by J H Thompson
– Anonymous
The showers always ran out of hot water early, long before everyone had a chance to shower. If you were late, you got cold water. But we used to alert the guys who were showering and announce our presence by screaming and shouting that we were coming. It usually worked, and even the showers that were full were empty by the time we entered the place! If someone remained, we would give him ‘the stare down there’. That usually worked, although some of our friends were beaten up for doing it. Talk about exploiting homophobia.
– Rick, age 18
Ever heard of the Tempe Tigers? That was the name given to a girl’s reformatory outside Bloemfontein. There were so many weird stories about them. Guys who had got too close to the fence and had been chained there and had their dicks cut off. Lots of strange stories about the Tempe Tigers! We used to run past their school and we were warned to never, ever go anywhere near the fence or them, or something awful would happen, like getting your dick bitten off. This was pre-Bobbitt days, but I never forgot all the wild stories about them! They were notorious.
– John, age 18
One of my duties for a while was to assist the chaplain at 1 SAI. I ran the coffee bar next to the canteen and mess. The coffee was free and the room was a nice one, quiet and private. At the end of the evening, after the last troop had left, we – the Sisterhood, as we called ourselves – made the place our own. The room offered us gay guys, and the few straight guys who didn’t mind being amongst us gays, the opportunity to just relax and be alone. We hung blankets over the windows because the curtains didn’t close properly and people were always trying to peer in. We played music, played pool, chatted and enjoyed having time to ourselves. Then this rumour started that we were having orgies in there. I told the chaplain I would rather leave than bring shame to his office. I think he knew his clerk might be a homosexual, but he never said anything. That ended my short career working for Jesus.
– Rick, age 18
One time I went to the charge office to collect our letters. I witnessed a big prisoner beating up a smaller prisoner while the sergeant major looked on. There was just blood everywhere. The large prisoner looked at me; I looked at the sergeant major and just shook my head and turned around and walked away. I was so sickened by it. The next day the sergeant major came past our tent and said, ‘Daardie vuilgoed is dood’ [That rubbish is dead]. We knew he had been beaten to death, even though the official story was that he had hanged himself.
– Alan, age 17
Black and White
I volunteered for Parabats. The guys came around with their maroon berets and said we could be part of this elite unit. It was all a big adventure, and we bought into it. There were five requirements: you had to have a matric; you had to be G1K1; you had to belong to a recognised religious group, like Anglican, NGK or whatever – if you were atheist you were out – you had to pass the intreetoetse, which were physical fitness tests; and the fifth thing was an interview. You stood there in your underpants so they, a doctor and some PF officers, could look at your physique and check you didn’t have flat feet or anything, and you answered their questions, like why you wanted to join. Oh, and if you had any tattoos, you were out. No tattoos. It was a 14-day selection course held at 1 Parachute Battalion in Bloemfontein. Physically it was very tough, but they did it in such a way that there was more opfok than rondfok. It really was unbelievably tough, but it was very positive. The whole objective was to weed out those less physically tough. Out of about 100 that started, there were about 27 left at the end of the PT course. Then there was the jump training, and after two months or so you got your wings and qualified as a paratrooper.
On the course was a coloured guy, a Captain C from the South African Coloured Corps. He was one of the 27 left, and his whole mission was to get into the Reconnaissance Regiment – the Recces. They told him that if he went and did the course and qualified as a paratrooper, they would then put his name forward to go to the Reconnaissance Regiment. Another of the 27 was Captain L, whose mission was to become the first South African to have two wings: air force wings and paratrooper wings. Captain L, who was a helicopter pilot, Captain C and myself became really good friends. When we finished the course and received our wings, I said let’s go to the Spur in Bloemfontein for a burger and some beers, y’know, to celebrate. And C said he didn’t want to go. We said, no, come along, and he replied no. At first we thought it was maybe a money issue. He said, no, he doesn’t want to go because he’d be embarrassed. We said, what the fuck do you mean you’d be embarrassed? And he said they won’t let him into the Spur. So I said to him, kak man, but he insisted they wouldn’t let him in. L, who was quite windgat, said he was a captain in the air force, and he would make such a scene that of course they would let him in. C said, no, what will happen is that there will be this huge palaver and issue, and he’d be too embarrassed because no ways would they let him into the Spur. And I thought, fuck, this is 1985 and they won’t let him into the Spur ’cause he’s coloured. I just thought, here is this guy who is a captain in the military who wants to become a Special Forces soldier and he’s not allowed into the Spur! It was the first time it dawned on me that, fucking hell, this apartheid thing was a real issue.
