capable of carrying out any of the tasks I had to perform, but knew that I had to persevere. I think Helen Joseph felt the same, covering this by assiduously attending meetings and planning the club leaders’ conferences, tirelessly directing everything. She was inexhaustible.

In the end, it was thoroughly satisfying. The more contact I had with the parents and “teachers”, the more rewarding it was to be part of this uncertain undertaking. There were not many teachers on whom I could draw for enlightenment. I had only been in the profession for about two years, but that seemed to be irrelevant. It bothered no-one in the movement that I was twenty-six years old and that I was thoroughly ignorant of anything like “alternative” education or remotely related to it. I was as unfamiliar with the baffling concept of “informal teaching” as the least experienced of the club leaders. It took a little time to learn how to design programmes that covered what we thought to be the skills pupils needed in the primary school. The revelation was that it was possible informally to develop in older children the skills of listening, reading, understanding and creative thinking. Younger learners naturally learnt that way. The challenge was to connect what had become the different disciplines of geography, history, language, art, science and mathematics and weld them into a narrative that related to the children’s lives. Reintegrating all this knowledge was the real challenge. I learnt more from devising the “syllabuses” for the Cultural Clubs and applying them in the club leaders’ workshops than I did in my first few years in the profession. In the Cultural Clubs I discovered a new format for teaching and a different style of communication.

The name Cultural Club was an odd description for a makeshift school that was political theatre, workshop and classroom all in one. But as extraordinary as it seems, it worked. It was virtually impossible to refuse the insatiable requests of the club leaders for resource material and for training sessions when we knew how desperately they needed them. In any case I felt guilty at the prospect of their being prosecuted for applying our syllabi, as they were in the front line of the action and we were not. It was almost a forgone conclusion that the club leaders (along with those parents who volunteered to assist them) were likely to be charged with conducting illegal schools – even if they were not caught in the act of formal teaching. Although I never voiced the thought, I did not think the courts would accept the legal fiction that their activities were “cultural” and that they were not providing formal education. I was convinced that they would see it for the sleight of hand it was, and reject their explanation. Interestingly, the club leaders had begun to find something inspirational in the broad content of the curricula (it broadened their knowledge) – constantly asking for more “roneo’d papers” – risking prosecution by adapting our material to suit their teaching needs. They treated the police raids and tedious court trials as rude interruptions to their cultural work and returned from the courts as fast as their fines had been paid, only to continue as before ”¦

The club leaders’ training sessions were initially tense, but as it became evident that we were all feeling our way towards something new but potentially exciting, the sessions became less formal, more comradely and often fun. The club leaders were regularly adapting the material we prepared to suit their interests and as far as I remember made the “lessons” infinitely livelier than we’d designed them. The “trainees” innovated, sang and moved around and expected the “trainers” to join in! I often wondered who was learning from whom. The “workshops’, as we called the shorter training sessions, were held in Alexandra township and occasionally on the East Rand, although Helen and I had to obtain permits to enter the townships there, making it difficult for us to complete the tightly designed day’s programme when permits were refused. The first training sessions started during the July school vacation soon after the boycott began in 1955 and continued exhaustingly for the rest of that year and much of the next. They took place on alternative weekends or on a Saturday and on occasion extended for a week, when we referred to them as “conferences”. We called our programme “Education for Knowledge”, and presented it to the AEM – initially as a basis for discussion for group activities and home education – but this was the format that was ultimately adopted.

The choice of the title “Education for Knowledge” was intended to mark the contrast between our approach to learning and the concept of Bantu education. We described the latter alternately as “Education for Slavery” or “Education for Ignorance”. Sometimes we appropriated the title from Tabata’s informative pamphlet “Education for Barbarism”, and called it that too. According to our draft programme, the clubs would provide informal activities that would help “to create democratic citizens who were able to compete as equals in the labour market”.75 The reference to the labour market sounds somewhat curious 50 years on, but the phrase was obviously intended to counter Verwoerd’s ignominious expression that “there is no place for [the African] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour”.

Our aims, though noble, were not as coherent as they might have been, but we were still feeling our way. We intended to do more than supplement formal education with informal learning and hoped to provide education through group work, in which knowledge would be imparted through story-telling, acting and recreation. In view of the dearth of books, “listening would be substituted for reading”. The programmes included music, handcrafts, physical education and “library”, for which we innocently pirated material from books and educational magazines in the African, English and Afrikaans languages.76 This was painstakingly typed on stencils, reproduced on a Gestetner copy machine in the ANC’s busy office on Diagonal Street, Johannesburg. The content of the resource material we produced was uneven in quality and too often hastily extracted from reference books rather than written ourselves, but for all that it was vastly superior to Bantu education.

As the authors of the texts we copied would never in their wildest of dreams have had an audience such as ours in mind, we liberally adapted their intellectual property to suit our pioneering project. Plagiarism apart, we were too unaware of copyright constraints to plead that what we had done had been for a good cause. Fortunately there was no need to mount any such defence, as the prosecutions that took place were for teaching the course material, not printing it. Much of the history we reproduced was revised during the radical revisionist re-writing of South African history in the 1970s, but at the time we were in all probability quite unaware that the texts we copied were historically seriously flawed. Interestingly, both the leaders and the learners were captivated by the un-revised story of Nongqawuse and the cattle killing,77 debating it and providing as many re-interpretations of the event as there were club leaders. The fact that the version we unsuspectingly circulated missed the point entirely, only served to arouse more interest than it would have if we’d known enough to revise it.

There were stories about Moshesh and Shaka, both of them popular histories that were un-revised and would not pass muster today. These were taken at face value but were nonetheless useful for the questions and answer exercises that followed the narratives, stretching comprehension, language and historical imagination. Other histories were more ambitious and concerned stories of colonial conquest, dealing with the interaction of the white settlers and the indigenous people. The series was called “How the White Man Came to our Country” and carried sections on the colonists’ relations with the San, Khoi and African people. In other stories called the “Forefathers of the Coloured People” and “Slave Life in the Cape”, the narratives respectively recounted the history of the Coloured people and the institutions of slavery. Often the topics were grouped in sets containing general information that we thought everyone should have – something that Bantu education would not provide on principle if it did not bear any obvious relation to the Bantu social structure as they had defined it. The general information series was probably among the most ambitious of the courses we designed. For the most part they were intended to make the seminal contributions to science, art and invention, accessible to the older participants. Like the other course units they were also in narrative form and carried the titles “The World around Us”; “The World of Knowledge”; and The World of Imagination”. Although the texts were complex, there were regular requests for additional copies of the “knowledge” series, and appeals for more of this type of activity.

Knowledge Games

In a completely different vein, there was a set of number-rhyme exercises, ostensibly “games”, designed much less for fun than to improve the children’s skills in mental arithmetic. Among these was the song, “Ten Green Bottles”, which was awkwardly translated into Sotho as “Imbodlela ezilishumi zijinga edongeni ”¦ kodwa enye yazo yapphonenka yawa” . Each line was sung by a different row of children until the end, when they all joined in, cupping finger and thumb to make a naught, as the last green bottle crashed against the wall! Finally, there was a three-part series which I compiled, called “The Country we Live in” – a conflation of history, geography and social studies, spoken by a narrator I’d invented called “Old Henry”. He would somewhat irritatingly stop talking at calculated intervals and snap questions at the children to see if they’d understood what he had said.78 Fifty years later Old Henry did not seem to me to be very unlike his inventor.

Imparting the information contained in the course units was more demanding than teaching the three Rs and we used the fortnightly workshops and extended conferences to demonstrate how the course material might best be applied. The conferences were occasions for interactive activities, games and role-playing, when the trainers would become learners and the club leaders were the trainers. The first of these conferences was held in January 1956 in Alexandra township and was spread over five days. Participants came from all over the East Rand, hosted by the club leaders in Alexandra and also the ANC residents there. Even before Father Trevor Huddleston opened the first session, seven detectives sat outside on the verandah of a shop across the road from the conference venue. Fortunately for us, in their arrogance, they had failed to secure warrants to search and enter the premises and Helen Joseph frostily refused them entry.

For a while they stood outside or rode up and down on a motor cycle and then took up positions across the street, watching who was entering and leaving. They remained there throughout the five days, apparently having belatedly taken the strategic decision not to obtain warrants but to record details of the participants who came and went. A lot of the time they peered through a window at the side of the small hall to observe the proceedings at close quarters. Quite often we would stop what we were doing and watch them as they watched us, exchanging curious stares before carrying on with the business of the conference. The bizarre behaviour outside the hall made me more aware of the pressures the club leaders worked under than any of the accounts they gave of the police surveillance they regularly experienced in the clubs. I have no idea what reports the police scribes might have made to their seniors of this particular conference – not only of the more formal proceedings but also of the singing of the number-rhymes which included an equally interminable item (also translated into an African language) entitled “Ten Fluffy Clouds”.

The conference at Alexandra township was intended to be a national one but at the last moment the club leaders in the Eastern Cape were prevented by travel restrictions from attending. Many of these leaders were inexperienced and without the benefit of the fortnightly workshops held with their counterparts in the Transvaal and they requested the AEM to send its Cultural Club Committee to the Port Elizabeth area to hold a similar conference there. This necessitated a long trip to PE in “Congress Connie” with the same contingent of passengers and even less in the way of leg-room, in view of the excessive cargo of course equipment we carried with us. The conference (meaning a training session) took place early in April 1956, during the Easter vacation, exactly a year after our first trip to the conference in the Eastern Cape. Much had happened in the area since then. The boycott had started a fortnight after the mass withdrawals on the East Rand and exceeded all expectations with an explosion of support in New Brighton and ten other townships around Port Elizabeth. Over 4 000 children were initially enrolled in the Cultural Clubs that sprung up in 11 areas including the larger locations of New Brighton, Walmer, Veeplaats and Korsten. The moment was marked by particular militancy, leading the state to ban all meetings of over 10 persons anywhere in Port Elizabeth. This ruled out our holding the conference there and we met instead in the Coloured Congregational Church hall in Uitenhage, a journey of approximately 20 miles from PE.

Conferences often followed the same routine, but not this one. In the morning of the first day the members of the ANC branch in Uitenhage helped us transfer the books and course equipment from overloaded “Congress Connie” into the church hall and we started off with a robust public session of parents and ANC officials, explaining what we understood by the concept of the Cultural Clubs and how this was to be supplemented by “home education”. If the audience was mystified it was probably because they doubted that the clubs were there for any other reason than to find new ways surreptitiously to teach the three R’s, and that all the books, charts and roneo’d sheets of course material (stacked in huge piles at the side of the hall) were there with that end in view. The discussion on the concept of the clubs and “home education” took half the morning and for the rest of the day and evening we worked exclusively with about 22 club leaders from six of the clubs, demonstrating through role-play, singing and simulation (as we had at the conference at Alexandra) how they might best apply the full range of course material we had prepared. By the end of the first night (we finished the session at 10 p.m.) the club leaders were in no two minds that we were a fervent foursome of instructors and even appeared less sceptical of the concept of informal education. Day one had been a long one and especially productive, even enjoyable. The hospitality had been generous (courtesy of the ANC branch in Uitenhage) and we looked set for another four days of intensive activity in the spacious hall without the menacing presence of the special branch.

We were naÁ¯ve in the extreme. Fresh from a welcome night’s sleep in a bed and ready for another round of role-playing and demonstration, we arrived at the hall at about 9.30 a.m. the next morning, only to be met by the township superintendent who seemed to have taken over the participants, the course material and even the hall. He announced that we happened to be in a Coloured area, on proclaimed land, and that we were subject to location regulations and needed permits from him to be in the township. In the next moment everything seemed to collapse in confusion around us. The superintendent ordered the two whites (Joseph and Levy) to leave the hall and follow him while the local congregants began to pour into the hall, headed by their helpless pastor who hopelessly tried to persuade the superintendent that as the hall was church property and he was in charge, all the authority was his.

As this went on, a posse of municipal police who had accompanied the superintendent began to take the names and addresses of the club leaders in the hall, only to be stopped from doing this by the more experienced ANC cadres who insisted that these officials were not proper police and had no power to take their names. Meanwhile, in the chaos the superintendent disappeared and momentarily returned with five armed policemen and a police sergeant, who took the names of everyone in the hall and ordered those of us that did not live in the township to leave the premises. None of this occurred in an orderly way or in silence, because the local people had now become angry at the treatment of their pastor and protested vehemently against the disruption of their conference, the behaviour of the superintendent and the intervention of the municipal police, who they thought should go.

More farce ensued when Helen and I were taken to the superintendent’s office where a special branch detective in plain clothes was waiting for us. We were told formally that this was a Coloured area, controlled by the location superintendent from whom we needed to obtain entry permits. He asked why we had not obtained these but we refused to answer questions “in the absence of our lawyers or in the presence of the special branch”. A dumb show followed when no-one spoke. I wondered whether the next step would be an arrest and a trip to the police station, but all that happened was that the plain-clothes man scribbled something on a sheet of paper, stared at the two of us and left without a word to the superintendent. Outside he joined his men who sat in two police cars, parked outside the township office. There was nothing for us to do but to leave our names and addresses with the superintendent who did not seem to know what to do once the special branch detective had left us. Finally he escorted us back to our car which he directed down to the location gates where Robert Resha and James Radebe were waiting. We left the township without wasting any time, only to be followed all the way back from Uitenhage to Port Elizabeth, where we would probably have been apprehended except for a red traffic light at the main street of the city, which Helen decided to ignore. This was an electrifying moment as I watched her put her foot down hard on the pedal, cross the intersection and race ahead. After that she turned into a side-street and then a garage and lost them. She wrote about the incident frequently, referring to the “little TJ car” that had given the special branch the slip.79 Curiously, she noted in her autobiography that she had flouted the law inadvertently.80 I would have believed that but for the look of total triumph on her face as she crossed the intersection at the traffic light and left the special branch to wait for the red light to change.

