REFLECTIONS OF 1994
From February to May 1994, documentary photographer and filmmaker Paul Weinberg was commissioned by the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) to cover its work and document the election process. He writes: ‘It was the high watermark of the journey I had been on for many years as a documentarian engaged intimately with the struggle for freedom in South Africa. This was at last, the final process that ushered in a free, democratic South Africa. It was a privilege and an honour to be on the inside track of this passage of history.‘ The book that celebrated the journey in photographs and text was fittingly called An End To Waiting. Thirty years later, these are his reflections ...
‘The long, winding road through Inanda passes KwaMashu, Phoenix, the Gandhi Settlement, the squatter community of Bambayi that abuts it, Adams College, Inanda Seminary, John Dube’s farm, and scattered small Shembe churches with white rocks placed in circles, signifying spiritual sites of its devotees. The periurban sprawl, punctuated with shacks, rural Zulu homesteads and modern houses, is endless and a stark reminder of how people made their homes defying the logic of apartheid urban planning. Many of these places in the landscape trigger memories that are intrinsically part of our freedom story. The Gandhi Settlement is where Gandhi lived for 10 years (1904—14) and where the Indian Opinion was printed.
Dube, who lived nearby, wrote prolifically about Zulu history and black life and published a contemporaneous newspaper, Ilanga lase Natal. Both were pioneers in enabling the expression of black South African voices, the non-enfranchised and dispossessed. My journey ends at Ohlange High School, founded by Dube, founding president of the ANC. It is here Nelson Mandela will vote for the first time. The symbolism inscribed in this momentous occasion is not lost on me. This is simultaneously the school where struggle icon Dube is buried and also the site of a contested battle for power, where the IFP reigned supreme for decades.
Even though I am early, there are photographers, journalists and TV crews everywhere. A ballot box sits on the wall of the school’s veranda, anticipating Mandela’s arrival and vote. The jostle begins, just like I had experienced when Mandela was released from Victor Verster prison, for the best place to record this moment in history. Tensions are running high.
But I have a golden ticket. I slip around the back of the building and present my crumpled official letter, giving me access to all voting stations, to the presiding officer. Without a blink, he lets me into the school hall that has been transformed into a voting station. What a relief, but I can’t escape the heavy weight of history on my shoulders. I am nervous. The ballot box has been positioned against a backdrop of windows. This is not great, but I have no say in the choreography of this political moment. I take a number of light meter readings, double check that my film is in the sprocket, and do all those over-anxious things that photographers do, when they are walking with history. And then Mandela arrives with an entourage.
Clutching his arm is Gay McDougall, a civil rights lawyer from the US and an IEC commissioner. Her eyes light up when she sees me. I need a photograph of me with Mandela she instructs me. My heart sinks. This is not even her beat. KwaZulu-Natal fell under the jurisdiction of advocate Dikgang Moseneke, with whom I had made a number of trips already. Mandela registers and then the moment arrives. The soon-to
be president, dressed in his now-popular Madiba shirt, is like a child, brimming with joy. On either side and slightly behind him are Jacob Zuma and Bantu Holomisa, whom history will reposition later. He holds the ballot above the box for a few seconds and then, drops it. He votes for a second time outside on the veranda for the large press gathering.
McDougall, still clutching his arm, is in every photograph and video clip that is sent throughout the world. This is backup for her project. I process the images and to my delight they are fine. I deliver as requested the image she asked for. The only part of McDougall seen is her hand touching Mandela’s arm on the far right of the frame. But I am about to learn this is not the end of the story. The next day I get a phone call from Associated Press. I have a moral obligation to release this image to the world, says the bureau chief. In exchange, they will offer me $400. I say I’ll think about it and never call back.
Two days before, I was in Diepkloof prison photographing the vote there. The arrival of ballot papers and boxes, as happened quite often throughout the election, were delayed. Prisoners were banging on their cells and shouting. It reached a crescendo, and we waited for something to explode. To make matters worse when the ballot boxes arrived, one was damaged and the box could not be sealed. The flustered presiding officer was panic-stricken. Stepping out of character I said with authority (that I didn’t have) let’s simply drill a hole to enable the box to be sealed and submit an affidavit that this is what was needed under the circumstances. In no time, a technician from prison services arrived with a drill and opened the blocked hole. The storm was averted and prisoners added their vote to the national ballot.