– John, age 18
I was surprised at how racially integrated the army was. In the mid-eighties we shared all facilities – mess, ablutions, sleeping quarters – but the army still had its own form of segregation. We didn’t shower or eat with other ranks, whether black or white. Black officers were few and far between, as most officers were white, but the segregation was only rank-wise. Admittedly, in the mess, blacks usually ate together, but there was just as much segregation between the SAAF and the Engineers. The air force guys sat at their own tables with their fresh bread and stuff.
– Paul, age 17
My crew on Fleur, a diving, training and torpedo recovery craft, were very tight. We looked out for one another. The crew went ashore in Port Elizabeth and I went off to join my girlfriend. Most of the crew went to a hotel bar to listen to a band. One of the coloured chefs could sing really well, and when the guys asked the band if they’d mind him singing a song, they said it would be great. So he’s on the stage singing when the manager walks in and says, ‘Get that kaffir off the stage.’ Well, I tell you, the navy guys – coloured, Indian, white – took that bar apart. They trashed it completely and then bolted for the ship. We had a golden rule – always make it back to the ship. We could stay out all night, but we had to be back in time, looking presentable, for colours (raising of the flag) at 8 a.m. I got back to a dockside filled with police cars and flashing lights after my quiet romantic night out. All our guys had made it back from the hotel and were lined up at the ship’s railing, looking down at the police, who were there wanting to arrest them. Guys in blue on one side, and guys in blue on another. But on a ship the captain has complete jurisdiction, and he decides whether or not to hand over crew. Needless to say, he didn’t order anybody off the ship.
– Louis, age 17
Right down at the bottom of the barracks of Bravo Squadron of Tiffies in Voortrekkerhoogte there was a very nondescript but very important building on the edge of the lower parade ground. It was the Bravo Squadron donkey boiler. In those days we still had coal-fired water heating for our showers, and this building held the coal, the heaters and a small room for a black guy whose name I didn’t even bother to find out, whose job it was to fire up the donkey boiler so that all the whitey conscripts could have some form of lukewarm water early in the morning and late at night. He was known as Kaffir. He wore an army overall, and whenever the water went cold, it was Kaffir’s fault. I’ll never forget the corporals – who were only one-liners – in Bravo and most of whom slept in the squadron bungalow – calling Kaffir out at all times of the day and night to fire up the donkey so they could have warm water. I was sitting next to my bungalow one day when I heard one of the corporals shouting for Kaffir to make the water warm. This old black guy, I rec
kon he was about 40, came out in an army overall; the corporal, who must have been 18, made him stand to attention in front of him and said to him, ‘Wat is jy?’ [What are you?] And the elderly black guy said, ‘Ek is ’n kaffer, Korporaal’ [I am a kaffir, Corporal]. Everyone laughed, and the corporal said, ‘Maak die water warm, kaffer’ [Heat up the water, kaffir]. He said, ‘Ja, ek sal dit doen want ek is ’n kaffer’ [Yes, I’ll do it because I am a kaffir]. He went and did it. I remember wondering a few hours later whether he took the abuse because he was in fact an ANC plant in the camp who was reporting on training and troop movements, and then I just thought, ag fuck it, it’s not my problem.
