Staffrider Vol.6 No.2 1985 - DISA

He was dedicated to his medicine,yet would often walk away whenclassmates sat talking shop. As if hecould be dedicated on his own termsbut not as part of a group. Prior to hisfather's arrest he was seldom outspoken,not often imposing his opinion on adiscussion. It was not that he did notform opinions on issues, but rather thathe kept them to himself. Since hisfather's arrest he had become so outspokenthat his friends warned himhe would end up with his father in thesame prison. Maybe that is what hesecretly wanted!I turned off the highway onto theroad winding up to the campus likea broken life line on a hand, past a sign,black print on a white background —'Private Property, entrance restricted tomembers of the University and peopleon official business.'From the parking lot we walked upthe wide stairs two at a time, our whitecoats, worn out of habit — a badge ofidentification — flapping around theknees. 'The meeting must have alreadybegun. There aren't many peoplesunning themselves on the steps.''There must be two thousand peoplehere,' I whispered to John as we pushedour way into Jameson Hall beyond therows of people standing at the back,keeping their options open, easy escapeif the proceedings did not meet theirinterest. On one side of the stage Icounted twelve people standing, eachholding a sign 'FREE ME' written inlarge capitals with a name underneath.As we moved forward someone whispered,'that's John Hansen,' and peoplemade way for us to get closer to thestage. Wherever John went peoplewould point, whispering about hisfather. He had acquired the status of acause since his father's arrest. Peopleeither kept away as if he wouldcontaminate them or they approachedhim like some overnight guru, anxiousto hear what he had to say.D•emember thatsome of those shouting theloudest amongst us areprobably "visitors".Jeff Allen, the leader of the studentbody was addressing the meeting.' . . . So, we have just been advisedthat the minister has refused to acceptour petition to charge or release thetwelve.' John's father was one of thetwelve, arrested two months previouslyand since held in prison with no accessto family or lawyers, no charge, no trialdate, while "evidence was being gathered".'In fact we are reliably informedthat the petition was summarily torn upbefore it even reached the minister'shands, though he knew of its contents.'He uttered the last words in a loudervoice to be heard above the swellingjeers. 'So now,' he shouted, 'we have todecide on our next step.'A few voices in the crowd started tochant, 'march, march, march.' The callwas taken up by a larger number andseemed to echo harshly off the panelledwalls of the hall, crowded with goldennames of those honoured for sportingachievements and academic distinction,more accustomed to hearing the gentleapplause of a graduation ceremony orthe sounds of a symphony concert. Asthe chanting grew I noticed the glintof light off cameras. The usual contingentof plainclothes police was in the halltaking pictures of every person whoopened their mouth. They stuck out inthe student crowd like a penguin amidsta group of seals. It was a standing jokethat if you yawned at a meeting Bosswould have a photograph of all yourfillings.Jeff raised his hands to quieten thecrowd. 'Remember that some of thoseshouting the loudest amongst us areprobably "visitors" who would likenothing better than to spark confrontation.We must think carefully aboutour options. Let's not get carriedaway by our emotions.' He was highlyrespected by most of the students. Afew of the radicals said he was toocautious. He had shown remarkablediplomacy in walking the very thin ropeof confrontation. He had been arrested,but only for questioning and neverdetained. The house he shared with twoother students had been bombed andnobody arrested.I sensed John about to speak. 'Wemust take our protest to the people.We must let them see and partake in ourcause otherwise we are wasting ourtime. I think we should go to town.' Hesat down to the sounds of cheeringendorsement.When the noise subsided Jeff saidfrom the stage, T can understand theway you are feeling John, but wemustn't let our personal emotions swayour decision. We must act rationally ina way that will be most effective to ourcause. I personally don't think weshould march through town today. Iwas given some information before themeeting which most of you haveprobably not heard. The chief magistratehas banned meetings of more thantwelve people in the city area fora period of thirty days. We all know hewill extend that as he wishes. So if wemarch we must do it with the awarenessthat we will be breaking the law andthat the police will probably use forcefulmeans to break it up.' He paused fora moment in which there was a mutteringaround the hall.'But, most importantly,' he saidraising his voice above the rising noise,'most importantly, I don't believe thatsuch action will serve the best interestsof those with whom we are concerned,the people in whose name this meetingwas called.'J^^^ohn said,'You know if you continueto smoke you'll getcancer/This last statement was greeted withreflective silence; like that after anabsorbing play before the audiencestarts to applaud. Then different voiceswere heard at the same time. Suggestionsas to what should be done — T think . . . .''We should . . . . ' 'Why don't we .... 'None of the suggestions reached aconclusion. Finally a decision was madeto disagree, a resolution was passedcondemning the continued detentionwithout trial, and a small committeeelected to meet that afternoon tocontinue the search for a means ofaction. The meeting broke up ratherthan ended. There was a tangiblefeeling of discontent as people filed outof the hall, blinking into the bright lightof the summer afternoon. I needed atoilet and as I manoeuvred my waydown the stairs outside the hall I pickedup snatches of conversation.T think Hansen was right . . . . ''He's good but too cautious . . , . ''What's the point of another resolution. . . . 'Words winding together, a mosaic ofdissatisfaction, evaporating like steam asthey wafted over the heads towards thesuburbs below.When I returned to the area outsidethe hall, I was surprised to see so manypeople still there. Usually the call oflectures or the beach led to a quickdispersion. I walked back slowly to thestairs looking for John. The tenor of theconversations had changed.'Oh well, I guess I should go and dosome work in the library . . . . ''Who wants a lift back to Sea Point?''Let's go get some lunch . . . . 'The balloon of anticipation wasslowly deflating. People started driftingaway and had a security police car notpulled up at the bottom of the steps atthat moment there probably would havebeen a complete dispersal. The blackFord Fairlane glided quietly to a halt. Aman in the back seat started to photographthose people still standing orsitting on the stairs. It was as if thesound of the clicking camera sentinvisible drumbeats through the air26 STAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, 1985