Jacob of the Journal of African Literature of the Diaspora has been pestering me to commit to a time when he can interview me for his special edition.
I flirt with the idea of insisting that I will write the paper myself, rather than be interviewed for it. It would be a foot in the door if I ever wanted to return to academia. The problem is, I’m not sure I remember how to write like an academic. It is a particular discourse that you lose if you don’t use it for a few years. It’s like becoming rusty in a foreign language, and I am very rusty indeed.
Two years ago, I could not only understand phrases like “heuristic meta-analysis,” “empiricism of hubris,” and “collective locus of agency,” but use them correctly. Now I fear I would confuse my logocentric assumptions with my epistemic violence.
I could take the time to brush up on some of the most used catchphrases, but time is what I don’t have. The deadline for submission is rushing towards me, and hurrying is something I’ve become bad at. Perhaps it would be easier to submit to the process of interview.
I message Jacob and let him know I am available to be interviewed. My phone rings almost immediately.
“Would you really count John Coetzee as an African writer of the diaspora?” I ask as we get underway. I know he is supposed to be interviewing me, but I have questions.
“Well, yes. He was born and raised in South Africa, and now lives in Adelaide. That’s the very definition of diaspora.”
“You know he doesn’t refer to himself as a South African any more, never mind an African? He calls himself an Australian. He has taken citizenship of that country and refers to himself and his fellow antipodeans as ‘We Australians.’”
“Yes, I’ve heard that. But it doesn’t negate the reality of his origins. He lived the first sixty-two years of his life in Africa, and only the last several months in Australia. That doesn’t make him an Australian, whatever he may claim.”
This is exactly what I think. It is wonderful to hear that someone agrees with me. Some of the stress of my furious internal argument abates.
You are not an Australian, Prof. Coetzee, you are not. And you cannot wish yourself into being one.
“This special edition we are working on deals with the disjuncture between real-life narratives and the fictionalised versions of them. And while we acknowledge that turning any experience into narrative necessarily involves a form of fictionalising, we are interested in exploring that tense and contested space between what we may loosely term fiction and what we may even more loosely term reality.”
I make assenting noises. So far so predictable.
“Your name came up because of recent revelations in the press about your assault. The narrative that appears in Coetzee’s book has been replaced, as it were, by a new narrative. We are no longer dealing with a standard farm-violence scenario—a stranger-danger, cross-racial sexual assault. It now appears that the whole incident was masterminded by a white man, your father. That changes the complexion of the thing, doesn’t it?”
I agree that it does.
“Which is not to say, of course, that Coetzee’s narrative has been invalidated. It remains an iconic novel of massive importance and resonance. But our knowledge of what really happened changes the lens through which we view Disgrace. We might, for example, start to question Coetzee’s automatic and uncritical acceptance of the stranger-rape scenario, mightn’t we?”
“Well . . .”
“But let me not get stuck in lecturer mode.” He chuckles. “The point of today’s exercise is to make room for your narrative. How do you interpret this new dialogue between what ‘really’ happened and what Coetzee wrote about? It must have added new layers of interest for you.”
“Interest doesn’t quite capture it.”
“I’m all ears.”
Now that I have an audience hanging on my words, anxious to hear about these issues that have preoccupied me for the last two years, I hardly know where to begin. I feel my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. I ask myself if this is really happening, if I will allow it to happen. Will I really blow my chance to be understood, to express everything that has been boiling inside my brain?
“I never accepted Coetzee’s narrative in the first place,” I say. I hear scratching sounds as Jacob takes notes. “I was never that woman—fiction-Lucy. I was never her. I don’t believe any woman is her. She is the product of male fantasy. The angelic victim who accepts her rape as a natural part of the order of things. Who takes the punishment for colonialism upon her own body and happily bears the child that results from it. Who chooses to live amid her assailants and share her life with them.”
Jacob makes interested noises.
“If the message of atonement and reconciliation had been framed in any other way, I could have accepted it. If it had been represented in any other way besides the rape of a woman. That’s what places it beyond the pale. And the fact that he used my own rape as his template for this message makes it even worse. No woman’s rape should be appropriated and used as a metaphor. It’s completely unacceptable.”