We had started the conference and we were going to finish it. The ANC, together with the four trainers and the club leaders, decided to resume the training sessions the following morning. After some serious reorganization of the agenda, in which we condensed three days’ activities into one, we were taken to our hotel and prepared for an early start the following morning. It was dark when we left (in another car) and were taken to a space in the open air where we sleepily watched the dawn break around us. I thought we were waiting for the club leaders to appear before moving off to the new venue, but of course I was totally mistaken. This was it! When the club leaders arrived their numbers had increased to 31 and all but one of the 11 clubs in Port Elizabeth were represented. We began after quickly briefing the newcomers, and then continued well into the night in the open air while ANC volunteers kept a careful vigil to ensure that we were not being observed. Fortunately there were no further interruptions and there was a real sense of collegiality at the end of the course as we loaded the remains of the equipment into the car and waved goodbye to the club leaders. If anything, we felt a sense of triumph that we had achieved most of what we had set out to do, despite the interruptions and lack of facilities.

In the report that Helen submitted to the AEM on our return, she recounted the antics of the location superintendent and the enthusiasm of the club leaders and then euphorically described the proceedings of the last day and how the conference “took on the pattern of so many of the clubs represented in Port Elizabeth – where the roof was the sky and the floor was the veld and the walls were the hills of the Eastern Cape”.81 That, at least, was one way of turning a near-debacle into drama! We were certainly enthusiastic over the clubs, the leaders and their refusal to be beaten by the system, but were concerned about how long we would be able to continue.

The fact that the clubs had survived for so long was attributable to the political awareness of the parents, the strength of the club leaders and the high morale of the children. Ultimately it was not the vindictive banning of club leaders or the incessant harassment, arrests and prosecutions that threatened the existence of the clubs, but our incapacity to find the resources to sustain them. For the moment we persevered. The experience of the Eastern Cape was not very different from the Transvaal. The children would gather in any available space, enclosed or open, often in dark church halls and dilapidated garages in the townships. In one township they met in someone’s backyard, in another a vacant shop, or if all else failed, under the trees where the proceedings were frequently overlooked by the security police, leaving the club leaders and children vulnerable and unprotected. In Despatch Village, near Port Elizabeth, the parents built a makeshift shack which served as a classroom and centre for the club. In Benoni, on the East Rand, the younger pupils were housed in an old cinema and the seniors in a cycle shop, long-since abandoned. Trevor Huddleston described the atmosphere in the cinema:

What light there was filtered through two holes, high up in the walls, where bricks had been removed just for that purpose ”¦ Seated at the table was a young African woman, trying to demonstrate some game, trying to keep fifty, a hundred, children interested; or at least quiet.82

I remember that old cinema, converted into a makeshift school, the children kneeling on the uneven floor, one group drawing pictures, others pasting illustrations in a sketchbook – dank pictures, torn from antiquated magazines. Exercise books, rulers, blackboards, slates and textbooks, the usual paraphernalia of the least equipped classroom, were initially absent from these sites but later these somehow surfaced, giving the place the familiar smell and friendly feel of a schoolroom. But if the presence of the special branch was scented they would be just as hastily collected up and secreted in a safe place in a nearby house or a rusted structure that was once a shed and now someone’s bedroom.

Two Distinct Activities

It was easy to fall foul of the rigid regulation of African education. This led to two distinct types of educational activities in the clubs, one that was legal and the other not. The former was notionally informal and “cultural”, involving a macro presentation of geography, history, language and number exercises, combined into one. This was infinitely more demanding than the second outright illegal activity which was indisputably formal teaching. This occurred more often than we knew when the club leaders, frustrated with the pretence of appearing to preside over a cultural meeting rather than teaching the three R’s, chose to blow their surrogate cover, abandon their roles as cultural club leaders and teach what they thought the children ought to be learning and what they as teachers knew how best to provide. Under these circumstances they would circulate the familiar school readers and (incriminating) exercise books which until then were hidden away and put the cultural club material to one side. The result was a forgone conclusion and raid after raid occurred, followed by prosecutions.

Police persecution was incessant. In May 1955 in Alexandra township soon after the Club started, six Flying Squad cars and a troop carrier drew up outside the club and produced a search warrant in terms of the relevant section of the Bantu Education Act. They removed the club’s records, counted the blackboards and made lists of the school equipment.83 In the Jabavu Club, two of the women club leaders were sentenced to a fine of ten pounds each with an alternative of six weeks imprisonment, suspended for 18 months. On this occasion, the Native Commissioner’s Court which heard the case held that the activities of the club – games, drawing and handwork – fell within the definition of education and were therefore covered by the act.84 This was an alarming finding as it was through these activities that “informal education” was conducted. Yet we continued despite the raids and the intimidating behaviour of the police. In yet another instance, four club leaders in Brakpan were prosecuted. The chief witness for the crown (a Detective Sergeant Luttig) told the court: “I drew my revolver and pointed it in the direction of the children.” When asked by Advocate George Bizos for the defence: “What were you afraid of?” he replied (in an answer that might have been comical if it had not been so fraught with gravity): “The children!” A group of 17 armed police had raided the cultural club where between 500 and 600 children were observed writing in distinct groups on an open plot. They promptly collected all the exercise books, pens and pencils as well as the children’s clothing found lying on the ground, and presented it to the court as “evidence” for the prosecution.85

The raids were as regular as the mental arithmetic lessons. Joe Slovo, who often acted as a lawyer for the club leaders, graphically characterized the rash of court cases that occurred at the time: “The records of the trials were usually short, and the evidence uncontested.” A typical composite record of the police evidence read something like this:

I am a police sergeant in charge of X police station ”¦ I received certain information and proceeded with my men to a spot which overlooked a large tree ”¦ Soon after the sun rose I noticed groups of children aged between six and thirteen converging on a spot near the big tree ”¦ The accused proceeded to suspend a blackboard (Exhibit A) from a nail which protruded from the tree. ”¦ We kept the scene under observation for about fifteen minutes when I signalled my men to surround the accused and the children. I approached the accused and told him he was under arrest for conducting an illegal school ”¦ The accused remained silent ”¦My men then proceeded to confiscate a number of items which I now hand in. Exhibit A, a blackboard with the five times table written out. Exhibit B, a batch of 20 exercise books, bearing the names of the different pupils.

We also confiscated a number of children’s basic readers ”¦ as well as some vernacular illustrated story books which I now hand in as Exhibit C.86

It was difficult to believe that this was not an Orwellian satire in which the rulers had gone mad and the law turned into a lunatic’s dream.

A year after we started we looked at the boycott more dispassionately. The consequences of the action were enormous in terms of the arrests, court appearances, fines and harassment of the club leaders and parents. It was also a distressing time for some 7 000 children who remained out of school once the protests had been made. Many of the parents were outraged by the motives behind Bantu education and acted out of despair for their children’s future. Some genuinely believed that “no education was better than a ‘rotten’ education”, but the majority could not deal with the consequences of that view. Engaged in a major anti-pass campaign at the time and in the throes of resistance to the Western Areas removal scheme, the ANC found its resources severely stretched. Weakened by the repression of its leaders and having simultaneously to fight on too many fronts, the ANC was in no position to challenge the state on Bantu education more aggressively or to provide an adequate alternative system, least of all one that would not fall foul of the law. Yet unable to stand by and allow the system to be imposed on the population without protest, it felt bound to act on its resolution to boycott the schools without seeming to be retreating from that decision. Sometimes leading from behind but often straining to contain the anger that the system rightfully aroused in the parents, the ANC did its best to ensure that the needs of those children who had entered the Cultural Clubs were addressed.

Z.K. Matthews had been the most prescient in his observations about the decision to boycott Bantu education. At the time, we who were working so closely with the club leaders thought him overly cautious and conservative, but in retrospect I believe he was offering sound leadership that few had the insight or courage to articulate. He warned that “an evil system of education ”¦ cannot be effectively challenged by means of sensational, dramatic campaigns of short duration;” that the struggle would be long and bitter, requiring efficient organization – for the lack of which “the fight against Bantu education had fallen short of our expectations”.87 His strongest reservations were reserved for the “undue emphasis ”¦ laid on the provision of alternative education as a condition precedent to children being withdrawn from Bantu education schools”. This emphasis, he believed, “lent weight to the argument advanced as an apology for retreating from the struggle, namely that Bantu education is better than no education”.88 His point was that our educational propaganda should help parents to accept that the act of withdrawing their children from Verwoerd’s schools was part of the struggle for liberation: “The average parent,” he said:

who follows our local call in the belief that his children will be given adequate alternative education will become disillusioned with the Congress if such education is not provided. He must act therefore out of political conviction, and ”¦ must be made aware of the sacrifice this campaign, as well as others for freedom, will entail.89

This seemingly harsh statement was made nine months after the first withdrawals in April 1955 and the parents were probably unprepared for the degree of police harassment the clubs suffered. In fairness to the parents, in December 1955 when Professor Matthews made these remarks, they were all too aware that the alternative provision we offered was far from adequate but saw the clubs as a symbol of their resistance and a rejection of the view that education was second to liberation. Yet, in the absence of a total boycott, the ANC had to accept that the campaign had failed. The resistance had been valiant on the East Rand and the Eastern Cape but only 7 000 children had boycotted out of a total of 900 000 in the whole country. After about 18 months the ANC and the other congresses accepted that the statesman-like decision was to advise the parents to send their children back to school. This was not an easy decision to arrive at, and for that reason the report to the ANC’s annual conference in December 1956 read obliquely:

Conference will be asked by the NEC to endorse an earlier decision it took this year to the effect that the emphasis of the campaign must no longer be laid upon the withdrawal of children from the schools, although the struggle against Bantu Education and the boycott of School Boards and Committees, should be carried on.90

The clubs continued until the end of 1956 when the boycott gradually ended but the system of Bantu education continued into the early 1990s.

The circumstances in 1956 were in dramatic contrast to the Soweto students’ rebellion against Bantu education in 1976. The uprising in that year, although largely local, was the beginning of a movement that overshadowed the tense moments of the 1950s on the East Rand and in the Eastern Cape. For in the 20 years that intervened between the introduction of Bantu education and the uprising in 1976 the state had become more brutal. When it responded to the students’ protests it did so quite oblivious of the tender age of the “enemy”, sending soldiers rather than the police against the students with a determination to shoot and kill if they stood in their way. The fact that the enemy they confronted were sixteen-year-olds and younger school children, who were seeking a more enlightened education in a language they could understand, mattered little to them. But it must have seemed a far cry from the 1950s for many of the parents who were themselves children in 1955. Many of them had been sent to the Cultural Clubs by their parents who refused to succumb to a school system they knew to be inferior. Their parents had simply removed them from the classrooms and sent them to the Cultural Clubs. But in 1976, when the scholars were five or six years older than the earlier protesters, the form of alternative education they sought was in the ANC’s armed struggle, a much more attractive and viable option for the militant youth than a Cultural Club whose moment had come and gone and could not be replicated in an age of brutal repression.

Many of those who left the country to join Umkhonto we Sizwe, spent a few years at the Solomon Mahlangu Freedom College (SOMAFCO), the ANC’s formal school in Tanzania, before they were sent for military training in Africa and elsewhere. The ANC insisted on this although many of the students had had enough of Bantu education by that time and wanted to challenge the state more directly. Interestingly, they spoke quite freely of “education after liberation” (echoing a sentiment held by some leaders 20 years earlier). Perhaps mindful of its earlier experience the ANC opposed this even more vigorously than it had in the mid-1950s. I was involved in this discussion at SOMAFCO much later. But it was contempt for the regime – then and later – that roused the resistance of the parents and club leaders and tested the system so severely. Together, the parents in the 1950s and the youth in the mid-1970s turned Bantu education from an instrument intended to perpetuate the regime into its nemesis. Lilian Ngoyi, ANC champion for women’s rights, captured the mood for both moments when, standing on an open lorry in New Brighton, Port Elizabeth in 1956, she told a mass rally of 4 000 ANC supporters: “We are not going to allow Strydom [Strijdom] to throw chains of slavery round us ”¦ We fight for freedom and in that fight no power in heaven or on earth will prevent us from attaining that great goal.” Turning more directly to Bantu education, she cited an old adage. “The best form of struggle,” she said, “is to kill a man’s mind. If we allow them to destroy our minds they have destroyed our manhood”.91 She often mocked male virility when it came to men’s passivity in standing up for women’s rights, but in this instance, I think, she was urging everyone to defend their humanity.

The Landscape Transformed

Years later, when I came back from exile in the early 1990s, I again drove down that road from Port Elizabeth to Uitenhage. The all-white local authority was being transformed into an inclusive municipality to be controlled by all sections of the town’s population. It was still early days. The Mandela government was not yet in place and the white public servants who had run the apartheid municipalities for decades were jittery about their jobs. How different it all seemed at that moment. Instead of the municipal officials being arrogant they were contrite, “politically correct” and eager to please. I was invited to talk to the aspirant ANC local government officials and the current white incumbents about the local government affirmative action plans that we were developing at a technical group of CODESA (a sub-committee of the forum negotiating the new constitutional arrangements).92 The subject matter of employment equity is of course wider than “affirmative action” and goes to the heart of transformation, but the initial concerns were about the frameworks we were creating for affirmative action. I should have realized that the agenda of the meeting would be more specific than the broad principles of local government transformation that I’d been invited to talk about, but I was taken aback when I discovered that what all parties really wanted to know was who should properly head the new council. Should it be the seasoned white incumbent from the Uitenhage municipality or an inexperienced ANC nominee from the adjoining black township. In the course of the discussion, the black residents (all too familiar with the radical language of the United Democratic Front and the NGOs that were affiliated to it) spoke impressively of “civic structures”, local authority governance, and the “new formations”, while the whites could only speak of the expertise of the senior officials who had served the local authorities for years. The whites steadily lost their cool, while the blacks were losing patience, but held their ground. Suddenly there was silence and one of the senior white officials stood up, searched for the right words, pointed towards the black representatives and in what seemed to be a moment of self-realization that a new dispensation had fallen upon them, asked: “Can’t we be empowered like them?” His colleagues murmured in agreement and I realized at that moment that although there was still much work to be done, the two sides had found each other. The one side had the technical capacity, the other the vision. Thinking back, I’m not sure how I felt in 1956 after the encounter with the officious location superintendent and that excruciatingly long day and night with the cultural club leaders under the trees. But 50 years later, with the memory of that seemingly implacable racism in mind, I knew that we had moved on, that we had turned the full circle from outright lunacy to a point where we could at least entertain being rational.

