Alan Paton, Cry, The
Beloved Country (Scribbner, 1948, 1987).
Available in numerous print editions, as well as Nook, Kindle and Audible. There are also two movie versions.
Fiction
Recommended by Wilda Morris
It has been several decades since I first read Cry, the Beloved Country. When I decided
to listen to a recording of the book and get hold of a hard copy to look at
again, I was surprised at how poetic the writing is.
"There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the
hills." This poetic line introduces us to Ndotsheni, Natal, South Africa
where Rev. Stephen Kumalo, a Zulu Christian, pastors St. Mark's, a small church
of African natives. As the narrator describes the hills with grass bracken and "the
forlorn crying of the titihoya," the great river and the mountains, the
reader gets the feeling of being in something of a paradise. "Stand unshod
upon it," the reader is told, "for the ground is holy, being even as
it came from the Creator. Keep it, guard it, care of it, for it keeps men,
guards men, cares for men. Destroy it and man is deserted."
Indeed, the land is already suffering from too many cattle, too
many fires, too much discouragement. "Stand shod upon it, for it is coarse
and sharp, and the stones cut under the feet. It is not kept, or guarded, or
cared for, it no longer keeps men, guards men, cares for men. The titihoya does
not cry here anymore."
The story of Stephen Kumalo begins in this valley as lightning
flashes, rain pours, dead streams come to life. It is not only the red soil
that has been washed away. But, as we are told in chapter 9, "All
roads lead to Johannesburg. If you are white or if you are black they lead to
Johannesburg."
The plot comes alive when Kumalo receives a letter from
Johannesburg. "How we desire such a letter," says his wife, "and
when it comes we fear to open it." Whenever a letter arrives from the
capital city, they hope it is from their son Absalom, or from his sister
Gertrude, or his brother John. Like hundreds of others, these three have
migrated to--and seeming disappeared permanently in—the big city. Alas, the
letter is not from any of their loved ones. It is from Rev. Msimangu at The
Mission House. He has met Gertrude and learned that her brother is a pastor. He
tells Stephen that Gertrude is very sick and urges him to come to Johannesburg
right away.
Kumalo's income is small. He and his wife have managed to save up
just a little money, which they had planned to spend on their son's education.
They agree that Stephen should use the money to finance a trip to to the city to help Gertrude.
Mrs. Kumalo says Absalom will never go to St. Chads, as planned, because
"When people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back."
Kumalo's trip to the urban center is not only expensive; it is a
source of sorrow and disillusionment. A young man cheats him out of some of his
meager funds by pretending to purchase a bus ticket for him. He learns that his
sister-in-law is not physically sick; rather, she has become a prostitute. His
brother-in-law is no longer the honest businessman man he was; now he is a
rabble-rousing politician. His son, who has gotten in with the wrong crowd,
seems always to be one step ahead of his father's search. What even greater
sorrows, and what moments of grace and shows of love he will meet, I leave to
the reader to find out.
This is not just a poetically written novel with an interesting
plot and rich characters. It is also a book about the disintegration of native
society in South Africa. Colonialism resulted in dehumanization of the native people, the breaking of their cultural bonds, and destruction of the livelihoods of thousands. Msimangu, the young African priest, whose letter had
brought Kumalo to Johannesburg, is at the theological heart of this novel. He
says, at one point, that the real tragedy is not that the old ways were broken
up, but that the white men who broke up the tribe did not repair it or replace
it. When the tribe fell apart, the family fell apart, and the children were
lost. He urges black Africans to continue to love everyone, but fears that by
the time the white men in power learn to love the Africans, the Africans will
have learned hate. What is needed is for everyone to work together for the welfare
of the country, not for each group to seek power over groups (Chapter 5).
Kumalo, though basically kind and loving, is a somewhat flawed
character, which makes him fully believable. And among the white South
Africans, there is one who stands out as remarkable because of his
understanding of the plight of his black brothers. Arthur Jarvis, a highly
respected English-speaking white man, is a city engineer. He has studied the
history of South Africa. His library is stuffed with books about Abraham Lincoln.
He has pictures of Lincoln, and of the Crucified Christ on his wall, along with
two photos representing the history and beauty of his beloved country. He has
good relationships with the English, the Afrikaans, the "colored" and
the black Africans. He serves as president of the Claremont African Boys Club.
Because of his Christian faith and his love for his country, he is working for
an end to oppressive practices. He has become a popular speaker, especially
among advocates for reform. One of the great tragedies of the book is that he
is accidentally killed.
"Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that
is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for them and who is dead, for the woman and
children bereaved. Cry, the beloved country, that these things are not yet at
an end" (Chapter 11).
Can there be healing where there has been oppression? Can people
whose lives are different learn to respect or even love one another? Can they
truly lament each other's sorrows? Can people forgive the wrong done to them?
Can their fears of one another be overcome? Reconciliation and redemption are
played out against this backdrop in the developing relationship between Kumalo
and Arthur's father, James Jarvis, who turns out to be a neighbor.
Realistically, though, the author knew that the story was not, could not be,
over. So, although the book ends with the titihoya and its forlorn cry and the
coming of dawn, it is the dawn "as it has come for a thousand centuries,
never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear
of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret."
Cry, the Beloved Country
made a powerful impact when it was first published about eighty years ago. It
is still relevant today, and not only to South Africa. There are still millions
of the people who are oppressed by the societies in which they live and
millions more in bondage to fear that if those who are oppressed achieve
equality it will be at their expense. The need for love and forgiveness, the
need reconciliation and redemption remains.
I urge you to read Cry, the
Beloved Country. And reread it.