– Rob, age 19
Propaganda and Subversion
Part of our re-training was a deeper level of indoctrination. I remember being shown two pictures. The first was of a beautiful African woman in tribal dress. At 17 years old and in an all-male environment, any bare breasts were enough to make you fall in love. The second photograph was of the same woman, except now she had no breasts – just two bloody cavities and her face grimaced in pain. The horror was nauseating. Of course, ‘they’ – the enemy – had done this to her. It was our duty to make sure this didn’t and couldn’t happen again, and it was our duty to make sure the enemy did not get to Johannesburg to do the same thing to our girlfriends and mothers.
– Chris, age 17
During the day, you were generally out doing mortar training, on the parade ground or whatever, but at times you were indoors, in the TV room, for Com Ops. This was the SADF’s idea of indoctrination. Two Com Ops officers were attached to a company, and they had two slots a week to put across the political message of the day. It was meant to be Communications, but it was really just political indoctrination. They talked to us about the Red Threat – die Rooi Gevaar – gave history lessons on Communism in Angola, and told us how Africa was falling apart and what the threat was to South Africa. It was to justify why we were in the army.
The worst job must have been being a Com Ops officer having to address a group of teachers. The teachers, particularly those from Wits and other more liberal universities like Rhodes, gave them a lot of shit, like questioning why they were there. Then you had the teachers from Pukke or Tukkies, who were a lot more verkramp. To give them credit, the officers did try to promote dialogue, but they had a message to get across. A lot of guys were too scared to speak their minds or question things too closely, ’cause they might have been labelled as troublemakers and get kicked off the course. We were careful about what we said. I didn’t contribute much, ’cause I didn’t want to get into shit.
They used the TV to show us footage of trouble in the townships, necklacings and that sort of thing. They told us it was not the SADF doing those terrible things, it was the township people themselves doing it to one another: Xhosas versus Zulus and hostel dwellers versus the township residents. We saw quite a lot of videos justifying why the SADF presence was required in the townships. The video channel was linked so that five companies in different rooms could watch the same thing at the same time. Our group of 50 had finished listening to the lecture and was waiting for the video to start. The officer switched the TV on to the video channel and there was a porn video playing! The okes went berserk! You just heard every single bungalow full of men erupt into cheering. There was this shout of ‘Yeah!’ from all the companies watching. They were so chuffed! The English okes loved it. Some of the Afrikaans guys had never seen anything like it before, and they left the room. The Com Ops oke looked at it for a while before turning it off. I never forgot that particular Com Ops session! Rumour had it that it was the dominee watching it in the video centre!
– Stof, age 24
Just after Basics I was sitting in a bar. Booze was so cheap. Three shots of Kahlua were 15 cents and the milk was free. A Long Tom was 30 cents. On your birthday you had to drink a lit Sambuca. But if you left it too long the glass got very hot and burnt your lips, and you walked around camp with these blistered lips. Anyway, some Dutchman turns to me and says, ‘Hierdie land sal regkom wanneer ons een Engelsman en twee kaffers elke dag kan doodskiet’ [This country will come right when we can shoot one Englishman and two kaffirs every day]. The only reason it was two kaffirs was because there were more of them than us Englishmen. I just shrugged and had another beer.
– Paul, age 17
I always knew I was going to prison for three years. My parents were Jehovah’s Witnesses and I became one in my teens. It was three years in prison for my older brother, then me, and then my younger brother. It must have been very hard on my parents. But, the psyche at that time was so different. There was so much paranoia in the 1980s. It was the height of the Swart Gevaar. If you weren’t part of the military, you were unpatriotic, a Communist and a coward. We even viewed those who went to university just to avoid conscription as compromising their principles. I mean, what happens when you finish? We had been brought up not to see any difference between blacks and whites, and I knew my beliefs wouldn’t change and nor would my approach. I recall this one captain having a full go at me, calling me a coward and a Communist. I asked him what he would do if a terrorist jumped over the wall into his yard. He said he would shoot him. And if ten terrorists jumped over? He said he would shoot them. And a hundred? Shoot them. And a thousand? Well then, they would kill me, he replied. I explained that my faith and trust in a higher power would not change, no matter what the threat. But his would have to. I had a similar discussion with an MP lieutenant whom I met again many years later. He said he remembered our discussion and that I had said I wouldn’t have to change my view, and he acknowledged that he had had to. No one could ever, ever have imagined things would turn out the way they did.
