Mr Drum walks into colour-bar churches
I visited several churches, English and Afrikaans, in and around Johannesburg. I went to Irene, a Dutch Reformed Church, in Quarter Street.
I walked through a side door into the body of the church and sat down. The service had started. There was no comment, though, after the service as I walked out, there was some whispering.
My next visit took me to the Central Methodist Church in Kruis Street. A church official with a smile on his face asked me to go to the gallery as, he said, the hall downstairs was full. But there were many empty seats downstairs. The following Sunday I went to the Nederduits Gereformeerde of Hervormde Kerk (D.R.C.) Bez. Valley. Youths who were sitting in a pew motioned for me not to sit next to them. I moved their Bibles aside and sat down; then they edged away until a good three feet separated us. Somebody in the pew behind me patted me on the back and said, ‘This is a white church, you can't be in here. You must go.’ I turned round to face him, then he and his friend yanked me to my feet and led me out of the church. Outside, their Christian calm returned to them, and they explained to me that I should go to ‘my own church’.
The Presbyterian Church in Noord Street allowed me in, yet the one in Orange Grove refused me admittance. They explained that the hall was rented from some boys' club whose policy did not allow Non-whites into the hall. They also said something about the laws of the country.
At the Kensington D.R.C. Gemeente, an aged church official was just about to close the doors when he saw me. He bellowed in Afrikaans: ‘What soek jy?’ (What do you want?)
‘I've come to church,’ I said.
He shoved me violently, shouting for me to get away. I walked off dejected. A few yards away was the Baptist Church, and as I walked towards it I began to think that people didn't want me to share their church. As I walked through the Baptist door I was tensed, waiting for that tap on the shoulder … but instead I was given a hymn book and welcomed into the church. I sat through the service.
At the Fairview Gemeente of the Assemblies of God the welcome party at the door invited me in but offered me a seat at the back. Everybody was polite, very Christian, and wanted to know where I came from. This up and down treatment wasn't doing my nerves much good. The previous day, at the Claim Street Seventh Day Adventist Church, I had been stopped at the church door and told I could not go in. Then a church official thought that perhaps I could be placed somewhere at the back, but another was definitely against it. So I turned away. A week or two later I went again and was asked to sit at the back. Later I was asked to leave. ‘We object to your presence,’ said a large white man.
On yet another Sunday I went to the D.R.C. Church, Langlaagte, Johannesburg, in the company of a photographer. I walked up the pathway to the door of the church where I was stopped by a young European usher. I explained to him that I wanted to attend the service.
‘But this is a church for whites only. Why don't you go to one of your own churches?’ the usher said. He hesitated for a while, then he took me round the side of the church, and made me wait outside while he consulted with someone inside. After a while he returned and said: ‘I'm sorry, but the baas says that you cannot come into this church.’ Just as I reached the gate on my way out I heard someone hurrying after me. It was the deacon and he was calling me. ‘What is it you want, my boy?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to worship in this church. But they say I cannot.’
‘All right, my boy, follow me.’ The deacon took me inside and led me to an isolated pew. The service began. I saw the deacon walk up to whisper something to the predikant, and immediately afterwards the doors were locked. I made up my mind to behave correctly. It just so happened that it was Nagmaal (Communion) and my fancy was caught by the ritual. When the collection saucers came round I prepared to give my little coin, but the official passed me. As they sang the last hymn, I rose quietly and tiptoed out. Just as I was walking down the stairs, I noticed three plainclothes men coming towards me. I hesitated. Calling me by name, one of the three men told me to follow him into a car. Inside the car a thick-set man said: ‘What are you people trying to do?’ I kept quiet. ‘You are from Drum, are you not?’ I remained quiet. ‘I'm Major Spengler, Special Branch.’ I was impressed. ‘Are you a member of the African National Congress?’
‘No.’
‘Any other organization?’
‘No. Only Drum.’
Another white man joined us in the car. He was asked to identify me. He scrutinized my face, then shook his head. Then an old lady from the outcoming congregation was saying, ‘Where is he? Where is he? I've got to see him.’ She bent down to look into the car. She looked at me and said, ‘Jou Satan!’
Major Spengler instructed a police officer to take me in the car and drop me in town, ‘otherwise the boys will flay him’. At the corner of Commissioner and West Streets, African Policemen were called to identify me. They ended by arguing with me about my surname, said it wasn't genuine. Then they released me.
Next day the Special Branch quizzed the Editor, asked him if he believed in apartheid! All this police action just because a Non-white wanted to go to church.
On another Saturday I again went to the Seventh Day Adventist Church. I walked through the people waiting outside the church, hoping to find somebody I could ask to allow me in. At the head of the stairs in the doorway of the church I was suddenly yanked off my feet and rushed down the steps. A big, hefty man, without even stopping to ask me to leave the church, twisted my arm behind my back and together with two others bundled me over to a waiting car. It was the ‘bum's rush’. When we got to the car my huge escort pressed me sharply into it. My head struck the side and started bleeding slowly. The Editor who had been watching from the street came up to protest at my arrest by these churchgoers. He was grabbed too, and bundled into the car. The car drove off, churchmen crowded next to me. Meanwhile, our photographer made a dash for it. The last time I saw him he was taking the corner with members of the congregation chasing hot on his heels.
I was driven to Marshall Square, where I was formally charged with trespass, at the insistence of the deacon. There was no charge to bring up against the Editor, who was released. I was ‘cooled off’ for an hour and then released on a bail of £5, and later went to court.
But they couldn't find any charge to pin against me either, and the case was later withdrawn.
On another Sunday I went to St George's Anglican Church in Parktown. It was a beautiful church built in a lovely garden, and it had all the signs of being for ‘posh’ people. I walked up the garden path to the door and went in. I selected my seat. Nobody paid any attention to me, no one stared. There seemed to be nothing unusual about me being there. I still had another church to go to, so I left in about fifteen minutes. On my way out a priest asked me why I was leaving. He advised me to hurry back before all the seats were taken!
Almost every Anglican church in Johannesburg would allow me to attend. One priest said there was a special 5 a.m.(!) mass for Non-whites and it would be best not to attend a ‘white’ mass. Another said he wouldn't allow ‘experimentation’. But one priest said: ‘Why not come over for tea afterwards.’ Thirteen Catholic churches gave me the Okay. Priests said: ‘Yes … sure … certainly … you don't have to ask … doors open to all.’
I hurried on to the Methodist Church, Orange Grove, and walked briskly to the door. Somebody met me at the door and offered me a hymn book. I selected my seat and sat down. I was paging through the book when a man walked over threateningly to me from the front pew—then he said, ‘Glad to have you with us!’ There was a big Christian brotherly smile on his face, and the grip of his handshake was firm and sincere. They were trying to make something of people being ‘brothers in Christ’. Their battle was a difficult one, but at least they had one thing on their side … the promise that man was fundamentally good.
For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.
—CORINTHIANS 12:13.