“A valid argument,” mutters Jacob. “And yet Coetzee’s book has been well received, hasn’t it? It has gained considerable traction as the final word on the reconciliation narrative. It is unlikely that there will be another text of sufficient stature to replace it. It straddles our literature like a colossus.”
“I like to think my own narrative has the power to unseat it. Especially now that the waters have been muddied with evidence of my father’s involvement in the rape. It has become just another incident of family violence. I think when people see that Coetzee got the whole story wrong, it will undermine his credibility.”
There is a sound like air being squeezed out of a cushion. It is Jacob laughing. “I’m afraid I can’t see that happening. If you want your own rape to become the dominant narrative, you will have to tell it yourself. And in such a way that it eclipses his. That’s not very likely, is it?”
“It has to happen. It has to. I will make it happen.”
“What do you want from John Coetzee, Ms. Lurie? Really, when you come right down to it, what do you want from him?”
“I want him to sit opposite me while I explain why he shouldn’t have used my rape in his book. Then I want him to look me in the eye while he apologises and acknowledges that he was wrong.”
More air wheezing out of a cushion. “How will you achieve this face-to-face meeting? Will you pursue him to the ends of the earth? Will you go all the way to Adelaide?”
“If I have to.”
“So you are Ahab and he is your white whale.”
“You’re not the first to make that observation.”
“You will never unseat or even unsettle Coetzee’s narrative because he is canonical, and you are fringe. He is the English literature degree, and you are the gender studies module. He is the default and you are the outlier. You don’t have the power to replace his version with your own.”
“You are probably right, but I won’t stop trying.”
“We at the Journal of African Literature of the Diaspora are happy to do what we can to give you a platform. This interview will serve as your first public challenge to Coetzee. If he still moves in academic circles, he will hear of it. Of course, it will be framed in such a way as to make it clear that you are the hyena snapping and whining at the heels of a lion, hoping for scraps of its meal. The most dignified course for Coetzee will be to ignore it.”
I am not sure whether he says these last words out loud or not.
TRACY WHITEGIRL’S LEGAL BLOG
ON THE INTERNET
Today is the day. In the matter of the State v David Lurie, the defendant’s daughter Lucy Lurie is expected to testify for the state. Public interest is running high and the courtroom will be packed with journalists from all over the world.
The state is represented by Bheki Khumalo who will lead Ms. Lurie as she presents her evidence of what happened on that fateful evening when she was assaulted in her father’s presence by six men who had broken into the house.
Mr. Lurie is accused of having planned and orchestrated the attack. It is the state’s case that he hired the six men to make the break-in look like a random home invasion. His motive is believed to have been the money paid out by the insurance company after his farmhouse was torched by the men. Police sources say they might never have looked more closely at the case if they hadn’t been tipped off by the insurance company.
Insurance assessors became suspicious when Mr. Lurie tried to inflate the value of his property and possessions as the claim dragged on over two years. Had he not drawn attention to himself in this way, the alleged fraud might never have been discovered.
The judge, Mohale Mkhwane, has entered the courtroom and invited the state to call its next witness. Lucy Lurie is sworn in and settles herself in the witness box. She looks pale but composed, glancing only occasionally at the table where the defendant’s team sits. Her father is there, flanked by high-priced lawyers, and looking sober and respectable in a three-piece suit.
Advocate Khumalo thanks Ms. Lurie for her presence here today and expresses sympathy for her ongoing ordeal. He does so at such length that Judge Mkhwane invites him to move matters along.
KHUMALO SC: Miss Lurie, could you describe for us what happened on the night of the third of April when you had dinner with your father?
MS. LURIE: Certainly, Advocate Khumalo.
MKHWANE J: Please address your responses to me, Ms. Lurie. Not to counsel for the state.
MS. LURIE: Right, yes. Sorry, M’Lady. On the evening in question, I arrived at my father’s house at about five o’clock in the afternoon.
KHUMALO SC: Were you expected?
MS. LURIE: Yes, it was a long-standing arrangement, and one we had confirmed by text message as recently as that morning.