– Alan, age 17
I was an extremely good shot and was one of the State President’s Guards chosen as a sharpshooter within the State President’s Unit. I was given this magnificent R1 with an extended barrel, and day, night and telescopic sights. I also had a motorbike and didn’t have to wear a helmet all of the time. The President, who was then PW Botha, had his own bodyguards, but when he travelled, say, between Parliament and his house, I had to follow at a distance. Or if he was delivering a speech at a stadium or something, I would be set up there before he got there. I was an 18-year-old guy using a high-powered rifle to protect the President. I had the responsibility of the decision to pull the trigger or not. I could kill without worrying about taking the shot or about the consequences of killing someone. The funny thing is, people always think you’d be looking for a black guy, but it wasn’t the case. A white person would be able to get much closer to the President than a black. It’s very strange looking back on it now. I was Level One security; I could go just about anywhere, do anything and no one would stop me. Being with the SPG, no one ever questioned you; there was this autonomy. It was exciting then, but looking at it now, at how much power I had, I mean, how did they know I wouldn’t shoot the President?
– Brett, age 18
I was a religious objector and one day this guy arrived. He was a true conscientious objector. As a Jehovah’s Witness, the main thing is we are neutral and not politically involved in anything. We don’t believe in the ethic of war, so it was more of a religious thing, but this guy was a pacifist and didn’t agree with the government and what they were doing. There was so much hype when he was brought into the military prison, because he was ‘a Communist and a terrible person’. When I saw him, there was this short little guy who looked a little bit like Cat Stevens, and I thought: who could this guy be harmful to?
– Alan, age 17
After the Basic Training phase, the entire 1 SAI Battalion had a variety concert to lift up the morale of the troeps. Each platoon had to participate, and it was up to them how many troeps were involved: it could be just one person or the entire platoon. You could do anything – sing, dance, music, drama, opera – as long as it was ‘above the belt’. One of the platoons decided to perform ‘Beds are Burning’ by the Aussie band M
idnight Oil. It was a huge hit then. It was very funny watching a fake band miming and pretending to be Midnight Oil while a thousand troeps went mad, dancing and singing every word of the song. What was even funnier was that I had heard that Midnight Oil had apparently donated money from sales of the album on which the ‘Beds are Burning’ song appeared to the ANC. There the troeps and the brass were, all going mal to a group that was supporting the enemy. We all danced while not the beds, but the borders, were in fact burning. I found it very ironic.
– Rick, age 18
In our own way we supported the End Conscription Campaign and managed to do so in the army newspaper, Uniform. We would do record reviews, and we always chose to review a record put out by Shifty Records. They were very active in the ECC and produced many albums and songs that were staunchly anti-establishment and anti-conscription. ‘Hou My Vas Korporaal’ was not a lovely song about the strong bond between a troep and his corporal! They never twigged that the Englishmen, who were all former Rhodes students, were promoting and giving publicity to records known for their strong anti-war lyrics and sentiment. We also refused to cover the townships, which we justified by using their own rigid structure of rules and regulations against them. If we wrote about the township operations, we might accidentally leak COIN information, and that could jeopardise lives. We also stated that we could not go into the townships because we had not received any urban warfare training and would therefore be a liability. Hmmm. Yes, of course not, they concurred. Meanwhile, we hadn’t received any bush warfare training either, and shouldn’t have been allowed on the Border. We also got free movie tickets and packs from Ster-Kinekor, UIP and Nu Metro. Every Friday the new movies came out, and although we didn’t go to previews, we could go and see a movie the day it was released. If the colonel came around on a Friday morning the office was always empty – we were out on a story – ja right, sitting in the dark scoffing popcorn, drinking Coke and watching movies.