Among the lawyers for the defence were George Bizos, Sydney Kentridge and Joel Carlson.
The names (some misspelt) of the 22 were recorded as19
Mr. Samson Ratshivande Ndou
Mr. David Motau
Mrs. Nonzoma Winnie Mandela
Mr. Hiengani Jackson Mahlaule
Mr. Elliot Goldberg Tshabangu
Miss Joyce Nomala Sikhakhane
Mr. Nanko Paulus Matshaba
Mr. Lawrence Ndzanga
Mrs. Rita Anita Ndzanga
Mr. Joseph Sikalala
Mr. David Dalton Tsotetsi
Mr. Victor Emmanuel Mazitulela
Mr. George Mokwebo
Mr. Joseph Chamberlain Nobanda
Mr. Simon Mosikare
Mr. Douglas Mtshetshe Mvembe
Miss Venus Thokozile Mngoma
Miss Martha Dhlamini
Mr. Owen Msimilele Vanqa
Mr. Livingstone Mancoko
Mr. Peter Zexforth Magubane
Mr. Samuel Solomon Pholotho
The detainees were taken to Pretoria from all around the country, some journeys longer than others, where they were held in solitary confinement and worked on by operatives to create evidence for this trial. In terms of apartheid law, they could be held for 90 days without being charged, without access to lawyers.
Weeks and then months passed. Winter turned to spring. On the other side of the world, in the United States, the music festival that came to be known as Woodstock was taking place, a gathering of peace and unity and harmony in protest against the controversial Vietnam War. While this outdoor demonstration by half a million peace-loving people made news around the world, it could not have been further from the oppression that was happening in South Africa at the same time. Locked away, their personal freedom brutally taken from them, with no news from the outside world, and no visitors allowed, the detained persons in their cells could scarcely tell day from night. They were taken from their cells, at any time, only to be interrogated and tortured by men and women trained to make their incarceration unbearable.
Among the detainees, three young men died soon after their arrest – Michael Shivute, on the night of his detention; Caleb Mayekiso, nineteen days later, and the Imam Abdullah Haron, four months after being detained.
Only when the summer heat was dry and stifling would the 22 see daylight again, on trial in the Old Synagogue. They sat in the dock, hearing themselves being described as guerrillas, spies and terrorists. What they were, in reality, were ordinary people – activists, trade unionists, ‘organisers’, individual cogs in the network of messengers, pamphlet distributors and social workers trying to support the oppressed population. They did have a singular motive, however: freedom for South Africa.
In the courtroom constables armed with automatic pistols at the ready sat behind the rows of the accused. Dishevelled and dispirited, in worn-out clothing and obviously in strained health, by now the prisoners were shadows of their former selves. Their families had last seen them nearly a year before, and the toll of poor food rations and lack of medical care, eyesight affected by being kept away in dark, freezing dungeons would have been visible.
They might have wondered who their fellow captives were and where they were from. Perhaps they would have recognised voices from hushed, stolen midnight discussions. Many were from the Eastern Cape, some from the Transvaal, and all had been gathered up by the security police who had tenuously linked them, accused and witnesses.
Prosecutor JH Liebenberg addressed the court. He claimed that the accused had revived the ANC in 1967 and established contact among old comrades. Meetings had been held ‘in houses, in cars and in the veld’, where groups were instructed in ANC policy.
There was evidence that the ANC was an integral part of the communist movement in South Africa, he continued. This evidence came in the form of pamphlets which could be traced back to the ANC London office for distribution in South Africa and spoke of ‘guerrilla warfare’ to be instigated by members of the ANC, the South African Communist Party, and the South African Indian Congress. Examples were presented to the court. Which of the triallists were responsible for the distribution of these pamphlets, however, was not made clear. Other charges impossible to prove in law were presented, from showing support for freedom fighters and providing social welfare for the families of political prisoners, to considering armed uprising and military training.
Records read: ‘(A witness) Eselina Klaas from Port Elizabeth said she had distributed forms to families of six people who had been released from jail after serving sentences for ANC activities, and that she had delivered the completed forms to Mrs. Ndzanga, in Johannesburg, Mrs. Ndzanga and Mrs. Mandela gave her R11 and some old clothing to distribute to people in financial difficulties.’20
Liebenberg claimed the 22 ‘frequently’ visited Nelson Mandela and others in prison, and that Mandela had shared instructions around communism. The first claim was an inane accusation, and one which commentators abroad wrote scathingly about – prisoners on Robben Island were allowed one visitor twice a year, and few could have afforded the travel to the Cape or were banned from travelling outside their magisterial districts.
The prosecutor continued: ‘In the home of Mr. and Mrs. Ndzanga the police had found press cuttings on the lack of school facilities for African children, and on other matters; and a photograph of Mr. Ndzanga giving the (Amandla) salute.’21 Evidence against Winnie Mandela, Joyce Sikhakhane and Rita Ndzanga included that they had ‘duplicated a leaflet one Sunday in March of 1968. The leaflet, issued in the name of the ANC, exhorted the people not to be hoodwinked into accepting the Urban Bantu Council (Act), as a form of freedom’.22 The women also duplicated a message of farewell to a Mr Lekoto, to be read at his funeral. ‘Mrs. Mandela,’ Liebenberg told the court, ‘had a profound knowledge of communism. She had read works by Lenin, Trotsky and Che Guevara and had expressed a great interest in Zhivago’s History of Russia.’23 This information had been supplied by a ‘friend’, Maud Katzenellenbogen.
Thirty-two-year-old Shanthie Naidoo was surprised to hear her name being called as a state witness. She had been detained a month or two after the initial raids that saw approximately 100 activists arrested. They had come for her in the early hours in the Rockey Street, Doornfontein home she shared with her large family, pulling her out of her bed. A third-generation activist, whose grandparents were involved in the resistance movement, Shanthie’s family had gone through the motions of arrests and detentions several times before. In detention she suffered many days and nights of intense interrogation. Now, caught unawares, she was called to the stand. She got to her feet. When Liebenberg instructed her to speak, she looked Justice Simon Bekker on the bench straight in the eye. ‘I have two friends amongst the accused,’ she declared. ‘I don’t want to give evidence because I will not live with my conscience if I do.’ When threatened with further imprisonment, she said: ‘I am prepared to accept it.’24
With those three short sentences, uttered in defiance, the foundations of the state’s case began to crumble. Over the next few months, more pressure would be put on her to testify, and appeals made to her family to persuade her, to consider her emaciated condition and subsequent detentions that could follow. Her family steadfastly refused to push her onto the side of the government.
Years later, Winnie Mandela wrote: ‘It is Shanti Naidoo whom I still see vividly in my mind, her hollow eyes, her thin arms hanging loosely out of that pale … yellowish, sleeveless dress, her slanted head when she craned her neck in the dock to hear Justice Bekker on that memorable day. When she declared in a firm voice which left no doubt … How I loved her always,