KHUMALO SC: If it please the court, I would like to enter into evidence these transcripts taken from the defendant’s phone and the witness’s phone, showing that the arrangement had been discussed between them several times over the preceding weeks.
MKHWANE J: Hand them to the bailiff. Continue, Ms. Lurie.
MS. LURIE: Yes, M’Lady. I had been at my father’s house for nearly three hours when the front door burst open and six men streamed into the house. They were armed with knives. One of them took my father away to make him reveal the whereabouts of the safe, and the other five attacked me. They held knives to my throat and made me take off my jeans and pants. Then they raped me one by one.
KHUMALO SC: Did they discuss it among themselves first?
MS. LURIE: They seemed to. They mimed the action. I assumed they were discussing whether there was enough time for them all to rape me. Then they just got on with it.
KHUMALO SC: Did they all have erections?
MS. LURIE: Yes, M’Lady.
KHUMALO SC: Did they all penetrate your vagina with their penises?
MS. LURIE: Yes, they did, M’Lady.
KHUMALO SC: Did any of them make use of condoms?
MS. LURIE: No, M’Lady.
KHUMALO SC: Did they all ejaculate?
MS. LURIE: I can’t be sure of that, M’Lady. I lost track. Some of them raped me more than once. I know the doctor who examined me and performed the rape kit retrieved several samples of semen.
KHUMALO SC: Where was your father during all this?
MS. LURIE: As far as I knew, he was being forced to open his safe by the sixth man. But then the sixth man was in the room too. The others stood back and let him take his turn raping me. I was numb and exhausted by then. I had been in that position for so long that I couldn’t feel much any more. That was when I opened my eyes and saw my father looking at me, at what was happening to me.
KHUMALO SC: And what did you see in his eyes, Miss Lurie?
DESHEN SC: Objection, M’Lady. Counsel is asking the witness to speculate about the significance of the defendant’s facial expressions. That is well beyond the scope of the witness’s expertise.
MKHWANE J: Your objection is sustained, Mr. Deshen. Mr. Khumalo, kindly limit your questioning to matters within the direct scope of this witness’s knowledge.
KHUMALO SC: As your ladyship pleases. Miss Lurie, what was your father doing while you were being assaulted?
MS. LURIE: I used to think he was staring in horror at what was happening to me—that his inaction was caused by the paralysis of shock. But in recent months I have come to realise that he was simply . . . watching.
DESHEN SC: Objection, M’Lady. Counsel has sneaked this speculation into the record under the guise of legitimate observation. It is entirely groundless. The witness has no way of knowing what the defendant was thinking or feeling during this terrible assault.
MKHWANE J: Sustained again, Mr. Deshen. The witness’s testimony with regard to what the defendant was doing during the rape will be struck from the record.
If Lucy Lurie thought she had a tough time during Advocate Khumalo’s examination-in-chief, she soon discovered what a tough time really meant when counsel for the defence, Advocate Imraan Deshen, began his cross-examination of her. Examination-in-chief is a much friendlier and more rule-bound process. There are strict limits on how counsel may phrase his or her questions, and the extent to which he or she may put words in the witness’s mouth.
Examination-in-chief is to cross-examination as a civilised tea party is to the Wild West. During cross-examination, almost anything goes. Counsel can be as hostile as he likes. He can interrupt the witness, badger her, put words in her mouth, express disbelief at what she is saying, and call her a straight-up liar if he wants.
This was the part where the prosecution’s legal team should have taken great care in preparing Ms. Lurie for what was to come. Perhaps they did, but it was difficult anyway. No amount of preparation can steel you for the process of having your integrity, your character, your very being flayed alive in open court.
DESHEN SC: What were you wearing to have dinner with your father, Miss Lurie?
MS. LURIE: What was I wearing? Gosh, it must be on record somewhere. Jeans, I think, and . . .
