The rabble-rouser for peace fought a good fight

Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu has been fondly remembered as an outspoken opponent of the apartheid regime who also didn’t spare the corruption of a democratic SA. He was also a moral crusader for peace and reconciliation and a conscience of a nation. He was known as a man with an extraordinary sense of humour.

But behind the veneer of impish jokes and infectious laughter was a serious formidable opponent of injustices of all sorts – anywhere. Tutu courageously took apartheid head on at the time when the fear of imprisonment, torture and death ruled the minds of many activists.

He criticised world leaders that he believed sympathised with the apartheid government. He embraced causes such as Palestine and the LGBTQ+ community to the chagrin of the Christian fundamentalists – showing that he was a progressive thinker and fearless human rights activist.

Tutu was struck by polio as a child, contracted tuberculosis as a teenager and battled prostate cancer in his adult years. However, these life-threatening health challenges didn’t deter him from leading a long life of purpose – to serve humanity through an unwavering faith in God and a storied church ministry that went hand in hand with an equally colourful political activism that distinguished him as one of the foremost freedom fighters of his times in clerical garb. In this regard he left an indelible mark on the political landscape.

And while in the eyes of the high priests of apartheid he was regarded as a “turbulent priest” who mixed politics with religion, in his worldview the two were inseparable. He argued that to separate social justice from personal faith was like fragmenting God. Tutu was born on October 7 1931 in Matlosana, Klerksdorp, in the then western Transvaal, a conservative town notorious for its harsh treatment of black people. Years later, in 2001, he was awarded the freedom of the City of Matlosana with one of the main streets renamed after him.

As a child he was given the name Mpilo – life or health – by a grandmother in response to his sickly condition. His father, Zachariah, was a teacher, a tall, slightly built man who was proud of his standing in society as an educated black. He was also a stern and aloof figure of authority.

“My father used to say, ‘don’t raise your voice; sharpen your argument’. Good sense does not always lie with the loudest shouters, nor can we say that a large, unruly crowd is always the arbiter of what is right.”

However, Tutu senior's level of education meant nothing to young white racist cops with a penchant for humiliating black people. Young Desmond would become a witness to these humiliating episodes that at times drove his father to drinking and becoming abusive towards his mother, Aletta. She was a kind and loving woman who worked as a domestic servant and whose features – particularly a prominent nose –  the Arch had inherited.

At eight the family relocated to neighbouring Ventersdorp, another bastion of Afrikaner nationalism. It was here in Eugene Terreblanche country that Tutu had his first taste of racial abuse from a group of white boys as he was cycling home. He was on an errand in town where he usually bought newspapers for his father.

The family eventually settled in Sophiatown, Johannesburg, where he attended the famous Madibane High with future Drum writers Casey Motsisi and Stan Motjuwadi among his classmates and friends. One of their teachers was writer Can Themba.

Trained as a teacher at the Normal College in Kilnerton, Pretoria, Tutu eventually quit the profession in protest against the Bantu Education Act of 1954, which legislated for an inferior education for blacks. Instead he opted for the ministry and was trained at St Peter’s Seminary in Rosettenville, Johannesburg, by Anglican monks called the Community of the Resurrection headed by Father Trevor Huddleston, an anti-apartheid priest.    

Ordained as a minister in 1961, Tutu stayed in England for a while as a student of theology with his wife Leah and his young family that included a son – Trevor named after his mentor – before returning home to teach and preach.

His reputation as an outspoken and fearless prophet who spoke truth to power became evident in May 1976 while serving as the Anglican Church’s first black dean of Johannesburg. He wrote a letter to prime minister John Vorster, expressing “a growing nightmarish fear that unless something is done very soon the bloodshed and violence is going to happen in SA”.

Tutu had a sense that the apartheid education system had reached a crisis point, especially after the minister of education MC Botha decreed that Afrikaans would be a medium of instruction in black schools. Typical of the arrogance and stubbornness of the Nats, the prime minister disdainfully ignored Tutu’s letter but his prophetic words would soon become a reality when the townships went up in flames following the Soweto student uprisings on June 16.    

Soon thereafter Tutu accepted a new post as the Bishop of Lesotho. But he was immediately back in the country to speak at Steve Biko’s funeral in Qonce, Eastern Cape, on September 25 1977. His deeply emotional speech angered the apartheid government when he drew parallels between the life of the young black consciousness leader and that of Jesus of Nazareth.

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“We thank and praise God for giving us such a magnificent gift in Steve Biko. Let us dedicate ourselves anew to the struggle for the liberation of our beloved land. Let us all, black and white together, not be filled with despondency and despair. Let us blacks not be filled with hatred and bitterness. For all of us, black and white together shall overcome...”

It was a powerful speech that revealed his prescient vision for a reconciled nation at a time when most black South Africans couldn’t see the way out of the quagmire of apartheid. Less than a year after Biko’s burial, Tutu was back in the Cape for another politically high-profile and emotionally charged funeral.

Robert Sobukwe had passed away on February 27 1978. At his funeral service in Graaff-Reinet on 11 March 1978, one of the mourners scheduled to speak was Chief Gatsha Buthelezi – the chief minister of KwaZulu bantustan and leader of Inkatha.           

The two men had known each other at Fort Hare University with fellow students such as Nelson Mandela and Robert Mugabe. But some of the mourners among the youth would have none of that. A homeland leader and stooge of Pretoria had no business speaking at the funeral of a respected anti-apartheid crusader such as Sobukwe, the young firebrands argued.