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The Impact of the Bantu Education Act on People’s Lives

The Bantu Education Act was a significant piece of legislation enacted by the South African government in 1953 during the apartheid era. This act had profound and lasting effects on the lives of the country’s black population, shaping the education system and perpetuating a cycle of inequality and disadvantage. In this article, we will explore how the Bantu Education Act impacted individuals, families, and communities, and how its legacy continues to be felt today.

Background and Purpose of the Bantu Education Act

The Bantu Education Act, also known as Act No. 47 of 1953, aimed to create a separate and inferior education system for black South Africans. Implemented under the apartheid regime, the act sought to ensure that black individuals received an education that aligned with the government’s segregationist policies and maintained white supremacy.

Restricted Access to Quality Education

One of the most significant ways in which the Bantu Education Act impacted people’s lives was through the limited access to quality education. The act introduced a separate and unequal educational system for black students, with fewer resources, poorly trained teachers, and outdated curriculum. This deliberate underfunding and negligence deprived generations of black South Africans of the opportunity to receive a quality education.

As a result, black students were denied the necessary tools and resources to pursue higher education or acquire skills that could lead to meaningful employment opportunities. The disadvantaged education system perpetuated a cycle of poverty, limited social mobility, and entrenched racial inequality.

Economic Consequences

The Bantu Education Act had far-reaching economic consequences for individuals and communities. By systematically providing inferior education to black students, the act limited their prospects for finding well-paying jobs and contributing to the country’s economy. The lack of investment in black education led to a significant skills gap, making it difficult for black individuals to compete in the job market.

This exclusion from quality education and limited employment opportunities resulted in higher levels of unemployment, poverty, and economic dependency within black communities. Many individuals and families continue to experience the consequences of the Bantu Education Act through intergenerational poverty and the perpetuation of socio-economic disparities.

Cultural Implications

The Bantu Education Act not only restricted access to quality education but also aimed to erode black cultural identities and languages. The curriculum enforced under the act devalued indigenous knowledge and sought to assimilate black students into the white-dominated society.

By mandating the use of Afrikaans, a language associated with the oppressors, as the medium of instruction, the act further marginalized black students and undermined their cultural heritage. This cultural stripping had long-lasting consequences, leading to a loss of cultural pride, identity, and a disconnection from ancestral roots.

Resistance and Resilience

Despite the harsh realities imposed by the Bantu Education Act, black South Africans demonstrated remarkable resilience and resistance. Communities, parents, and students organized protests, strikes, and boycotts, demanding equal access to quality education. Their resistance efforts, often met with violence and oppression, played a crucial role in challenging the apartheid regime’s education policies.

Many students and activists risked their lives to establish alternative educational institutions, known as “community schools,” to provide a more equitable education for black students. These community schools became symbols of resilience and resistance, offering hope in the face of oppressive education systems.

Legacy and the Road Ahead

The legacy of the Bantu Education Act continues to shape South Africa today. While the act was officially repealed in 1979, its effects persist in the deeply entrenched educational disparities and socio-economic inequalities. Decades of underfunding and neglect have left a lasting impact on black individuals and communities.

Efforts to address the inequities created by the Bantu Education Act have been ongoing. Steps towards transformation have been taken, such as the introduction of the South African Schools Act in 1996, which aimed to provide equal educational opportunities for all. However, significant challenges remain in ensuring that the effects of this discriminatory legislation are fully rectified.

The Bantu Education Act had a profound and lasting impact on the lives of black South Africans. By implementing a separate and inferior education system, the act restricted access to quality education, perpetuating socio-economic disparities and limiting opportunities for advancement. The act also aimed to erode cultural identities and marginalize black communities.

While South Africa has made progress in dismantling the legacy of the Bantu Education Act, much work remains to be done to achieve true educational equality. Recognizing and understanding the historical context and consequences of this act is essential in the ongoing struggle for justice, equal opportunities, and a more inclusive education system.

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Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words

The Bantu Education Act of 1953 stands as a stark reminder of the injustices perpetuated during the apartheid era in South Africa. This essay delves into the nature and impact of the Bantu Education Act, shedding light on its origins, provisions, consequences, and the resistance it ignited.

Table of Contents

Essay: The Bantu Education Act – A Dark Chapter in South African History

Historical context and origins of the act.

The Bantu Education Act emerged in the aftermath of the National Party’s rise to power in 1948, marking the formal implementation of apartheid policies. Hendrik Verwoerd, the then-Minister of Native Affairs and later Prime Minister, championed the act as a means to consolidate white supremacy and racial segregation.

Racial Segregation and Inferior Education

Central to the Bantu Education Act was its promotion of racial segregation in the education system. The act mandated separate schools for Black South African students, perpetuating divisions along racial lines. These schools, however, were systematically underfunded, lacking resources, and staffed by unqualified teachers, thus enforcing an inferior educational experience for nonwhite students.

Curriculum Design and Ideological Influence

The curriculum formulated under the act aimed not at empowering students with critical thinking skills but at indoctrinating them with a skewed ideology. The goal was to prepare Black students for a life of subservience and manual labor, reinforcing the apartheid regime’s social hierarchy. The act’s provisions aimed to hinder intellectual development, stifling the potential for personal growth and societal progress.

Struggle for Equal Educational Opportunities

The Bantu Education Act was met with vehement opposition from the Black community, educators, and political activists alike. Leaders such as Nelson Mandela and Steve Biko recognized the act’s role in perpetuating systemic inequalities. Throughout the years, their tireless efforts to combat the discriminatory education system served as a beacon of hope for those seeking equal educational opportunities.

Long-Term Consequences and Generational Impact

The ramifications of the Bantu Education Act extended far beyond the classroom. Generations of Black South Africans were deprived of quality education, hindering their ability to break free from cycles of poverty and limited career prospects. This systemic injustice left a deep scar on the nation’s collective memory, shaping its socio-economic landscape for decades to come.

End of Apartheid and Ongoing Legacy

The eventual demise of apartheid in the early 1990s brought an end to the Bantu Education Act. Yet, its legacy persists in the stark disparities that continue to plague South Africa’s education system. The post-apartheid government has sought to rectify these inequalities, but the path to achieving equitable education remains an ongoing struggle.

The Bantu Education Act is a harrowing testament to the lengths to which apartheid regimes would go to enforce racial discrimination and preserve oppressive power structures. Its provisions not only segregated education along racial lines but also systematically diminished the potential of generations of Black South Africans. While the act may be relegated to the annals of history, its lingering impact serves as a reminder of the need for continuous efforts to rectify historical injustices and ensure equitable access to education for all.