DESHEN SC: Low-rise skinny jeans, according to police records, Miss Lurie, and a skimpy low-cut top. M’Lady, the defence would like to submit into evidence this artist’s impression of the clothing Miss Lurie was wearing on the night in question. As you can see, Miss Lurie, the jeans you were wearing were skin-tight, and the top was cut so low as to reveal a portion of your breasts. I put it to you, Miss Lurie, that no decent young woman would wear such an outfit to have dinner at her father’s house.
MS. LURIE: No, I assure you, there was nothing at all unusual about that outfit. It was very much in fashion two years ago. . .
DESHEN SC: And now, Miss Lurie? And now? Do you still wear such harlot’s garb?
MS. LURIE: Well, no. Not any more. But that’s because of the trauma I experienced which made me believe, incorrectly as it turned out, that I was somehow responsible. . .
DESHEN SC: Shame, Miss Lurie. That would be a good word for what you experienced, wouldn’t it? Shame, for the inappropriately sexual clothes you chose to flaunt your body in under your father’s roof. Shame, for the lack of decorum that let you visit your own father dressed like a temptress—like the Whore of Babylon herself.
MS. LURIE: No, you’ve got it all wrong. Those clothes are normal street wear for a woman in her twenties, or of any age for that matter.
DESHEN SC: Then why have you stopped wearing them, Miss Lurie? Why do you now drape yourself like a woman of decency and propriety, if not because you have realised the error of your ways? If not because you have acknowledged to yourself, if to no one else, that you brought your rape upon yourself by dressing like a sexual object? If you clothe yourself as a sexual object, how can you blame the rest of the world when it treats you as such? The world takes you at your own valuation, and you valued yourself as a common tramp. Of course, you got raped. How could it have been otherwise?
KHUMALO SC: Objection, M’Lady. Counsel is badgering the witness.
MKHWANE J: Yes, indeed. Mr. Deshen, I think you’ve made your point.
In every criminal case, the defence team has one crucial decision to make—whether to put the defendant on the stand or not. The correct decision is almost always to keep the defendant as far from testifying as possible. Many defendants are champing at the bit to get their moment in court, convinced that all the judge or jury needs to find in their favour is a few well-chosen words from them. They are nearly always wrong.
The problem with defendants is that they are usually guilty, which means that the only contribution they can make to their own case on the witness stand is to sink it. It’s all very well for the defendant to present his version of events to the court. Sometimes this can even be helpful. The trouble starts during cross-examination when prosecuting counsel has carte blanche to rip the defendant’s testimony to pieces, to tie him up in knots, and to expose him as the liar he (very often) is.
Analysts are watching the David Lurie trial with interest to see which way the defence team will jump. David Lurie has been on their witness list from the beginning, but that was understood to be no more than an exercise in keeping their options open. The question is: will they actually call him to the stand?
Pundits have also speculated about whether Lucy Lurie will be in court to watch her father’s testimony if he does take the stand. Will she want to hear his version of events, or will she choose to absent herself? And will Lurie himself speak more freely with his daughter out of the courtroom than if she is in it? Surely her physical presence watching and listening as he gives his testimony will inhibit him in some way?
DESHEN SC: Good morning, Mr. Lurie. Please accept the thanks of the court for being willing to assist us in this matter.
DAVID LURIE: It’s a pleasure. I know Your Ladyship’s time is valuable, and mine is too. I’m sure we can sort this out quickly enough if we put our minds to it.
DESHEN SC: I’m sure we can, Mr. Lurie. Would you please explain to this court what you were hoping to achieve when you hired those men to break into your house?
DAVID LURIE: Certainly, M’Lady. You must understand that the farmhouse in Worcester was originally the property of my wife’s parents. They gave it to her when we got married, and she in turn left it to me when she died.
DESHEN SC: I see. A mixed blessing, perhaps?
DAVID LURIE: Precisely. I was left with a millstone around my neck, with most of my capital tied up in it. I’m an urban creature, M’Lady, happiest when I am close to the shops, the theatre, my golf club. The farmhouse offered a rural existence far from these creature comforts, and it was stifling me. I admit it freely, M’Lady. Stifling me.
DESHEN SC: Very understandable, I’m sure.