A young white boy was nonchalantly eating an apple, sitting in front of a bank of screens which was beaming Mandela’s inauguration speech. The boy was innocently oblivious to the importance of the occasion. When I looked at the nonracial crowd who had turned out in large numbers, I saw in that moment on the expressions on their faces, the past was behind us. People were overwhelmingly happy that at last, we were free. Yet I noted a sense of uncertainty and curiosity about what the future would bring.
Far from the TV screens that beamed Mandela voting for the first time, in the far-flung rural areas the endless waiting continued. Many voting stations had run out of ballot papers. The IEC was in crisis mode. The ops room had turned into a war room. The twoday election turned into four. Ballots done, distribution was now a logistical nightmare. To the rescue came the South African army and air force. With military precision and speed, they delivered and airdropped millions of ballots in inaccessible, outlying areas. Trained helicopter and Dakota pilots who once so loyally executed tasks for the apartheid government’s war in Namibia and Angola were now saving SA’s first democratic elections. This littleknown fact speaks in many ways of the near miracles that made this new country.
But there were other dramas. Judge Johann Kriegler (chair of the IEC) went to visit the thenpresident of Bophuthatswana, Lucas Mangope, to inform him that the homeland government would be disbanded after the elections and that everything would now fall under North West province. His fiefdom and the apartheid-enabled homeland was at an end. Mangope argued strongly against this to the impervious judge. In the end he finally and reluctantly resigned himself to the future.
I travelled with delegates of the commission to visit Ulundi, the HQ of KwaZulu-Natal homeland, to continue the negotiations with Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi and the IFP. Unlike Mangope, Buthelezi was in high spirits. He had the country and the IEC by the proverbials as he prevaricated on participating in the elections. The gathered MPs were abusive and threatening to the IEC officials and the process. Judge Kriegler and commissioner Oscar Dhlomo sat wringing their hands as speaker after speaker rallied the crowd in Zulu as if they were the amabutho (warriors) going into battle. At last the encounter ended, but there was still no commitment to the election. The long walk back to the chartered plane felt like a failed mission and the election was uncertain. Finally, at the eleventh hour, Buthelezi conceded. He and his party would participate in the elections. The relief was palpable throughout the commission, the country and the world. Another potential catastrophe had been averted.
The delayed vote, followed by the delayed count, worsened the tensions and angst. But finally it was resolved after five days. Then, the climactic announcement of the results: 20-million (86.9%) of South Africans had voted in its first free and fair elections. The ANC received 63%, the National Party 20% and the IFP 11%. Democracy had finally arrived.
With the results behind us there was one more important photograph to take for the record. The inauguration of the new president. For some inexplicable reason, I was denied accreditation.
Maybe the authorities felt the IEC’s role was over. I joined the crowd at the Union Buildings to witness the event. As often happens in documentary photography, it is not the obvious photo that necessarily is the most interesting. There is always another perspective, another take and as so often happens, it came my way.
A young white boy was nonchalantly eating an apple, sitting in front of a bank of screens which was beaming Mandela’s inauguration speech. The boy was innocently oblivious to the importance of the occasion. When I looked at the nonracial crowd who had turned out in large numbers, I saw in that moment on the expressions on their faces, the past was behind us. People were overwhelmingly happy that at last, we were free. Yet I noted a sense of uncertainty and curiosity about what the future would bring.
On reflection, beyond the big historical moments, my positive recollections of the election process were observing the engine room behind the scenes. Committed IEC staff worked tirelessly to deliver the first free and democratic elections. Afrikaansspeaking tannies, once staunchly loyal National government employees, young black revolutionaries who swaggered with confidence about the imminent future, human rights activists of all persuasions, all worked together shoulder to shoulder to deliver a new SA. It was heartwarming. Something like the Rugby World Cup victory of 2023, but on steroids.
I am proud to have been intimately part of this beautiful, albeit imperfect journey. I go back there when I need to recharge my spirits and reset my/our values that were so indelibly inscribed by all of us, 30 years ago. But let me leave you with judge Kriegler’s prescient observations that perhaps sum up the election: “With the knowledge of hindsight, I would do it all over again. The irony is that if the elections had gone off like clockwork, they would have been less of an exemplary lesson in national unification. It was a national convulsion and it worked.”
✼ Paul Weinberg photographed news events and beyond during the turbulent 1980s that led up to the first democratic elections of 1994. The exhibition, ‘An End To Waiting‘, will open at the Stellenbosch University Museum on April 30 where he will be in conversation with professor Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela. The exhibition will be on show until June.