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Call Number: 0423 Identifier: AL2446_0423 Title: TEARS: an article with poems, interview, cartoons and short story revealing the cruelty of bantu education. Subject: Education; Human rights; Professions Description: This is an offset litho poster in black and white. The publisher is unknown but it is against the Bantu education system. Creator: Unknown Type: Poster Format: Preservation image - tiff Access image - jpeg Source: SAHA Collection AL2446 Language: English Coverage: South Africa Rights: Copyright to some material held by individual poster-makers/organisations. See SAHA copyright statement for further information. Leave a Comment Please share your views or anecdotes, particularly if you were present or affected by the events described in this poster, photograph or document. Thank you for your comment Your comment will appear on the website as soon as it is approved by a moderator. Your Name: Your Email: Comment:   Prove you're not a computer: four + nine =   (Please answer in digits, not letters. Eg: four + six = 10) Biography of Stephen Bantu (Steve) Biko, Anti-Apartheid Activist Bfluff / Wikimedia Commons American History African American History Ancient History and Culture Asian History European History Latin American History Medieval & Renaissance History Military History The 20th Century Women's History Postgraduate Certificate in Education, University College London M.S., Imperial College London B.S., Heriot-Watt University Steve Biko (Born Bantu Stephen Biko; Dec. 18, 1946–Sept. 12, 1977) was one of South Africa's most significant political activists and a leading founder of South Africa's Black Consciousness Movement . His murder in police detention in 1977 led to his being hailed a martyr of the anti-apartheid struggle. Nelson Mandela , South Africa's post-Apartheid president who was incarcerated at the notorious Robben Island prison during Biko's time on the world stage, lionized the activist 20 years after he was killed, calling him "the spark that lit a veld fire across South Africa." Fast Facts: Stephen Bantu (Steve) Biko Known For : Prominent anti-apartheid activist, writer, founder of Black Consciousness Movement, considered a martyr after his murder in a Pretoria prison Also Known As : Bantu Stephen Biko, Steve Biko, Frank Talk (pseudonym) Born : December 18, 1946 in King William's Town, Eastern Cape, South Africa Parents : Mzingaye Biko and Nokuzola Macethe Duna Died : September 12, 1977 in a Pretoria prison cell, South Africa Education : Lovedale College, St Francis College, University of Natal Medical School Published Works : "I Write What I Like: Selected Writings by Steve Biko," "The Testimony of Steve Biko" Spouses/Partners : Ntsiki Mashalaba, Mamphela Ramphele Children : Two Notable Quote : "The blacks are tired of standing at the touchlines to witness a game that they should be playing. They want to do things for themselves and all by themselves." Early Life and Education Stephen Bantu Biko was born on December 18, 1946, into a Xhosa family. His father Mzingaye Biko worked as a police officer and later as a clerk in the King William’s Town Native Affairs office. His father achieved part of a university education through the University of South Africa, a distance-learning university, but he died before completing his law degree. After his father's death, Biko's mother Nokuzola Macethe Duna supported the family as a cook at Grey's Hospital. From an early age, Steve Biko showed an interest in anti-apartheid politics. After being expelled from his first school, Lovedale College in the Eastern Cape, for "anti-establishment" behavior—such as speaking out against apartheid and speaking up for the rights of Black South African citizens—he was transferred to St. Francis College, a Roman Catholic boarding school in Natal. From there he enrolled as a student at the University of Natal Medical School (in the university's Black Section). While at medical school, Biko became involved with the National Union of South African Students. The union was dominated by White liberal allies and failed to represent the needs of Black students. Dissatisfied, Biko resigned in 1969 and founded the South African Students' Organisation. SASO was involved in providing legal aid and medical clinics, as well as helping to develop cottage industries for disadvantaged Black communities. Black Consciousness Movement In 1972 Biko was one of the founders of the Black Peoples Convention, working on social upliftment projects around Durban. The BPC effectively brought together roughly 70 different Black consciousness groups and associations, such as the South African Student's Movement , which later played a significant role in the 1976 uprisings, the National Association of Youth Organisations, and the Black Workers Project, which supported Black workers whose unions were not recognized under the apartheid regime. In a book first published posthumously in 1978, titled, "I Write What I Like"—which contained Biko's writings from 1969, when he became the president of the South African Students' Organization, to 1972, when he was banned from publishing—Biko explained Black consciousness and summed up his own philosophy: "Black Consciousness is an attitude of the mind and a way of life, the most positive call to emanate from the black world for a long time. Its essence is the realisation by the black man of the need to rally together with his brothers around the cause of their oppression—the blackness of their skin—and to operate as a group to rid themselves of the shackles that bind them to perpetual servitude." Biko was elected as the first president of the BPC and was promptly expelled from medical school. He was expelled, specifically, for his involvement in the BPC. He started working full-time for the Black Community Programme in Durban, which he also helped found. Banned by the Apartheid Regime In 1973 Steve Biko was banned by the apartheid government for his writing and speeches denouncing the apartheid system. Under the ban, Biko was restricted to his hometown of Kings William's Town in the Eastern Cape. He could no longer support the Black Community Programme in Durban, but he was able to continue working for the Black People's Convention. During that time, Biko was first visited by Donald Woods , the editor of the East London Daily Dispatch , located in the province of Eastern Cape in South Africa. Woods was not initially a fan of Biko, calling the whole Black Consciousness movement racist. As Woods explained in his book, "Biko," first published in 1978: "I had had up to then a negative attitude toward Black Consciousness. As one of a tiny band of white South African liberals, I was totally opposed to race as a factor in political thinking, and totally committed to nonracist policies and philosophies." Woods believed—initially—that Black Consciousness was nothing more than apartheid in reverse because it advocated that "Blacks should go their own way," and essentially divorce themselves not just from White people, but even from White liberal allies in South Africa who worked to support their cause. But Woods eventually saw that he was incorrect about Biko's thinking. Biko believed that Black people needed to embrace their own identity—hence the term "Black Consciousness"—and "set our own table," in Biko's words. Later, however, White people could, figuratively, join them at the table, once Black South Africans had established their own sense of identity. Woods eventually came to see that Black Consciousness "expresses group pride and the determination by all blacks to rise and attain the envisaged self" and that "black groups (were) becoming more conscious of the self. They (were) beginning to rid their minds of the imprisoning notions which are the legacy of the control of their attitudes by whites." Woods went on to champion Biko's cause and become his friend. "It was a friendship that ultimately forced Mr. Woods into exile," The New York Times noted when Woods' died in 2001. Woods was not expelled from South Africa because of his friendship with Biko, per se. Woods' exile was the result of the government's intolerance of the friendship and support of anti-apartheid ideals, sparked by a meeting Woods arranged with a top South African official. Woods met with South African Minister of Police James "Jimmy" Kruger to request the easing of Biko's banning order—a request that was promptly ignored and led to further harassment and arrests of Biko, as well as a harassment campaign against Woods that eventually caused him to flee the country. Despite the harassment, Biko, from King William's Town, helped set up the Zimele Trust Fund which assisted political prisoners and their families. He was also elected honorary president of the BPC in January 1977. Detention and Murder Biko was detained and interrogated four times between August 1975 and September 1977 under Apartheid era anti-terrorism legislation. On August 21, 1977, Biko was detained by the Eastern Cape security police and held in Port Elizabeth. From the Walmer police cells, he was taken for interrogation at the security police headquarters. According to the "Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa" report, on September 7, 1977: "Biko sustained a head injury during interrogation, after which he acted strangely and was uncooperative. The doctors who examined him (naked, lying on a mat and manacled to a metal grille) initially disregarded overt signs of neurological injury. " By September 11, Biko had slipped into a continual semi-conscious state and the police physician recommended a transfer to the hospital. Biko was, however, transported nearly 750 miles to Pretoria—a 12-hour journey, which he made lying naked in the back of a Land Rover. A few hours later, on September 12, alone and still naked, lying on the floor of a cell in the Pretoria Central Prison, Biko died from brain damage. South African Minister of Justice Kruger initially suggested Biko had died of a hunger strike and said that his murder "left him cold." The hunger strike story was dropped after local and international media pressure, especially from Woods. It was revealed in the inquest that Biko had died of brain damage, but the magistrate failed to find anyone responsible. He ruled that Biko had died as a result of injuries sustained during a scuffle with security police while in detention. Anti-Apartheid Martyr The brutal circumstances of Biko's murder caused a worldwide outcry and he became a martyr and symbol of Black resistance to the oppressive apartheid regime. As a result, the South African government banned a number of individuals (including Woods) and organizations, especially those Black Consciousness groups closely associated with Biko. The United Nations Security Council responded by imposing an arms embargo against South Africa. Biko's family sued the state for damages in 1979 and settled out of court for R65,000 (then equivalent to $25,000). The three doctors connected with Biko's case were initially exonerated by the South African Medical Disciplinary Committee. It was not until a second inquiry in 1985, eight years after Biko's murder, that any action was taken against them. At that time, Dr. Benjamin Tucker who examined Biko before his murder lost his license to practice in South Africa.   The police officers responsible for Biko's killing applied for amnesty during the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings, which sat in Port Elizabeth in 1997, but the application was denied.   The commission had a very specific purpose: "The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was created to investigate gross human rights violations that were perpetrated during the period of the Apartheid regime from 1960 to 1994, including abductions, killings, torture. Its mandate covered both violations by both the state and the liberation movements and allowed the commission to hold special hearings focused on specific sectors, institutions, and individuals. Controversially the TRC was empowered to grant amnesty to perpetrators who confessed their crimes truthfully and completely to the commission. (The commission) was comprised of seventeen commissioners: nine men and eight women. Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu chaired the commission. The commissioners were supported by approximately 300 staff members, divided into three committees (Human Rights Violations Committee, Amnesty Committee, and Reparations and Rehabilitation Committee)."   Biko's family did not ask the Commission to make a finding on his murder. The "Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa" report, published by Macmillan in March 1999, said of Biko's murder: "The Commission finds that the death in detention of Mr Stephen Bantu Biko on 12 September 1977 was a gross human rights violation. Magistrate Marthinus Prins found that the members of the SAP were not implicated in his death. The magistrate's finding contributed to the creation of a culture of impunity in the SAP. Despite the inquest finding no person responsible for his death, the Commission finds that, in view of the fact that Biko died in the custody of law enforcement officials, the probabilities are that he died as a result of injuries sustained during his detention." Woods went on to write a biography of Biko, published in 1978, simply titled, "Biko." In 1987, Biko’s story was chronicled in the film “Cry Freedom,” which was based on Woods' book. The hit song " Biko ," by Peter Gabriel, honoring Steve Biko's legacy, came out in 1980. Of note, Woods, Sir Richard Attenborough (director of "Cry Freedom"), and Peter Gabriel—all White men—have had perhaps the most influence and control in the widespread telling of Biko's story, and have also profited from it. This is an important point to consider as we reflect on his legacy, which remains notably small when compared to more famous anti-apartheid leaders such as Mandela and Tutu. But Biko remains a model and hero in the struggle for autonomy and self-determination for people around the world. His writings, work, and tragic murder were all historically crucial to the momentum and success of the South African anti-apartheid movement. In 1997, at the 20th anniversary of Biko's murder, then-South African President Mandela memorialized Biko, calling him "a proud representative of the re-awakening of a people" and adding: “History called upon Steve Biko at a time when the political pulse of our people had been rendered faint by banning, imprisonment, exile, murder and banishment....While Steve Biko espoused, inspired, and promoted black pride, he never made blackness a fetish. At the end of the day, as he himself pointed out, accepting one’s blackness is a critical starting point: an important foundation for engaging in struggle." Biko, Steve. I Write What I Like . Bowerdean Press, 1978. “ Cry Freedom .”  IMDb , IMDb.com, 6 Nov. 1987. “ Donald James Woods .”  Donald James Woods | South African History Online , sahistory.org. Mangcu, Xolela. Biko, A Biography. Tafelberg, 2012. Sahoboss. “ Stephen Bantu Biko .”  South African History Online , 4 Dec. 2017. “ Steve Biko: The Philosophy of Black Consciousness ." Black Star News, 20 Feb. 2020. Swarns, Rachel L. “ Donald Woods, 67, Editor and Apartheid Foe .”  The New York Times , The New York Times, 20 Aug. 2001. Woods, Donald. Biko . Paddington Press, 1978. “ Apartheid Police Officers Admit to the Killing of Biko before the TRC .”  Apartheid Police Officers Admit to the Killing of Biko before the TRC | South African History Online , 28 Jan. 1997. Daley, Suzanne. “ Panel Denies Amnesty for Four Officers in Steve Bikos Death .”  The New York Times , The New York Times, 17 Feb. 1999. “ Truth Commission: South Africa .”  United States Institute of Peace , 22 Oct. 2018. Biography of Donald Woods, South African Journalist South Africa's Black Consciousness Movement in the 1970s Understanding South Africa's Apartheid Era What Was Apartheid in South Africa? Biography: Joe Slovo Biography of Nontsikelelo Albertina Sisulu, South African Activist The End of South African Apartheid Memorable Quotes by Steve Biko South Africa's Extension of University Education Act of 1959 Biography of Walter Max Ulyate Sisulu, Anti-Apartheid Activist Women's Anti-Pass Law Campaigns in South Africa Apartheid 101 Pass Laws During Apartheid Apartheid Quotes About Bantu Education The Origins of Apartheid in South Africa The Prohibition of Mixed Marriages Act TeachableMoment Soweto Uprising: How a Student-Led Movement Changed History On June 16, 1976, young people in South Africa mobilized a powerful protest against the apartheid regime's education policies. The Soweto Uprising became an epic fight that contributed to the end of apartheid. In this activity, students learn about the Soweto Uprising as well as two recent U.S. youth-led movements that are fighting injustice, Dream Defenders and March for Our Lives. On June 16, South Africans, and people around the world, will mark the anniversary of the Soweto Uprising, a 1976 student-led rebellion that had a profound impact on the movement to overthrow apartheid in South Africa. June 16 is Youth Day in South Africa, a national holiday commemorating the courage displayed by students who stood against the apartheid government.   This two-part lesson explores the essential question, “How do oppressed people fight back against injustice and oppression?” In Part 1 of the lesson, students learn about the Soweto Uprising through video and discussion.  In Part 2, students examine two recent youth-led social justice organizations in the United States: Dream Defenders and March for Our Lives, and relate them to the anti-apartheid youth movement.  Note:  This lesson explores a powerful protest that also resulted in the deaths of hundreds of young protesters. Before beginning the lesson, consider how students may react and how to ensure a supportive classroom climate for the discussion. You may want to review these guidelines for discussing upsetting issues. Celebrating Youth Day in Soweto, 2016, Government of South Africa Part one: the soweto uprising. Background Information for the Teacher  The Black South African challenge to apartheid and the student-led Soweto Uprising offer powerful examples of how oppressed people can fight back against their oppressors. Though South Africa had been an oppressive, racist government since its inception, apartheid, an Afrikaans word meaning “separateness,” was adopted as official policy in 1948. In this predominantly Black country, Black South Africans couldn’t vote or own property and were forced to live in isolated, impoverished rural communities or shantytowns surrounding major cities. Blacks also were required to carry a passbook that designated where they could live and work. In 1953, a law called the Bantu Education Act codified into the law the separate and unequal educational system for Blacks that had also already been in existence. Under the Act, the curriculum in Black schools was designed to keep Black students in their place of assumed inferiority and get them ready for menial, low-wage labor.  The man known as the architect of apartheid, Hendrik Verwoerd, stated:  “The Natives will be taught from childhood to realize that equality with  Europeans is not for them. There is no place for the Bantu child above the  level of certain forms of labor." In 1975, Black South African students were told they had to begin learning their major subjects, mathematics and social studies, in a new language, Afrikaans – the language of the people who had created apartheid and made life miserable for them and their parents. Up until then, they’d been learning in English and, early on, in both English and the native language of their tribe. Now, as high school students, they were required to begin learning in Afrikaans, the language of their oppressors. For students already learning in segregated, poorly-funded schools under the harsh apartheid regime that marginalized and, at times, murdered Blacks, that was the tipping point.  Many students decided they could no longer stand for the injustices of the South African educational system. The Soweto Uprising of 1976 is one of the best known events in the struggle against apartheid. On June 16, 1976, an estimated twenty thousand students in Soweto, a township of the city of Johannesburg, left their schools and marched in peaceful protest of their educational system. (Emphasize to students that in the months of organizing and preparing for their march it was always organized to be a peaceful protest.)   