They threatened to cause chaos at the cemetery if Buthelezi didn’t leave. A scuffle broke out as they hurled abuse at him. Appeals for order by a group of church leaders fell on deaf ears.

In the ensuing chaos Tutu saved the day – and possibly Buthelezi’s life – when he raised his hands and pleaded for calm while at the same time asking the Inkatha leader to leave.    

Finally sanity prevailed and the funeral service was allowed to proceed. Tutu's acts of bravery on the day confirmed his growing reputation as a courageous and moral leader, a man who enjoyed respect and admiration among millions of the disenfranchised black majority.

His international stature and ethical standing were further enhanced following the awarding of the Nobel peace prize in 1984 for being “a unifying figure in the campaign to resolve the problem of apartheid in SA and for the non-violent struggle for liberation to which Desmond Tutu belongs”.

According to the selection committee, Tutu was a less controversial choice compared to the jailed Mandela. He became the second South African and third person of African ancestry to receive the prestigious award after Chief Albert Luthuli in 1960 and Dr Martin Luther King in 1964.

A deluge of messages of support were sent by several governments across the world with the notable exception of SA and the Soviet Union. The Organisation of African Unity welcomed the honour as a sign that apartheid’s days were numbered.

The ceremony, held on December 10 – Human Rights Day on the United Nations calendar – in Oslo, Norway, was interrupted by a bomb scare but eventually Tutu was allowed to deliver his acceptance speech.

Tutu noted that the award would offer hope to the struggling black masses back home and dedicated it to his family, the South African Council of Churches (SACC), fellow oppressed South Africans and everyone in the world who was yearning for peace and justice.

A portion of the $192,000 that came with the award went to the staff at the SACC where Tutu served as general secretary and a scholarship fund for students in exile. 

In 1986 Tutu was Bishop of Johannesburg when he appealed to the international community to impose harsh economic sanctions against the country, risking arrest for treason. He had already experienced the wrath of the government when he was arrested in 1978 and interrogated at the notorious John Vorster Square in Johannesburg.

Tutu said he realised he might be prosecuted but indicated that he did not care because “our children are dying, our land is burning and bleeding”, he argued.

“Sanctions are meant to be a message,” he explained. “We are not asking people to make decisions based on politics or economics. We are asking you to make a moral decision. Are you on the side of justice or injustice? Are you on the side of humanity or inhumanity? Are you on the side of freedom or oppression? You do something that is right not because other people are going to follow you. You do something that is right because it is right.”

In response the government said that sanctions would lead to unemployment, violence, crime and misery for the same black people who were already complaining of job losses, escalating food prices and high rents.

“The South African government will not succumb to pressure from whatever quarter but will continue along the difficult path of peaceful constitutional development,” minister of information Louis Nel said. Though the Reagan and Thatcher administrations in the US and UK were opposed to sanctions in favour of a policy of “constructive engagement” with Pretoria, some multinational companies were already pulling out of the country.     

Tutu accused the two governments and West Germany of racism for their opposition to sanctions. On the other hand, he didn’t endear himself to the white community who accused him of sabotaging the economy.

Ordinary black people were caught in the middle and racial attitudes hardened. It was common for black job seekers to be told to find employment from “your Bishop Tutu”. It has been a long-standing hatred – in 1989 a baboon foetus was found on the Tutu residence in Cape Town, according to a court hearing the work of the police hit squads who had visited a sorcerer with the aim of casting a spell on the outspoken cleric. Recently a mural with his image was defaced with racist graffiti. But throughout all this Tutu remained steadfast.

On September 13 1989 Tutu and a group of prominent clerics across the religious spectrum, including Reverend Frank Chikane, Moulana Farid Esack and  Dr Allan Boesak, led 30,000 demonstrators in a march for peace and the end of apartheid.

It was also a powerful but disciplined show of defiance against the state of emergency and continued incarceration of leaders such as Nelson Mandela. Ten days before, another march was brutally crushed by the police with guns and water cannons emitting purple dye at protesters. About 20 marchers were killed. The incident inspired the slogan, “the purple shall govern”.

At the September 13 march the police didn’t interfere and it went ahead without any ugly incidents. It would become the last public demonstration of its scale to happen without police violence before the unbanning of anti-apartheid organisations and the release of Mandela. The ANC leader spent his first night of freedom on February 11 1990 at Bishopscourt, the official home of the archbishop of Cape Town.

And while the mutual respect between the two icons of peace and freedom was beyond doubt – with Mandela fondly referring to him as “the people’s archbishop”, Tutu was not about to relax his stance against social injustices under a democratic government. He played his role in the country’s healing process when he was appointed chairperson of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in 1996 but the outcomes could have yielded more positive outcomes had both sides of the war been honest enough about their involvement in the apartheid atrocities.

When Tutu sensed the onset of corruption and conspicuous consumption by the new ruling elite, he didn’t hesitate to express his displeasure, coining the phrase “gravy train” in the course of his condemnation of excesses in the face of grinding poverty among the black majority. Under the Jacob Zuma administration he became increasingly exasperated with the ANC, publicly disowned Zuma as his president and revealed that he didn’t vote for the ANC on moral grounds.

When his dear friend and respected spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama of Tibet was denied a visa to attend his 80th birthday, the battle lines were drawn. He warned the government of impending doom if it didn’t mend its ways. Another incident that illustrated ongoing tension between the two was when he revealed that he was not invited at Mandela’s funeral in 2013 though he did attend.

Tutu is survived by his wife of 66 years in marriage, Leah, four children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.