Viewpoint Growing up Catholic in South Africa
By PETER WALSHE
It was a matter of some pride in our
family that my grandfather had donated the new bell for Johannesburgs
Roman Catholic cathedral sometime in the 1930s. The old bell had cracked and
lost its voice -- a public relations disaster, given the competitive chimes of
the nearby Dutch Reformed church and Anglican cathedral.
My grandparents lived near the city center on Kerk Street, just
around the corner from the Catholic cathedral, and we often visited them on a
Sunday afternoon. Tea would be served in the dining room on a green velvet
tablecloth, under a large engraving of Alan Wilsons Last
Stand. If the Ndebele won that skirmish in 1893, surrounding and wiping
out the major and his gallant patrol, they were to lose the war.
Before the end of the decade, Cecil Rhodes would carve out Rhodesia from
territory north of the Transvaal.
By the turn of the century, my grandfather was serving as a young
redcoat in the Boer War, a conflict that prepared the way for the Union of
South Africa with its all-white parliament. The long cool veranda of my
grandfathers house is fixed in memory, and I can still hear the mellow
chime that would ring out for the Angelus in the early evening.
The parish church my parents belonged to was in Yeoville, several
miles from downtown Johannesburg. Saturday mornings meant catechism instruction
-- the Baltimore version -- under the direction of the Ursuline nuns. Because I
attended a state school, such immunization against the perceived threat of
secular and Protestant environments was required by the bishop.
On Sundays the congregation at Mass was all-white, with the
occasional exception of a black domestic servant in the back row. Africans were
expected to worship at mission churches in segregated townships on the other
side of the city.
Our pastor, Fr. Roux, served the parish for years and was much
loved. The church was our bulwark, providing a fixed moral universe and
nurturing a lifeboat sense of community. Sadly though, it did not move the
faithful beyond matters of personal sin and the demands of charity. The
presence of social sin was never raised.
Even a kindly priest like Fr. Roux would not have thought to
condemn white supremacy from the pulpit; nor would he have addressed the
grotesque maldistribution of land (13 percent for the African majority). Racism
and class privilege were generating one of the worlds most polarized
societies, yet this did not trouble the white hierarchy or concern white
parishes. At best a certain noblesse oblige was encouraged: My first and only
lesson in the ethics of race relations was to be polite to the servants.
Leaving the status quo unchallenged, the bishops tended their
white congregations conscientiously, committing 75 percent of the
countrys priests and nuns to serve in white parishes, schools and
hospitals. Africans had to make do; their communities were
missionary territory.
In spite of this neglect, by the time my grandfather donated the
cathedrals bell, the missions had produced a majority of South
Africas Catholics. Still, when the African National Congress -- founded
in 1912 to oppose segregation -- was eventually goaded to move from ineffectual
moral appeals to passive resistance in the Defiance Campaign of the 1950s, the
Roman Catholic hierarchy looked away. Not even the banning of the ANC in 1960
and the imprisonment or exile of its leaders could stir the church from its
inertia.
A lone antiapartheid activist in the hierarchy, Archbishop Denis
Hurley, would confess in the 1970s that Roman Catholicism in South Africa had
lost its salt. He was deeply anguished to discover that the majority of white
priests were not disturbed by apartheid and resented his engagement in the
political arena.
While in 1956 the bishops had issued a pastoral letter condemning
apartheid in principle, they failed to witness against it. Seminaries remained
segregated until the late 1970s. My Aunt Muriel, an Ursuline nun, was never
troubled by the absence of black sisters in her community. Only in the 1980s
was there a token integration of Catholic schools.
By this time, white Catholics were being conscripted into the army
as it played a central role in repressing the liberation movement. Their
chaplains enjoyed officer salaries and wore military dress -- until an End
Conscription Campaign in the mid-1980s pressured the bishops to take priests
out of uniform. Even so, it puzzled my devout family when a cousin became a
conscientious objector and refused to take up arms against the African
population.
I only began to understand the evils of apartheid after I left
southern Africa in 1952 for Oxford. Following graduation, my first academic
appointment was at the newly launched University of Botswana, Lesotho and
Swaziland. There I learned from my students, many of whom were black South
Africans. It was at the time of the Defiance Campaign, and these young
protesters had fled across the border with apartheids police in hot
pursuit.
By the time I wrote The Rise of African Nationalism in
South Africa, a study of the ANC, a degree of estrangement had set in with
my parents. They perceived my book as dangerously subversive and declined to
read it. Both went to daily Mass. My brother, a loyal Catholic, too, lived
comfortably with the regimes propaganda and thought my opposition to
apartheid communistic.
When mass protests against apartheid gathered strength in South
Africas cities during the 1980s, the bishops finally offered some support
for the liberation struggle -- a move that disturbed the Vatican. But the
response came too late, leaving the vast majority of white Catholics unprepared
for the countrys political transition. They were at a loss when it came
to negotiations for a new nonracial constitution and the urgent need to
redistribute resources (including health care and education).
Except in rare cases, white Catholics simply lacked a gospel-based
moral imagination. It was only in 1990 -- the year in which Nelson Mandela was
released and apartheid abandoned -- that the bishops launched a pastoral
program with a social justice component to be taught in Catholic parishes.
Church schools are still struggling to provide a revised syllabus for South
African history, one that no longer focuses exclusively on the white
experience.
The history of the church in South Africa provides important
lessons for Catholics everywhere: Roman Catholicism has failed time and again
to spearhead movements for social reform. In the 19th century, during the
industrial revolutions of Europe, conservative, anti-modernist hierarchies lost
the working class. Then there was the failure of the Vatican to take any lead
in the struggle against slavery.
The churchs record in this century is as baleful. If the
hierarchy failed to shape the consciousness of white Catholics in South Africa,
the Vaticans record in fascist Europe during the 1930s and 40s is
even more disturbing. Why were Catholic Bavarians -- among the most fervent of
Hitlers supporters -- never threatened with excommunication?
It is surprising that the pontificate of John Paul II is so
frequently celebrated for its moral vision, for under his leadership the
listening, consultative hierarchy envisioned by Vatican II has not emerged.
Moreover, his role in undermining communist regimes during the
Cold War must be set against his failures; for example, the suppression of
liberation theology in Latin America and the ingratiating accommodation by
papal nuncios during the military dictatorships in Argentina and Chile.
Without the humility and repentance to face up to its lamentable
record, the institutional church will have little to offer the world of the
21st century -- just as it failed my parents and all those essentially decent
white South African Catholics.
Peter Walshe teaches in the Department of Government at the
University of Notre Dame.
National Catholic Reporter, May 21,
1999
|