When police arrived, they began shooting students who would not disperse when ordered. Nevertheless, during the next 10 days, students and parents continued to protest. The official death toll rose to 176, with two whites and 174 Blacks counted dead. Actual deaths, however, were significantly higher. According to the government-appointed Cillie Commission of Inquiry, 575 people died; police action resulted in 451 deaths; 3,907 people were injured; and the police were responsible for 2,389 injuries. Both the death and inquiry figures were disputed by various sources as being too low. The number of people arrested for offenses related to the resistance was said to be 5,980. Within four months of the Soweto revolt, 160 African communities all over the country were involved in resistance. It was estimated that at least 250,000 people in Soweto were actively involved in the resistance, and 1,298 people were arrested for offenses ranging from attending illegal meetings, arson to terrorism and furthering the aims of banned organizations. In the early 1990s, after nearly two decades of continued struggle, apartheid ended in South Africa. Nelson Mandela, the nation’s first Black president, was elected in 1994.   Classroom Activity Part 1   Introduction (5 minutes) Ask students to list all they know about segregation in the United States during the Jim Crow era. During this period, both laws and customs oppressed, disenfranchised, and economically disadvantaged African Americans and other people of color and gave unfair advantages to whites.  After they’ve compiled their list, spend a minute explaining that many of the same legal restrictions existed in South Africa since its founding in 1910. For decades, Black South Africans worked to change things.     Simulation (3 minutes) Announce to students that during the next school year, they’ll be required to learn all of their lessons in Russian or some other language that none or few of your students speak. Ask students for their reactions. Students are likely to express outrage and disbelief. (One of my students even said the same thing that South Africans students did in 1975: “We’re gonna fail!”) After a minute or less of “student protest,” quickly let them know that of course they won’t be required to learn in Russian. But in 1975 in South Africa, this was real for Black students!  Video & Discussion (6-8 minutes) Play one of the video or audio clips listed below. Video Clips: Tsietsi Mashinini https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4yyMgEd0YM (End at 5:49) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VY6rPFAvi20 (End at 5:34) Audio Clip: Sibongile Mkhabela (Bongi) https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/w3cswsrr  (End at 8:45) Next, break the class into small groups and have students lead a discussion on how students organize to dismantle oppression using the discussion prompts below (17 – 19 minutes)   Prompts for either of the Tsietsi Mashinini videos: What do you think gave Tsietsi Mashinini, and students at the other schools involved, the courage to organize and participate in the mass protest? This uprising went on for months even though within the first two weeks nearly 600 Blacks were murdered, and thousands injured. Why do you think students and adults continued in the face of such government violence? (Have students use whatever background knowledge they have about America’s Civil Rights Movement waged by African Americans when thinking about this discussion prompt.)   Prompts for Bongi audio:  Bongi spoke about the courage it took for students to stage their protest march and she mentioned that one of her classmates broke out in song. How does music play a role in protest movements? Why is music so powerful? What else gave students the courage to march on June 16, 1976? This uprising went on for months even though within the first two weeks nearly 600 Blacks were murdered, and thousands injured. Why do you think students and adults continued in the face of such harsh government repression? (Have students use whatever background knowledge they have about America’s Civil Rights Movement waged by African Americans when thinking about this discussion prompt.) Closing:  (9 minutes) Reconvene the entire class and have students report back. Ask: What is your understanding of how oppressed people organize to dismantle injustice and oppression? What are your thoughts on the Soweto Uprising of June 16, 1976? PART TWO:  Dream Defenders & March for Our Lives In this activity, students learn about two recent U.S. campaigns for justice led by young people. After researching these groups and their goals, students will discuss these organizing efforts in light of what they have learned about the Soweto Uprising and the youth movement against apartheid.  Background Information for the Teacher   1.  Dream Defenders Dream Defenders is an organization that was founded by young activists who marched together to protest the killing of Trayvon Martin . Trayvon Martin, 17, was shot by George Zimmerman in Sanford, Florida on February 26, 2012. On July 16, 2012, three days after Zimmerman was acquitted in the shooting, the Dream Defenders streamed into the governor’s suite to hold a sit-in and to demand changes to Florida’s self-defense laws – specifically the Stand Your Ground provision .  The Dream Defenders were protesting the way students of color were treated in the state’s schools as well as its streets. They vowed to stay until a special legislative session was called on their issues.  They weren’t able to convince Gov. Rick Scott to call a special session on the controversial Stand Your Ground self-defense law. They did, however, draw national attention to their cause by holding one of the longest sit-in demonstrations ever in the Florida Capitol. They ended the sit-in after 31 days, at which time House Speaker, Will Weatherford, agreed to speak with them about the Stand Your Ground Law.  Dream Defenders List of Freedoms: Freedom from poverty Freedom from prisons and police Freedom of mind A free, flourishing democracy Freedom of movement Freedom from war, violence and environmental destruction Freedom to be Sources/Additional Reading https://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/12/us/dream-defenders-arent-walking-out-on-their-florida-protest.html https://www.wuft.org/news/2013/10/15/who-are-the-dream-defenders/ https://www.miamiherald.com/news/state/article1954155.html 2.  March for Our Lives The March for Our Lives movement began shortly after the mass shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida on February 14, 2018. Student survivors decided to stage a rally in Washington, D.C., on March 24, a little more than a month after the tragedy. It was the largest march ever against gun violence, and one of the largest protests in U.S. history.  The march and subsequent March for Our Lives organizing not only called for gun control and an end to gun violence but also protested police brutality, domestic abuse, and advocated for LGBTQ rights. The movement also mobilized for youth participation in the 2018 elections and in the political process in general.  March for Our Lives Policy to Save Lives: Fund gun violence research Eliminate absurd restrictions on the ATF Universal background checks High-capacity magazine ban Limit firing power on the streets Funding for intervention programs Extreme risk protection orders Disarm all domestic abusers Gun trafficking Safe storage and mandatory theft reporting Additional Reading https://www.smithsonianmag.com/innovation/march-for-our-lives-student-activists-showed-meaning-tragedy-180970717/ https://www.cnn.com/2018/03/26/us/march-for-our-lives/index.html Classroom Activity Part 2 Introduction (6 minutes) Ask students:  Who has heard of the Dream Defenders movement?  Who has heard of the March for Our Lives movement?  Next, give a brief history of both movements based on how much students do or don’t know about each group. Independent Learning/Small Group Work (20 minutes) Divide students into two groups. One group will research the Dream Defenders and the other will research the March for Our Lives movement.  Direct students to each organization’s website.  The Dream Defenders group will tab onto the “ Freedom Papers ” section of the website. The group will break into subgroups of 3-4, with each subgroup examining two of the seven “Freedoms” the Dream Defenders espouse as part of their platform. Students will then discuss what they’ve read using the following discussion prompts: Do you agree or disagree with the statements you just read? Why or why not? How do you think the Dream Defenders will achieve their stated goals? (To answer this prompt students should check out other parts of the website.)  The March for Our Lives group will click on the Policy Agenda tab. The group will break into subgroups of 3-4, with each subgroup assigned to examine two of the ten policy agenda items. Students will then discuss what they’ve read using the following discussion prompts:  How do you feel about the policy agenda items you read?  What steps are the student organizers taking to secure the changes they’re demanding in their policy agenda? (To answer this prompt students should check out other parts of the website.)  Whole Class Discussion  (10 - 15 minutes) Reconvene the class to discuss both movements, and relate them to our previous exploration of the Soweto Uprising.  Ask students: What stood out for you in your exploration of Dream Defenders or March for Our Lives?  What strategies did the movement use? What impact did the movement have on society? What are the parallels between these two movements and the events of June 16, 1976? What do these two U.S. movements have in common with the Soweto Uprising?  How are they different?   Closing (4 minutes) Ask students to share one thing they will take away from today’s discussion.    Share this Page Global Perspectives on Human Language: The South African Context       Overcoming Apartheid Policies Yesterday and Today: An Interview with a Former Bantu Education Student and Present-Day Activist       Updated 9-19-2004 (Above) Modise Phekonyane shares his experiences as a political prisoner with visitors to Robben Island. Bantu Education was the system of education that the South African apartheid government implemented as part of its general policy of separation and stratification of the races. It has had detrimental effects on two generations of South Africans, who still comprise South African society today. Commentators have noted not only that   "no other social institution reflected the government's racial philosophy of apartheid more clearly than the education system," but also that the "backlog of deficiencies in the school system [will] challenge future governments for decades, or perhaps generations." #1 I spoke with a South African, Modise Phekonyane, who, while being educated under the Bantu system in the region of Free State, participated in a youth movement to destroy the oppressive system as a fifteen and sixteen year old.   At the age of seventeen Mr. Phekonyane was sent as a political prisoner to Robben Island, the infamous prison where Nelson Mandela was also held.                           The word "Bantu" refers to over four hundred ethnic groups in Africa, from countries ranging from Cameroon to South Africa.   They form a common language family, called the Bantu language.   However, the word "Bantu" was used in the term Bantu education as part of a general trend during apartheid to employ "Bantu" in a derogatory manner towards Black South Africans. #2 Bantu education officially began with the 1953 "Bantu Education Act," five years after the National Party introduced apartheid policies in South Africa. Its two key engineers were Dr. W. M. Eiselen and Dr. Hendrik F. Verwoerd, who studied in Germany.   Eiselen and Verwoerd designed the system to separate all races, creating an educational hierarchy with whites at the top, followed by "Malay" or Asian peoples, "coloreds," and blacks, in descending order.   Dr. Hendrik F. Verwoerd illustrates the mentality behind this racial categorization; he stated that blacks "should be educated for their opportunities in life." #3  Modise Phekonyane and I discussed how the two founders drew these theories of racial stratification primarily from their studies under the National Socialist (Nazi) party in Germany.   The connection between Bantu education and Nazi ideology is well supported.   Specifically, in 1957 Nelson Mandela wrote a detailed article in "Liberation: A Journal of Democratic Discussion" in which he stated: the "Nationalist government has frequently denied that it is a fascist government inspired by the theories of the Nationalist Socialist [Nazi] party of Hitlerite Germany.   Yet . . . the laws it passes, and the entire policy it pursues clearly confirm this point." #4   Racial classification under the Bantu system extend to its curricula, with each ethnicity's curricula designed differently in order to prepare the "more inferior" races, such as blacks and "coloreds", for menial jobs. #5             At the beginning of our interview I asked Modise what had been the most detestable and oppressive aspects of the Bantu Education system for him personally. Modise found it crucial to explain to me it is impossible to "view Bantu education in isolation from the total ideology of apartheid. It was meant to dehumanize black people [and] to create a race that is obedient to the oppressors." Modise also explained that he found most oppressive element of Bantu Education to be "the language."   Mr. Phekonyane's first language was Tswana (also known as Setswana).   Under Bantu education, he was forced to take 68% of his coursework in Afrikaans.   At the beginning of his adolescence he began to realize that "Afrikaans was undermining every other language."   Modise spoke adamantly on this point: "all mankind should be equal, as should their languages.   They should be free to take a course in their mother tongue."   For Mr. Phekonyane, the linguistic constraints of Bantu education had been quite traumatic because he feels that attending school in a foreign language forced him "to denounce himself and his identity."   To illustrate this key language-identity bond he asked me,   "how can a child know who he is if he is not allowed to use his own language, whether it be Xhosa, Zulu or Tswana?"                  In the 1970s and 1980s a youth struggle against Bantu Education began to blaze.    Students, including Modise, felt that the only way to destroy Bantu education was "to create a system of ungovernability, to target every building and institution built by the Afrikaaner [oppressor]."   Thousands of students from Modise's town, Bloemfontein, joined students from cities all over South Africa to rebel.   Modise even remembers how when one day a seven-year-old child met "an oppressor" in the street the child shouted the popular slogan "Freedom First, Education Later."   By the mid-eighties much of the country, black and white among them, began to call the youth movement and its participants the "Lost Generation" because so many students had abandoned school to yell "Freedom First, Education Later." Mr. Phekonyane was fifteen years old when he first began to yell in the name of freedom.   His involvement was spurred by a knife attack on his brother, when Modise began to think more deeply about the inner workings of his community.   He read every text he could get his hands on and debated the questions: "why don't we have adequate schools, why are the dilapidated houses in our communities?"   By age sixteen, Modise was heavily entrenched in the fight by youth against Bantu education.   He explained to me, "Everything that was a symbol of oppression we had to target, every building, every institution."   After only two years in the struggle, in 1978, Modise was taken to Robben Island as a political prisoner.   Even today, having been released from prison and having seen the end of the apartheid regime, Modise Phekonyane is working to bring awareness about Bantu Education and its devastating effects on generations of the South Africans.   When I asked Modise his opinion about the best way to remedy the extreme inequality left by Bantu education today he responded, "It's just that what we are facing today is based on something that has been going on for so long." The Quarry: a photo of the site where Robben Island prisoners, including Modise Phekonyane, toiled to collect the limestone building material for their own cells.                Today, Mr. Phekonyane does not seem to have great hope for working within the educational system.   However, he has involved himself in projects to (1) foster new leaders and to (2) make today's youth aware of both this history and the work that still rests on their shoulders. Mr. Phekonyane approaches his efforts to create new leaders with the utmost positivity: "here on Robben Island we watch the waves come up to our shores.   But, we paddle the waves backward.   We make the negatives work for us, not against us.   We are all leaders in our right."   Modise worries about the current generation because "they don't know who they are politically; they were born free.   They know who Nelson Mandela is, but they do not know the degree of suffering that their parents experienced."   Mr. Phekonyane believes that by using narratives, community projects can spur energy among their youth to continue to work against the glaring remnants of the Bantu education system. With a formal end to the Bantu system, the doors to equality now stand open.   But are these open doors enough?   How can a group break the molds into which it has been poured for generations?   A black, "colored," or Malay child can now enter the doors of a formerly all-white school.   But, his parents, having been educated by the Bantu system for more menial jobs, will in all likelihood not be able to afford the significantly higher fees these schools demand.   While visiting Cape Town public schools over the last two weeks, besides the extreme lack of funding, the most striking aspect we saw was the continued racial segregation.   It is currently insufficient to simply let the doors of opportunity creak open.   In order to offer true access, it is necessary to create a system in which the fees from parents, who pay for more expensive public schools in South Africa, contribute to the educational funds for children whose parents who cannot pay these costs.   (Please see Maria Lizet Ocampo's summary of the current funding system.)   Community projects, like those in which Modise is involved, are also necessary.   By being made aware of the recent history of apartheid, children will better understand their responsibility to continue the struggle against the lucid remnants of Bantu education in South African society. ______________________________________ #1. http://countrystudies.us/south-africa/56.html #2. Phekonyane, Modise. Personal Interview. September 17, 2004 #3. #4. #5. http://countrystudies.us/south-africa/56.html #6. Mandela, Nelson. "Bantu Education Goes to University" . June 1957. #7. #8. Abrams. Personal Interview. September 15, 2004.     20 Questions and Answers Based on the Bantu Education Act Table of Contents Introduction The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a significant piece of apartheid legislation in South Africa that had a profound impact on the educational system for Black South Africans. It played a role in institutionalising racial segregation and inequality. Below are questions and answers that provide insight into this act, suitable for high school learners in South Africa. Questions and Answers The Bantu Education Act was a law passed in 1953 that segregated educational institutions in South Africa along racial lines. It aimed to control the education of Black South Africans and ensure it was in line with the government’s apartheid policies. The Act was implemented to align the education of Black South Africans with the apartheid government’s goals, limiting their access to quality education and preparing them only for menial jobs. The Act led to inferior educational facilities, resources, and curriculum for Black South Africans. It perpetuated inequality by limiting educational and job opportunities, and suppressing political dissent. People resisted the Act through protests, boycotts, and forming alternative educational structures. The most notable resistance was the Soweto Uprising in 1976, where students protested against the forced use of Afrikaans in schools. The Bantu Education Act was officially repealed in 1994 with the end of apartheid. It was replaced by new policies aiming for a more inclusive and equal education system. The government claimed that the Act was meant to tailor education for Black South Africans according to their “cultural and community needs.” In reality, this was a smokescreen for maintaining racial inequality and ensuring that Black South Africans were only prepared for labor-intensive roles. Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd was the Minister of Native Affairs at the time of the Act’s passing and later became Prime Minister. He was a key architect of the Bantu Education Act, arguing that Black South Africans should be educated according to their place in society. Many Black teachers were not adequately trained, and the curriculum was restricted to ensure it was in line with apartheid ideology. This led to a substandard quality of education and a lack of critical thinking in classrooms. The education for Black South Africans under the Bantu Education Act was vastly inferior, with fewer resources, overcrowded classrooms, outdated materials, and a limited curriculum. In contrast, white South Africans enjoyed well-resourced schools and a broader, more advanced curriculum. How does the legacy of the Bantu Education Act continue to affect South Africa’s education system today? The unequal allocation of resources and the deliberate under-education of Black South Africans has had long-lasting effects, creating disparities that persist in the education system even today. Challenges in achieving equal and quality education for all South Africans can be traced back to the policies and practices of the Bantu Education Act. What were some of the international reactions to the Bantu Education Act? The Act received widespread condemnation from various international entities and human rights organizations. It was seen as a blatant violation of human rights and contributed to growing international pressure against the apartheid regime. Were there any other apartheid laws that worked in conjunction with the Bantu Education Act? The Bantu Education Act was part of a broader system of apartheid laws, working in conjunction with others like the Population Registration Act and Group Areas Act, to enforce racial segregation and inequality across all aspects of life, including education. How did the Bantu Education Act affect rural areas specifically? In rural areas, the Act’s effects were particularly pronounced, with schools often lacking even basic facilities and resources. The education provided was geared towards agricultural and manual labor, further limiting opportunities for rural Black South Africans. What was the role of missionary schools during the implementation of the Bantu Education Act? Before the Act, many Black South Africans were educated in missionary schools. With the Act’s passage, these schools either had to conform to the government’s curriculum or lose state funding. Many closed down, and others struggled to maintain quality education under restrictive regulations. What other laws were enacted to support the Bantu Education Act in suppressing Black education? Laws like the Extension of University Education Act of 1959 restricted Black South Africans’ access to universities, furthering the goals of the Bantu Education Act by limiting higher education opportunities. How did the Bantu Education Act affect gender roles in education? The Act reinforced traditional gender roles, with education for girls often focused on domestic skills, further limiting their opportunities for professional and personal development. How did Black South African parents react to the Bantu Education Act? Many were deeply concerned and frustrated but had limited means to oppose the Act. Some parents became involved in protests, while others sought alternative education options, such as sending their children to non-government-controlled schools when possible. What was the role of language in the Bantu Education Act, and why was it significant? Language played a crucial role, as the Act dictated that Black South Africans be taught in their native language for certain subjects, restricting their ability to learn in English or Afrikaans. This had long-term implications for accessing higher education and job opportunities. How did the Bantu Education Act contribute to the broader political resistance against apartheid? The inequality and injustice perpetuated by the Act galvanized political resistance, fueling the struggle against apartheid. Many leaders and activists were motivated by their experiences under the Bantu Education system. What lessons can modern South Africa and the global community learn from the Bantu Education Act? The Act provides a stark lesson in how education can be used as a tool for oppression and inequality. It emphasizes the importance of vigilance, advocacy, and commitment to equitable education as fundamental to democratic society and human development. The Bantu Education Act stands as a somber reminder of how law and policy can be manipulated to entrench inequality and discrimination. By delving into its various aspects, we can appreciate the complexity of its impact and the lasting legacy it has left on South African society. Understanding the Act in its full context is essential not only for historical awareness but also for informing present-day efforts to build a just and inclusive educational system in South Africa and beyond. The insights gleaned from this exploration contribute to the broader understanding of social justice, human rights, and the power of education as both a potential tool for oppression and a means of liberation and empowerment. Did You See These? Why is the Bantu Education Act important to know about today? Leave a Comment Cancel reply Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. How Did The Bantu Education Act Affect People’s Lives? Uncovering The Impact In 1954, the Bantu Education Act was passed in South Africa, legally segregating the education of Black and White children. The impact of this act was far-reaching and had a negative effect on the lives of Black people in South Africa. The act limited the type of education that Black children could receive, and as a result, many Black children were not able to get a proper education. This Act also created a divide between the Black and White communities, which still exists today. How Did The Bantu Education Act Affect People’s Lives Impact of the bantu education act on education. The Bantu Education Act of 1953 had a profound and long-lasting impact on the lives of South Africans , especially those of African descent. In essence, the Act sought to separate people of color from whites in education and other aspects of life. This was part of the apartheid system that was in place in South Africa during this time . The Bantu Education Act also meant that black teachers had to be trained and certified by the government, which led to the formation of a black teaching profession. This created a new barrier to entry that further limited the number of black teachers who could teach in the classroom. Social and cultural effects of the Bantu Education Act The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a watershed moment in South African history . It established a separate and inferior educational system for black South Africans , effectively entrenching the apartheid system and its attendant inequalities. The Act had far-reaching implications for South African society, as it affected a generation of people, from the way they were educated to the careers and opportunities available to them. The Act had a profound effect on the social and cultural aspects of South African life. It forced the segregation of education, creating a two-tiered system in which the quality of education for black students was vastly inferior to that of white students. This had long-term effects on the economic and social development of black South Africans , as they were denied access to quality education and the opportunities that would have come with it. The Act also caused a sharp decline in the quality of teaching in black schools. Teachers were poorly paid, often lacked qualifications and had limited resources. This contributed to a poor standard of education, hindering the development of critical thinking skills, which in turn had a negative impact on the social and cultural development of black South Africans . The Act was also detrimental to the culture of South Africa as a whole. It perpetuated the apartheid system, which denied black South Africans access to the same rights and privileges as white South Africans. This had a profound effect on the culture of South Africa , as it created a culture of oppression, inequality and racism. The Bantu Education Act had a significant impact on the lives of South African citizens . It had a wide-ranging effect on the social and cultural aspects of South African life, resulting in decreased educational opportunities and a culture of oppression. It is a reminder of the legacy of apartheid and its long-term implications for South African society. Political implications of the Bantu Education Act The Act had a devastating effect on the educational prospects of Black South Africans. The government increased the number of black schools, but these were segregated and underfunded. The curriculum was also designed to produce a subservient workforce rather than educated citizens. Black students had to adhere to a strict code of conduct, while white students were allowed to express themselves more freely. Furthermore, teachers in black schools were underpaid and often had to rely on donations from parents or other sources. The Bantu Education Act also had a lasting impact on the social and economic development of South Africa . The inferior quality of education meant that black South Africans were unable to compete in the job market, leading to a widening of the economic gap between white and black South Africans. As well as this, the Act meant that black South Africans were unable to obtain higher education, leading to a lack of opportunities for social and intellectual progress. The Bantu Education Act was a major factor in the continued oppression of black South Africans. It had serious political, social and economic implications, and its legacy can still be felt today. The Act was eventually repealed in 1994, but its damaging effects will take many more years to undo. Overall, the Bantu Education Act had a devastating effect on the lives of many South Africans. It further entrenched the inequality between white and black South Africans and contributed to the continued oppression of black South Africans. Consequently, its legacy is still felt in the country today, and it serves as a reminder of the racism and injustice that existed in South Africa during the Apartheid era. Austin Finnan Austin Finnan is a blogger, traveler, and author of articles on the website aswica.co.za. He is known for his travels and adventures, which he shares with his readers on his blog. Finnan has always been passionate about exploring new places, which is reflected in his articles and photographs. He is also the author of several books about travel and adventure, which have received positive reviews from critics and readers. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Related Articles Zambia on africa map, revealed: most popular xitsonga names for new born babies, discover the world’s most populous state or province. Best Universities in Canada for Foreign Students Cheapest Community Colleges in USA Cheapest Private Universities in Nigeria Top 10 Nursing Colleges In South Africa Online Colleges Scholarships Privacy Policy Short Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words In this quick post, we’ll give you a sample Bantu Education Act Essay 300 words. The Bantu Education Act was a law in South Africa a long time ago. This law was not fair. It was made in 1953 and lasted for many years until it was changed in 1976. We have written extensively about Bantu Education, covering it’s history . This law said that black children should go to different schools than white children. The schools for black children were not as good as the ones for white children. They didn’t have good teachers, books, or buildings. This made it hard for black children to get a good education. The Bantu Education Act was part of a system called apartheid. Apartheid means that people were separated based on their skin color. Black people were treated worse than white people in many ways, including in education. In 1976, there was a big protest against the Bantu Education Act. Many black students and their families said that they wanted better education. This protest led to some changes, but the Bantu Education Act was still not fair. Reasons The Bantu Education Act Was Passed The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a significant piece of legislation in South Africa during the era of apartheid. This act was passed by the government led by the National Party, with Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd , the Minister of Native Affairs, playing a key role in its implementation. The primary purpose of the Bantu Education Act was to formalize and segregate education for black South Africans, particularly those of Bantu descent. The government’s motivation behind this act was deeply rooted in the apartheid ideology, which aimed to maintain a system of racial segregation and white supremacy. By controlling and limiting the education opportunities for black students, the government sought to perpetuate social and economic disparities between racial groups.  The act not only separated black and white education systems but also curtailed the quality of education provided to black students. Funding for black schools was significantly lower, and the curriculum was designed to restrict opportunities for black students to pursue higher education and skilled professions. Bantu Education Act was passed to enforce racial segregation in education and perpetuate the apartheid system by limiting the educational opportunities and quality available to black South Africans. It was a manifestation of the government’s discriminatory policies aimed at maintaining white dominance and racial inequality. Also Read: The 9 Provinces of South Africa and their Capital Cities The Negative Effect Of The Bantu Education Act   The Bantu Education Act, implemented in South Africa in 1953, had several negative effects, primarily targeting Black South Africans: 1. Educational Inequality: The act enforced racial segregation in schools, resulting in vastly unequal educational opportunities for Black students compared to their White counterparts. 2. Inferior Curriculum: Black schools received a substandard curriculum that focused on manual labor and domestic skills, limiting the intellectual and career prospects of Black students. 3. Limited Access to Quality Education: The Bantu Education Act restricted Black students’ access to well-funded and adequately staffed schools, perpetuating the cycle of poverty and limiting social mobility. 4. Political Indoctrination: The curriculum aimed to indoctrinate Black students with apartheid ideology, promoting a racial hierarchy and reinforcing segregation. 5. Stifling Creativity and Critical Thinking: The system discouraged critical thinking, creativity, and intellectual development, hindering the ability of Black students to challenge the oppressive apartheid regime. 6. Economic Disadvantage: Limited access to quality education left Black individuals at a significant economic disadvantage, affecting their ability to secure well-paying jobs and participate in the broader economy. 7. Social Division: The act contributed to social divisions by segregating students based on race, perpetuating racism and reinforcing apartheid policies. 8. Loss of Cultural Identity: Black students were often forced to learn in languages other than their own, leading to a loss of cultural identity and language heritage. 9. Long-term Educational Impact: The negative effects of the Bantu Education Act continue to impact South African society, as many individuals who received this education faced long-term disadvantages in their personal and professional lives. 10. Resistance and Struggle: Despite these negative effects, the Bantu Education Act also fueled resistance and activism against apartheid, ultimately contributing to its downfall. Also Read: The 11 Official Languages in South Africa Sample Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words Below is a sample Bantu Education Act Essay 300 words. The Bantu Education Act was a significant apartheid-era law in South Africa. Enacted in 1953, it had a profound impact on the education of black South African students. The act aimed to segregate and limit the education opportunities for black students, perpetuating racial inequality. Under the Bantu Education Act, black students received an inferior education compared to their white counterparts. The government provided fewer resources, outdated materials, and poorly trained teachers to black schools. The curriculum was designed to prepare black students for menial jobs rather than providing them with a quality education. The Act also enforced racial segregation in schools, which led to overcrowded and poorly maintained facilities for black students. This policy aimed to maintain the racial hierarchy of apartheid and deny black South Africans the opportunity to access quality education. The Bantu Education Act was met with widespread resistance and protest from the black community and anti-apartheid activists. Students and teachers protested against the inferior education system, which resulted in many arrests and demonstrations. Despite the hardships, black South Africans continued to fight for their right to equal education. How The Bantu Education Act Was Stopped The end of the Bantu Education Act can be attributed to a combination of internal and external factors. Internally, the resistance from Black students, teachers, and communities was instrumental in challenging the apartheid regime’s education policies. Protests, boycotts, and civil disobedience became common forms of opposition to the system. Externally, international pressure played a significant role. The global community, through the United Nations and other entities, increasingly condemned apartheid policies in South Africa, including Bantu education. Economic sanctions and diplomatic isolation were imposed on the apartheid regime, which added to the pressure for change. Ultimately, in 1994, with the end of apartheid and the establishment of a democratic South Africa, the Bantu Education Act was officially repealed. This marked a pivotal moment in the country’s history, as it signified the dismantling of one of the most oppressive aspects of apartheid and a step towards a more equitable education system. Also Read: Full List of Nigerian 36 States and Capitals and their Slogans Frequently Asked Questions About the Bantu Education Act 1953 Certainly! Here are 10 frequently asked questions (FAQs) and their answers on the topic of the Bantu Education Act: 1. Q: What was the Bantu Education Act?    A: The Bantu Education Act was a South African law passed in 1953 that segregated education for black and white students during the apartheid era. 2. Q: Who introduced the Bantu Education Act?    A: Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd, the Minister of Native Affairs in South Africa, introduced the Bantu Education Act. 3. Q: What was the main goal of the Bantu Education Act?    A: The main goal was to provide separate and inferior education for black South Africans, with a focus on vocational training rather than academic development. 4. Q: How did the Bantu Education Act impact black students?    A: It led to underfunded, overcrowded, and poorly equipped schools for black students, limiting their educational opportunities and perpetuating racial inequalities. 