DAVID LURIE: I longed to sell the farmhouse, but it was such a bad time. Two years ago, the property market was at its nadir. It was a buyer’s market, and nothing was moving. Properties were spending months, if not years, on the market, with no takers unless the owners dropped the price to such an extent that they were virtually giving it away.
DESHEN SC: I hate to play the devil’s advocate here, but could you not have waited it out? The property market has recovered well in the last year, after all.
DAVID LURIE: Look, I suppose I could have, but Your Ladyship must understand that I was getting impatient. I had lived in that farmhouse for nearly twenty-five years. I didn’t know if the property market would ever recover enough for me to get a decent amount of money for the house. And I’d been faithfully paying my insurance premiums for all that time. Was it really so unreasonable of me to want something back?
MKHWANE J: Insurance companies! Don’t get me started. They are the worst. You pay and pay and pay for years, but as soon as you want them to pay you, they have a thousand reasons not to.
DAVID LURIE: Exactly, M’Lady. It occurred to me that the house was worth more on paper than it was on the market, and that the quickest way for me to access that money was via my insurance policy.
DESHEN SC: Mr. Lurie, it is my duty as an officer of this court to remind you at this time that you have accepted a deal from the prosecution whereby you will testify fully and frankly to the events of the night in question in return for leniency with regard to insurance fraud. Do you understand the terms of this arrangement?
DAVID LURIE: I do.
DESHEN SC: You have testified by affidavit to the fact that you hired these men to set fire to your farmhouse so that you could claim the insurance money on it. But now the court needs to know why you also asked them to rape your daughter. It seems extraneous. Did you have a grudge against her?
DAVID LURIE: Goodness, no, M’Lady. Not at all. I have no objection in the world to the girl. It was just for authenticity. It had to look like a real break-in, you see, but I didn’t want them to steal anything of real value. I was going to take the valuables—the electronics, a few bits of jewellery—out with me in a backpack, and everything else was supposed to burn in the fire. So what could the motivation for the break-in be if not robbery? I immediately thought of rape. My daughter is an attractive girl, or at least she was. You might not think so to look at her now, but she used to be pretty. No one would question that as a motive. They broke in to rape her. It made sense.
DESHEN SC: Forgive me, Mr. Lurie, but I have to ask. Did you have no qualms about making this decision? Did it not trouble you to think about the ordeal your daughter would undergo?
DAVID LURIE: Of course it did, M’Lady. I’m not a monster. I thought about it long and hard before I made this decision. But the fact is, my daughter and I have never been close. She was much closer to her mother than to me. And she was part of the problem. She was very attached to the farmhouse and didn’t want to sell it. Her mother left it to both of us, but it was insured in my name only. I thought that after the rape, she would be too disoriented to look closely at the title deeds and start demanding half of the money. And I was right. She didn’t give it a second thought.
DESHEN SC: I see. Yes, I see. I think I speak for this court as a whole when I say that you had no choice. You did what you had to do.
DAVID LURIE: I knew if I had the opportunity to stand up and tell my story that you would see it my way. I’m a reasonable man, M’Lady. And this is a court full of reasonable men. Mutatis mutandis, of course, M’Lady. We are all reasonable men.
In a stunning twist in the case of the State v David Lurie, the accused, Mr. David Lurie, seemed to talk the court around to his way of thinking this morning.
Before today, commentators were adamant in their belief that the defence was making a serious misstep in putting Mr. Lurie on the stand at all. They believed he could accomplish nothing beyond giving the state more ammunition to hammer him on in cross-examination.
Mr. Lurie proved the naysayers wrong in his evidence-in-chief today. The lawyers, the audience in court, and the judge seemed to be eating out of his hand. Even this journalist has to own herself convinced. When David Lurie got the bit between his teeth and explained why he’d had no choice but to order the gang rape of his own daughter, you could have heard a pin drop.
What a triumph for the defence. When we look back on this case and talk about the moment at which the momentum of the trial swung away from the prosecution and towards the defence, this is what we will be discussing. Today was a black day for the prosecution, a black day indeed. I don’t see how they can recover from this. David Lurie has dealt a stunning blow to the state’s case, and most pundits can’t see the prosecution coming back from it.