Ivor Markman
Rivonia Trialist Dennis Goldberg
HAUNTING MEMORIES: Rivonia trialist Denis Goldberg plays “Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika” on the recorder he was given while serving his 22 year sentence in Pretoria Central Prison. He used to play the song the night before his comrades, who had received the death sentence, were taken to the gallows.
Ivor Markman
Writing a book is difficult task at the best of times, but writing one containing hurtful experiences about being locked up in prison during the apartheid era is extremely painful, as Rivonia trialist, Denis Goldberg, 76, who served 22 years of a life imprisonment sentence for sabotage in Pretoria prisons, disclosed.
“The book is a personal history against the background of the history of our struggle,” he said.
“I needed distance to be able to write the book, (away) from the details, hurts, pain and the pettiness,” he said.
“When I started writing about 90 day detention and interrogation, I had nightmares and couldn't sleep.
“I wanted to tell the story of my life against the background of the struggle. It's a story of difficulty, of commitment, of courage, of endurance, of growing up in a home where my parents were political activists. I grew up having political comrades in our home and being taught to respect people - just because they're people.
“For me the struggle years started when I was five or six years old (when I) become aware of racism and exclusion of people,” he said.
As a youngster he heard “awful language” describing people, such as ‘Harvies,’ ‘three-eights,’ ‘two-eights,’ to describe coloured folk. ‘Coolies’ was used to describe those of Indian descent.
“It's undignified to treat people as nothing, I grew up that way. You respect people because they're people,” he said.
“I have a conscience. It's not right, you've got to change it.”
After graduating from UCT as an engineer in 1956, Goldberg became politically active.
He was a member of the Congress of Democrats, working very closely with the African National Congress, the Coloured People's Congress and the Indian Congress.
“I was never banned because I was ordered by my comrades not to speak in public. People who spoke in public got banned as soon as they developed a following,” he said.
In 1963 he was arrested and tried for sabotage and sentenced to four terms of life imprisonment.
He described his book: “It's not a day to day account, there are some broad passages of the daily routine, problems over letters, visits, being cut off from news for 16 years (with) no newspapers, no radio news. There wasn't television at the time,” he said.
While in prison prisoners took the Government to court for the right to have newspapers.
They appealed to the Appeals Court in Bloemfontein, which sat with a five judge bench under acting Chief Justice Wessels.
Their intention, he said, was “to embarrass the government and judges who don't like officials behaving stupidly and embarrassing them in the eyes of the world. The whole point was to show the absurdity of the censorship and the unreasonableness of it,” he said.
Goldberg said the problem was that the Commissioner of Prisons was controlled by the law but the law gave him the right to do as he pleased.
The prisoners lost the case, but afterwards acting Chief Justice Wessels came to see him in jail.
After having said during his judgment he couldn't intervene with the Prisons Department, he told Goldberg he had arranged for the prisoners to get newspapers.
“I read everything, the smalls adverts, and I discovered a thing called a 'body-stocking' and 'mini-skirts' and 'pantyhose' - I didn't know about such things. Of course I read these adverts for psychological reasons,” he said.
IN SACRAMENTO: Dennis Goldberg photographed at a public meeting in Sacramento. California, after his release from prison.
After a while the prisoners were allowed to procure musical instruments.
“I got a recorder and a guitar. I'm not a musician, I can't play by ear but as a schoolboy I learnt music notation.
"If I could find the notes, I could write them down.
"Eventually I would have the whole piece and then I could play it,” he said.
For three years Goldberg was in what was known in prison jargon as ‘Beverly Hills,’ the jail which held the prisoners on death row.
In the evening, for between 20 minutes and half-an-hour, Goldberg’s comrades on death row would sing hymns and freedom songs with strong conviction and harmony.
When word got out two or three condemned prisoner were to be hanged the following day, the prisoners would start to sing.
The others would join in until 3 000 prisoners were singing, the singing continuing right through the night.
“Now I can't sing but I did learn to play some of the songs on my recorder,” said Goldberg.
“I would play on my recorder and the sound carried through the prison."
Years later, when Goldberg arrived in Cape Town, the same day Nelson Mandela had a "Meet the Press" day on Robben Island, Goldberg was fetched from the airport and taken by ferry to the function.
“As I got there a young man in dreadlocks came up to me and said 'Are you Comrade Goldberg?'
“Yes,” replied Goldberg.
“You played your penny whistle for us. You gave us such hope,” he said.
“We were taken away from that prison to a prison they’d modified specially for the white fellows.
"I played ‘farewell’ and for the first time in my life I could actually express my sorrow we were leaving them alone.
Goldberg kept a detailed diary of Braam Fisher's last year and the shoddy medical treatment he received.
Fisher was suffering from cancer and doctors performed an operation.
“Apparently he had a proctoscopy.
"They did a section in the theatre (which didn’t) actually show cancer, but (looked) suspiciously so.
"It was sent off for a pathology examination."
Goldberg said the individual doctors would have done the right thing and submitted their reports to the Prisons Department.
“But nobody ever looked at them,” he said.
The report disappeared.
Eventually Fischer fell and broke his leg.
He lay in bed in absolute agony but no-one came to see him.
“When the medical orderly came he said 'can you wiggle your toes?',” said Goldberg.
“Yes!” replied Fischer.
“'Then it's not broken,' said the orderly."
A doctor did eventually come and Fischer was sent for X-rays.
His leg was broken at the top of the femur.
“When they pinned it they discovered he had cancer, it had spread throughout his body.
"They should have found it six months before, (but) they just didn't look.
“After Steve Biko died, doctors were instructed by the Medical and Dental Council 'You do medicine, leave security to the police!'
“The police would scare the shit out of the doctors,” said Goldberg.
Photos & Text: Copyright 2013, Ivor Markman.