5. Q: Were black teachers affected by the Bantu Education Act?    A: Yes, black teachers were subjected to lower pay, reduced job security, and limited career advancement opportunities under this act. 6. Q: When was the Bantu Education Act repealed?    A: The Bantu Education Act was officially repealed in 1979, but its impact on education continued for years. 7. Q: How did the Bantu Education Act affect the anti-apartheid movement?    A: It fueled opposition to apartheid and played a role in the rise of student protests and activism against the discriminatory education system. 8. Q: Did any organizations or individuals oppose the Bantu Education Act?    A: Yes, organizations like the African National Congress (ANC) and individuals like Steve Biko and Desmond Tutu strongly opposed the act and fought for educational equality. 9. Q: What were the long-term consequences of the Bantu Education Act?    A: The act had lasting effects on South African society, contributing to educational inequalities that persist even after apartheid ended. 10. Q: How has South Africa reformed its education system post-apartheid?     A: After apartheid, South Africa worked to desegregate and improve its education system, focusing on equal access and quality education for all racial groups. Please note that the Bantu Education Act is a historically significant but highly controversial topic due to its association with apartheid policies. Related: Full List of 774 Local Governments in Nigeria Summary of Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words In summary, the Bantu Education Act was a discriminatory. The struggle against this act played a significant role in the broader fight against apartheid and for equal rights in South Africa. More Topics: Importance of Civic Education 100 Educational Quotes for Students Success What is Citizenship Education? All You Need to Know Full List of States and Capitals in USA 7 Differences Between Canadian Provinces and Territories RELATED ARTICLES MORE FROM AUTHOR Types of Visas: Which One Do You Need for Your Educational Goals  English Language Proficiency Test: Tips For Success 10 Benefits of Studying Abroad for Your Career and Personal Growth Leave a reply cancel reply. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. 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South African History Online - Es’kia Mphahlele Es’kia Mphahlele (born Dec. 17, 1919, Marabastad, S.Af.—died Oct. 27, 2008, Lebowakgomo) was a novelist, essayist, short-story writer, and teacher whose autobiography, Down Second Avenue (1959), is a South African classic. It combines the story of a young man’s growth into adulthood with penetrating social criticism of the conditions forced upon black South Africans by apartheid . Mphahlele grew up in Pretoria and attended St. Peter’s Secondary School in Rosettenville and Adams Teachers Training College in Natal. His early career as a teacher of English and Afrikaans was terminated by the government because of his strong opposition to the highly restrictive Bantu Education Act . In Pretoria he was fiction editor of Drum magazine (1955–57) and a graduate student at the University of South Africa (M.A., 1956). He went into voluntary exile in 1957, first arriving in Nigeria . Thereafter Mphahlele held a number of academic and cultural posts in Africa, Europe, and the United States . He was director of the African program at the Congress for Cultural Freedom in Paris . He was coeditor with Ulli Beier and Wole Soyinka of the influential literary periodical Black Orpheus (1960–64), published in Ibadan, Nigeria; founder and director of Chemchemi, a cultural centre in Nairobi for artists and writers (1963–65); and editor of the periodical Africa Today (1967). He received a doctorate from the University of Denver in 1968. In 1977 he returned to South Africa and became head of the department of African Literature at the University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg (1983–87). Mphahlele’s critical writings include two books of essays, The African Image (1962) and Voices in the Whirlwind (1972), that address Negritude , the African personality, nationalism , the black African writer, and the literary image of Africa. He helped to found the first independent black publishing house in South Africa, coedited the anthology Modern African Stories (1964), and contributed to African Writing Today (1967). His short stories—collected in part in In Corner B (1967), The Unbroken Song (1981), and Renewal Time (1988)—were almost all set in Nigeria. His later works include the novels The Wanderers (1971) and Chirundu (1979) and a sequel to his autobiography, Afrika My Music (1984). Es’kia (2002) and Es’kia Continued (2005) are collections of essays and other writings. Latest Resources Quick Links 25 Questions and Answers Based on Bantu Education Act Understanding the Bantu Education Act: 15 Questions and Answers for Grade 12 Learners The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was one of apartheid South Africa’s most significant and detrimental legislative acts. Designed to limit the educational opportunities and achievements of the country’s Black majority, it had lasting effects on generations of South Africans. For Grade 10 – 12 learners examining this dark chapter in history, here’s a Q&A primer: What was the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The Bantu Education Act (No. 47 of 1953) was a South African law that aimed to ensure the separation of educational facilities and opportunities between races, with particular focus on limiting educational opportunities for Black South Africans. Who introduced the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The act was introduced by the apartheid government, under the leadership of Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd, who was then the Minister of Native Affairs. What was the main aim of the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The primary aim was to prevent Black South Africans from receiving an education that would lead them to aspire to positions they wouldn’t be allowed to hold in society, thereby entrenching their position as laborers. How did the act change the education system for Black learners? Answer: It transferred control of African education from provincial administration to the Department of Native Affairs, effectively reducing the quality and access to education for Black students. Were mission schools affected by this act? Answer: Yes, mission schools (run by churches) lost state aid and were handed over to the government, stripping them of their autonomy. How did the curriculum for Black students change under this act? Answer: The curriculum was tailored to direct Black students into manual labor roles, focusing less on academic achievement and critical thinking. What was the medium of instruction in schools under this act? Answer: The medium of instruction in primary schools was the student’s home language. From the age of 10 onward, however, it was mandatory for schools to use Afrikaans and English equally. Did the act have any financial implications for Black education? Answer: Yes, the act reduced the funding available for Black education, leading to poor facilities, overcrowded classrooms, and underpaid teachers. What was the effect of the act on teachers? Answer: Many qualified Black teachers lost their jobs as the education system deteriorated. Moreover, the teachers were given inadequate training and were required to teach a curriculum they didn’t believe in. Were there protests against the Bantu Education Act? Answer: Yes, the act faced significant opposition. The most notable protest was the Soweto Uprising in 1976, where students protested against the mandatory use of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction. What were the long-term implications of the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The act entrenched educational inequalities, leading to generations of Black South Africans being systematically undereducated, limiting their opportunities and economic mobility. Was the act ever repealed? Answer: Yes, with the end of apartheid, the act was repealed. However, the effects of the act continued to be felt for many years thereafter. Why is understanding the Bantu Education Act important for today’s generation? Answer: It offers insight into the roots of educational disparities in South Africa and underscores the importance of equitable access to quality education. How did the international community view the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The act, like many apartheid policies, was widely condemned internationally. It was seen as a blatant violation of human rights and equality. Did the act only affect Black South Africans? Answer: While primarily targeting Black South Africans, the act also indirectly affected Coloureds and Indians by creating an overall hierarchy of education, where White education was superior, and others were inferior. What was Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd’s infamous statement regarding Black education? Answer: Dr. Verwoerd, known as the architect of Bantu Education, famously stated, “There is no place for [the Bantu] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labor.” How were universities affected by this act? Answer: The act extended to tertiary education. The Extension of University Education Act of 1959 prohibited non-white students from attending most universities, leading to the creation of separate institutions for different racial groups. Was the quality of education the same for White and Black students? Answer: No, white students enjoyed a better quality of education with more resources, better facilities, and a broader curriculum. In contrast, Black students received a substandard education designed to prepare them for menial jobs. How did the government justify the Bantu Education Act? Answer: The apartheid government claimed that the act would provide education suited to the “culture” of Black South Africans. However, in reality, it aimed to keep Black South Africans subservient to white authority. How was the content in textbooks altered under this act? Answer: Textbooks were revised to fit the narrative of Black inferiority and white supremacy. Historical and cultural achievements of Black South Africans were either downplayed or omitted. Did the Bantu Education Act affect the dropout rates? Answer: Yes, the poor quality of education and lack of resources led to higher dropout rates among Black students, further limiting their opportunities in life. What role did the churches play in opposing the act? Answer: Many church groups, particularly those running mission schools, opposed the act. They believed in the value of education and its power to uplift communities. Despite losing state aid, some continued their educational missions with reduced resources. Did the act lead to any international sanctions? Answer: While the Bantu Education Act itself didn’t directly result in sanctions, it was a contributing factor in the international community’s broader criticism and subsequent sanctions against the apartheid regime. How did the act impact post-apartheid South Africa’s education system? Answer: The legacy of the Bantu Education Act is still felt today. The vast disparities created by the act left the post-apartheid government with significant challenges in leveling the educational playing field. What is the significance of understanding this act in the context of global civil rights movements? Answer: The Bantu Education Act, like Jim Crow laws in the U.S. or other discriminatory practices globally, showcases how systemic racism can be deeply entrenched in national policies. Studying it alongside global civil rights movements provides a holistic understanding of the fight for equality worldwide. The Bantu Education Act was not just an isolated policy of apartheid South Africa but a manifestation of deeply-rooted racial prejudices. By delving deeper into this topic, Grade 12 learners can better appreciate the complexities of history and the intertwined relationship between education and social justice FAQs from Past Exam Papers on the Bantu Education Act Why the bantu education act is interesting or important to know about today. The Bantu Education Act is important to know about today because it institutionalized racial segregation in education , deliberately designed to limit the educational opportunities of Black South Africans and maintain white supremacy . Understanding this act helps to grasp the historical roots of educational inequality in South Africa and its long-lasting impacts on society. What are the two biggest problems with the Bantu Education Act? The two biggest problems with the Bantu Education Act were: Inferior Quality of Education : The curriculum was designed to provide only the basic skills needed for manual labor, perpetuating economic disparities. Racial Segregation : It enforced a separate and unequal education system that reinforced apartheid policies and limited social mobility for Black South Africans. What changed with the Bantu Education Act being put in place and implemented? With the implementation of the Bantu Education Act , the government took control of Black education from the mission schools, significantly reducing funding and resources for Black schools. The curriculum was tailored to prepare Black students only for subservient roles in society, entrenching racial inequality . What attitudes did people have to the Law Bantu Education Act? The Bantu Education Act was met with widespread opposition and resentment. Many Black South Africans, along with anti-apartheid activists, viewed the law as a deliberate attempt to entrench racial discrimination and limit their opportunities. Protests, boycotts, and strikes were common responses to this oppressive law. How did Bantu education affect people’s lives? Bantu education limited the educational and economic opportunities of Black South Africans, reinforcing poverty and inequality. It stunted intellectual growth and development, creating a legacy of underdevelopment and socio-economic disparity that continues to affect South Africa today. What was the aim of Bantu education? The aim of Bantu education was to provide an inferior education that prepared Black South Africans for a life of manual labor and servitude, ensuring they remained subservient to the white population and sustaining the apartheid system. How did the Bantu education Act promote apartheid? The Bantu Education Act promoted apartheid by legally entrenching racial segregation in education, ensuring that Black South Africans received a vastly inferior education compared to their white counterparts. This reinforced the socio-economic divide and maintained white dominance. When and why was the Bantu Education Act implemented in South Africa? The Bantu Education Act was implemented in 1953 to centralize control over the education of Black South Africans under the apartheid government. Its purpose was to ensure that education reinforced the broader goals of apartheid by limiting the opportunities available to Black individuals. How did photographers react to Bantu education act? Photographers played a crucial role in documenting the effects of the Bantu Education Act , capturing images that highlighted the disparities and struggles faced by Black students. These photographs were used to raise awareness and galvanize opposition to apartheid policies both locally and internationally. What powers did Bantu Education Act law give the government? The Bantu Education Act gave the government the power to control the content and administration of Black education, including curriculum design, teacher appointments, and funding. This ensured that the education system served the apartheid agenda. What do you think the long-term effects of the Bantu Education Act were regarding education? The long-term effects of the Bantu Education Act regarding education include deep-seated educational disparities , with many Black South Africans receiving poor-quality education that hindered their socio-economic advancement. The act’s legacy continues to affect the education system, contributing to ongoing challenges in achieving equal educational opportunities and outcomes. Interviewing Someone Who Was Affected by Bantu Education Act: Guide How to Interview Someone Affected by Bantu Education: A Comprehensive Guide with Sample Questions and Scenario. Interviewing individuals affected by the Bantu Education syste m can provide valuable insights into the social, psychological, and economic repercussions of this policy. This form of education was part of South Africa’s apartheid system, designed to limit educational opportunities for Black South Africans. Conducting such interviews with sensitivity and depth is essential to understand the nuanced experiences of those who lived through it. Below are ten sample questions that can guide an interviewer, followed by a fictional interview scenario. Interviewing Someone Who Was Affected by Bantu Education: Guide When interviewing someone who was affected by the Bantu Education system, it’s crucial to approach the conversation with sensitivity and a thorough understanding of the historical and emotional implications of the subject. Your goal should be to create a comfortable atmosphere where the interviewee can openly share their personal experiences and insights. Start by researching the Bantu Education system and its effects so you are well-informed and can ask relevant questions. Use open-ended questions to encourage in-depth responses and allow the person to elaborate on their experiences. For example, you might ask, “Can you describe how the Bantu Education system impacted your career opportunities?” or “What long-term societal impacts do you think the system has had?” Always remain respectful and avoid interrupting the interviewee. Finally, be prepared for emotional responses and provide the interviewee the space to express themselves fully. 10 Sample Interview Question about bantu education act Can you please start by telling me a little about your early educational experience under the Bantu Education system? How do you feel the Bantu Education system affected your career opportunities? Were there particular subjects or educational material that you felt were conspicuously absent from your schooling? How did the Bantu Education policy impact your self-esteem and self-worth? Can you share any experiences of resistance or subversion within the educational system? How did the Bantu Education system affect your social interactions and friendships? Were there any educators who made a positive impact despite the system’s limitations? How did your family react to the educational constraints placed upon you? What do you think the long-term societal impacts of Bantu Education have been? If you could change one thing about your educational experience, what would it be? Interview Scenario with Fake Names for Guiding Purposes. Interviewer: Good afternoon, Mr. Zwane. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me today. Mr. Zwane: My pleasure. Interviewer: Let’s start with your early educational experiences. Can you tell me a little about how the Bantu Education system affected you? Mr. Zwane: Oh, it had a profound impact. The curriculum was so watered-down that it hardly prepared us for any advanced study or professional work. Interviewer: How did this limitation affect your career opportunities? Mr. Zwane: I wanted to be an engineer, but the subjects we were taught hardly scratched the surface of what was needed for a career in engineering. Interviewer: Were there any subjects or educational materials that you felt were conspicuously absent? Mr. Zwane: Absolutely. Subjects like advanced mathematics, science, and even history were either lacking or presented in a way that diminished our cultural background. Interviewer: How did this system impact your self-esteem? Mr. Zwane: It was designed to make us feel inferior, and it succeeded in many ways. However, my parents always reminded me of the value of self-worth. Interviewer: Any experiences of resistance within the system? Mr. Zwane: Yes, some of my teachers would secretly teach us topics that were not part of the official curriculum. Interviewer: How did Bantu Education affect your social interactions? Mr. Zwane: It created divisions. We were taught to occupy certain social and economic spaces and that limited our interactions. Interviewer: Were there any educators who made a positive impact? Mr. Zwane: Yes, Mrs. Smith, my English teacher, always encouraged us to read widely and think critically, despite the limitations of the system. Interviewer: How did your family react? Mr. Zwane: They were disappointed but also very supportive. They tried to supplement my education at home. Interviewer: What do you think the long-term societal impacts have been? Mr. Zwane: The system has had a lingering impact on employment, social mobility, and even the psyche of those who went through it. Interviewer: If you could change one thing about your education, what would it be? Mr. Zwane: I would change the entire system to make it more inclusive and geared toward genuine education rather than subjugation. Looking for something specific? Related posts, group areas act essay – grade 9. Group Areas Act Essay – Grade 9 Introduction In this Grade 9 essay, we will explore the Group Areas Act, one of the most... 10 Important Things Nelson Mandela did to Build Democracy with Example and Facts 10 Important Things Nelson Mandela did to Build Democracy with Example and Facts: 10 Transformative Actions by Nelson Mandela in Building Democracy: Melding Facts... 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Previous Story Discussing Why Unequal Access to Basic Services Could Give Rise to Social Injustices How to reference the south african bill of rights in harvard style. Bibliography More Referencing guides Blog Automated transliteration Relevant bibliographies by topics Automated transliteration Relevant bibliographies by topics Referencing guides Academic literature on the topic 'Bantu Education Act (1953)' Create a spot-on reference in apa, mla, chicago, harvard, and other styles. Journal articles Dissertations / Theses Book chapters Consult the lists of relevant articles, books, theses, conference reports, and other scholarly sources on the topic 'Bantu Education Act (1953).' Next to every source in the list of references, there is an 'Add to bibliography' button. Press on it, and we will generate automatically the bibliographic reference to the chosen work in the citation style you need: APA, MLA, Harvard, Chicago, Vancouver, etc. You can also download the full text of the academic publication as pdf and read online its abstract whenever available in the metadata. Journal articles on the topic "Bantu Education Act (1953)" Hunter, Mark. "THE BOND OF EDUCATION: GENDER, THE VALUE OF CHILDREN, AND THE MAKING OF UMLAZI TOWNSHIP IN 1960s SOUTH AFRICA." Journal of African History 55, no. 3 (September 22, 2014): 467–90. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0021853714000383. Ball, Tyler Scott. "Sof’town Sleuths: The Hard-Boiled Genre Goes to Jo’Burg." Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry 5, no. 1 (November 27, 2017): 20–35. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.38. Verhoef, M. "Funksionele meertaligheid in Suid-Afrika: 'n onbereikbare ideaal?" Literator 19, no. 1 (April 26, 1998): 35–50. http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/lit.v19i1.511. Campbell, Kurt. "Philological Reversion in Post-Apartheid South Africa: The Sand Writing and Alternate Alphabets of Willem Boshoff." Philological Encounters 3, no. 4 (November 27, 2018): 524–49. http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/24519197-12340053. giliomee, hermann. "A NOTE ON BANTU EDUCATION, 1953 TO 1970." South African Journal of Economics 77, no. 1 (March 2009): 190–98. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1813-6982.2009.01193.x. Klein, Melanie. "Creating the Authentic? Art Teaching in South Africa as Transcultural Phenomenon." Culture Unbound 6, no. 7 (December 15, 2014): 1347–65. http://dx.doi.org/10.3384/cu.2000.1525.1461347. Bologna, Matthew Joseph. "The United States and Sputnik: A Reassessment of Dwight D. Eisenhower's Presidential Legacy." General: Brock University Undergraduate Journal of History 3 (December 18, 2018): 29–54. http://dx.doi.org/10.26522/gbuujh.v3i0.1722. Mária, Péter H. "Commemoration of Kárpáti Gizella, the first woman who took her degree in medical science in Kolozsvár at Ferenc József University." Bulletin of Medical Sciences 91, no. 1 (July 1, 2018): 67–74. http://dx.doi.org/10.2478/orvtudert-2018-0001. Kolbiarz Chmelinová, Katarina. "University Art History in Slovakia after WWII and its Sovietization in 1950s." Artium Quaestiones , no. 30 (December 20, 2019): 161–90. http://dx.doi.org/10.14746/aq.2019.30.8. Anderson, R. Bentley. "‘To Save a Soul’: Catholic Mission Schools, Apartheid, and the 1953 Bantu Education Act." Journal of Religious History , May 21, 2020. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-9809.12664. Dissertations / Theses on the topic "Bantu Education Act (1953)" Moore, Nadine Lauren. "In a class of their own : the Bantu Education Act (1953) revisited." Diss., University of Pretoria, 2015. http://hdl.handle.net/2263/53445. Leleki, Msokoli William. "A Critical Response of the English Speaking Churches to the Introduction and Implementation of Bantu Education Act in South Africa." Thesis, University of Pretoria, 2014. http://hdl.handle.net/2263/46253. Rundle, Margaret. "Accommodation or confrontation? Some responses to the Eiselen commission report and the Bantu education act with special reference to the Methodist church of South Africa." Master's thesis, University of Cape Town, 1991. http://hdl.handle.net/11427/19520. Legodi, Mapula Rosina. "Issues and trends in shaping black perspectives on education in South Africa : a historical-educational survey and appraisal." Diss., 1996. http://hdl.handle.net/10500/17195. Legodi, Mapula Rosina. "The transformation of education in South Africa since 1994 : a historical-educational survey and evaluation." Thesis, 2001. http://hdl.handle.net/10500/17196. Missouri woman who tried to grab Graceland arrested for allegedly defrauding Presley estate Copy Link URL Copied! Federal authorities on Friday arrested and charged a Missouri woman in connection with the scheme to fraudulently auction Elvis Presley’s historic Graceland mansion. Lisa Jeanine Findley — otherwise known as Lisa Holden, Lisa Howell, Gregory Naussany, Kurt Naussany, Lisa Jeanine Sullins and Carolyn Williams — was charged with mail fraud and aggravated identity theft, according to a news release by the U.S. Department of Justice. Findley, 53, allegedly posed as three different people from Naussany Investments & Private Lending LLC, claiming the late Lisa Marie Presley , Elvis’ daughter, had borrowed $3.8 million from it and offered Graceland as collateral. Authorities allege that Findley created several fake documents to carry out the scam, including a creditor’s claim with the Superior Court of California in Los Angeles, a deed of trust with the Shelby County Register’s Office in Memphis and loan documents containing the forged signatures of Presley and Florida notary Kimberly L. Philbrick. Entertainment & Arts ‘We have faith in our federal partners’: Graceland fraud case takes another turn The Tennessee Attorney General’s Office will turn over its investigation into Graceland’s fraud case to federal law enforcement. June 27, 2024 Riley Keough, Presley’s daughter who inherited Graceland, sued Naussany Investments in May to stop the foreclosure sale of the Memphis property after Findley allegedly published a fraudulent notice in a local newspaper that the mansion was up for auction. Philbrick submitted an affidavit in support of Keough’s lawsuit that said she did not notarize any documents involving Presley. (She’s also since done interviews reiterating that her signature was forged.) “I have never met Lisa Marie Presley, nor have I ever notarized a document signed by Lisa Marie Presley,” Philbrick’s affidavit read. “I do not know why my signature appears on this document.” Chancellor JoeDae Jenkins ruled in favor of Keough’s lawsuit to stop the sale, while also indicating the court would move forward with deciding whether the loan and deed of trust were fraudulent. No representatives for Naussany Investments were present at the May hearing. Hours after Jenkins’ ruling, a person purporting to be a Naussany Investments representative submitted a statement that said the company intended to drop its claims on Graceland, according to the Associated Press. Naussany Investments was listed in court documents as being located in Kimberling City, Mo., but CNN found the firm’s claimed phone number was no longer in service and could not find any business by that name. Riley Keough fights off foreclosure and auction of her grandfather Elvis’ Graceland Riley Keough, Elvis Presley’s granddaughter, is suing to stop a foreclosure sale of his famed Graceland mansion. May 21, 2024 Authorities allege that Findley then posed as an identity thief from Nigeria and wrote to the Presley family, Tennessee state court and members of the press. The New York Times reported in May that it had received a set of emails, faxed from a toll-free number, in choppy Luganda, a Bantu language widely spoken in Uganda. “We figure out how to steal,” the thief wrote to the New York Times. “That’s what we do.” Referencing Keough, the message reportedly continued: “Yo client dont have nothing to worries, win fir her. She beat me at my own game.” Findley will appear on Friday in the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Missouri. If found guilty, Findley faces at least two years in prison for aggravated identity theft and a maximum penalty of 20 years in prison for mail fraud. More to Read Feds seize huge L.A. mansion they say was bought with bribes July 8, 2024 ‘I had fun’: Alleged scammer takes credit for Graceland foreclosure upheaval May 29, 2024 Sean Kingston’s attorney denies theft and fraud charges as singer agrees to extradition The biggest entertainment stories Get our big stories about Hollywood, film, television, music, arts, culture and more right in your inbox as soon as they publish. You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Los Angeles Times. Angie Orellana Hernandez is a 2023-24 reporting fellow at the Los Angeles Times. She previously worked at The Times as an arts and entertainment intern. She graduated from USC, where she studied journalism and Spanish. Prior to joining The Times, she covered entertainment, as well as human interest, legal and crime stories at E! News. Her writing can also be found in USA Today, the Boston Globe, CNN and KCRA3. More From the Los Angeles Times Poll shows Hochman has momentum to unseat L.A. County Dist. Atty. Gascón Aug. 18, 2024 World & Nation Jury convicts white Florida woman in fatal shooting of her Black neighbor during dispute Aug. 17, 2024 Comedian Perry Kurtz killed in L.A. hit-and-run, teenager arrested Aug. 16, 2024 Newsom signs legislative crime package addressing organized retail theft 380 COMMENTS Bantu Education Act Under the act, the Department of Native Affairs, headed by Hendrik Verwoerd, was made responsible for the education of Black South Africans; in 1958 the Department of Bantu Education was established.The act required Black children to attend the government schools. Teaching was to take place in the students' native tongue, though the syllabus included classes in English and Afrikaans. 10 interview questions on bantu education and answers Below are ten interview questions that could be asked about Bantu education, along with detailed, informative answers. 1. What was the Bantu Education Act of 1953? The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a South African law which institutionalized and enforced racially segregated educational systems. The Act sought to restrict educational ... Bantu Education in South Africa Get a custom essay on Bantu Education in South Africa. For many years, South Africa was exposed to discriminatory actions resulting from the apartheid system. This was extended to the education sector through the introduction of the Bantu Education. This Essay focuses on the nature of the Bantu education system and its shortcomings in the eyes ... Bantu Education Act, 1953 The Bantu Education Act 1953 (Act No. 47 of 1953; later renamed the Black Education Act, 1953) was a South African segregation law that legislated for several aspects of the apartheid system. Its major provision enforced racially-separated educational facilities; [ 1] Even universities were made "tribal", and all but three missionary schools ... 10 Effects & Impact of Bantu Education Act in South Africa Skills gap. One of the elements that contributed to the skill gap in South Africa today was the Bantu Education Act of 1953. This is another effect of the act that lingers today. The law deprived black South Africans of access to a high-quality education, including specialized fields like mathematics, science, and technology. Bantu Education The 1953 Bantu Education Act was one of apartheid 's most offensively racist laws. It brought African education under control of the government and extended apartheid to black schools. Previously, most African schools were run by missionaries with some state aid. Nelson Mandela and many other political activists had attended mission schools. The introduction of Bantu education and the question of resistance, co The purpose of the Bantu Education Act was to extend the state's direct political control over African communities: African resistance modified this control and shaped the implementation of Bantu Education. Through the centralization of the administration and the financing of African schooling the state was able to accommodate an increasing demand for schooling at a reduced cost per pupil. "Bantu Education or the Street" by Norman Levy In 1954 African parents were faced with the cruel dilemma of accepting a "rotten education" for their children or "no education at all". As the more militant church leaders said, it was "Bantu education or the street!". Although the Bantu Education Act was potentially the most disabling act introduced by the apartheid regime, the ... how did the bantu education act affect people's lives Restricted Access to Quality Education. One of the most significant ways in which the Bantu Education Act impacted people's lives was through the limited access to quality education. The act introduced a separate and unequal educational system for black students, with fewer resources, poorly trained teachers, and outdated curriculum. Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words Angelina August 28, 2023. The Bantu Education Act of 1953 stands as a stark reminder of the injustices perpetuated during the apartheid era in South Africa. This essay delves into the nature and impact of the Bantu Education Act, shedding light on its origins, provisions, consequences, and the resistance it ignited. TEARS: an article with poems, interview, cartoons and short story TEARS: an article with poems, interview, cartoons and short story revealing the cruelty of bantu education. Subject: Education; Human rights; Professions : Description: This is an offset litho poster in black and white. The publisher is unknown but it is against the Bantu education system. Creator: Unknown: Type: Poster: Format: Preservation ... The "Bantu Education" System: A Bibliographic Essay Brembeck Cole S. and Keith John P. Education in Emerging Africa: A Select and Annotated Bibliography. East Lansing, Michigan: College of Education, Michigan State University, 1966. 3. Catalogue of the Collection of Education in Tropical Areas of the Institute of Education, University of London. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1967. (3 volumes) 4. Why is the Bantu Education Act Interesting and Important to Know? The Bantu Education Act is a significant piece of legislation in South African history that played a pivotal role in shaping the country's educational and social landscape. Understanding this act is crucial for grasping the impact of apartheid policies on education and the long-term consequences for South African society. Reason 1: Legal ... Biography of Stephen Biko, Anti-Apartheid Activist Updated on December 05, 2020. Steve Biko (Born Bantu Stephen Biko; Dec. 18, 1946-Sept. 12, 1977) was one of South Africa's most significant political activists and a leading founder of South Africa's Black Consciousness Movement. His murder in police detention in 1977 led to his being hailed a martyr of the anti-apartheid struggle. Soweto Uprising: How a Student-Led Movement Changed History In 1953, a law called the Bantu Education Act codified into the law the separate and unequal educational system for Blacks that had also already been in existence. Under the Act, the curriculum in Black schools was designed to keep Black students in their place of assumed inferiority and get them ready for menial, low-wage labor. South Africa Seminar: Info Pages The word "Bantu" refers to over four hundred ethnic groups in Africa, from countries ranging from Cameroon to South Africa. They form a common language family, called the Bantu language. However, the word "Bantu" was used in the term Bantu education as part of a general trend during apartheid to employ "Bantu" in a derogatory manner towards ... 20 Questions and Answers Based on the Bantu Education Act The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a significant piece of apartheid legislation in South Africa that had a profound impact on the educational system for Black South Africans. It played a role in institutionalising racial segregation and inequality. Below are questions and answers that provide insight into this act, suitable for high school ... How Did The Bantu Education Act Affect People's Lives? Uncovering The In short, the Bantu Education Act had a devastating impact on the lives of black South Africans and continues to be felt today. Impact of the Bantu Education Act on education. ... The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was a law passed by the South African government that had a profound and lasting impact on the lives of people living in the country. Short Bantu Education Act Essay 300 Words Below is a sample Bantu Education Act Essay 300 words. The Bantu Education Act was a significant apartheid-era law in South Africa. Enacted in 1953, it had a profound impact on the education of black South African students. The act aimed to segregate and limit the education opportunities for black students, perpetuating racial inequality. Es'kia Mphahlele Ask the Chatbot a Question Ask the Chatbot a Question Es'kia Mphahlele (born Dec. 17, 1919, Marabastad, S.Af.—died Oct. 27, 2008, Lebowakgomo) was a novelist, essayist, short-story writer, and teacher whose autobiography, Down Second Avenue (1959), is a South African classic. It combines the story of a young man's growth into adulthood with penetrating social criticism of the conditions ... 25 Questions and Answers Based on Bantu Education Act Understanding the Bantu Education Act: 15 Questions and Answers for Grade 12 Learners The Bantu Education Act of 1953 was one of apartheid South Africa's most significant and detrimental legislative acts. Designed to limit the educational opportunities and achievements of the country's Black majority, it had lasting effects on generations of South Africans. 25 Questions Bibliographies: 'Bantu Education Act (1953)' Writing in English in the era of the Bantu Education Act (1953),Drumwriters challenged attempts to retribalize the African natives with the counter discourse of an educated, urbanized, modern African. ... Gizella and her children returned to Kolozsvár for a short time, between 1940-1944, then they moved to Budapest and finally they settled in ... 13 Bibliography of Bantu Education Act 1953 8. The Making of Bantu Education: A Historical Overview Bibliography. Bundy, Colin. "The Making of Bantu Education: A Historical Overview." Journal of Curriculum Studies 18, no. 5 (1986): 423-431. Woman arrested for trying to defraud Elvis Presley estate The biggest entertainment stories Get our big stories about Hollywood, film, television, music, arts, culture and more right in your inbox as soon as they publish. Enter email address What is Project 2025? Wish list for a Trump presidency, explained But it stops short of proposing a sweeping overhaul of federal agencies as outlined in Project 2025. ... aims to boost school choice and parental control over education and criticises what the ... assignment essay homework paper phd resume speech thesis