Free Bloodlines by Neville Frankel Page A

close friends in those years. Often we had them both for dinner; sometimes we all met at Samuel’s house, where Dennis and the cook would argue in the kitchen until they agreed on something that the Doctor would enjoy.

    I went with Michaela to public demonstrations, lectures, and small meetings held in secret. But it wasn’t until July of 1955, when the Congress of the People took place on the veld outside the little village of Kliptown, on the outskirts of Johannesburg, that I understood how big the groundswell was, and how threatened the government was by it.
    This was to be a national convention, and it had a grand purpose—to vote on a Freedom Charter that set the tone for the South Africa of the future. We decided to show our support and became Freedom Volunteers, planning the event, and acting as convention officials at the site.
    At the university, Michaela wrote a carefully worded editorial in support of the convention. By then she had already spent a night in jail, and she recognized the need for caution. But tempers were high, and even a cautiously worded editorial could elicit some nasty responses. In this case, the police left her alone—but she received several letters from the right-wing fringe. One of them was delivered to the newspaper office and addressed to her, and even after fifty years, I recall it word for word. It said:
When you ask the kaffirs what laws they would make if they were in charge, you give them big ideas about freedom. Don’t you know what they want, you stupid Jew? They want your house. And when they come and take it from you, like the Nazis did, your feelings will be hurt. You people never learn. Why don’t you mind your own fucking business? Just keep up your money-grubbing and stop interfering in politics. Watch out, Jew girl—this is not your country. If you don’t like it, get out. And if you don’t know what good manners are, we can teach you.
    Michaela disregarded the note, although it confirmed what her father had told her.
    On the day she received the note, we had dinner plans with her father, and Michaela showed her father the note. After dinner, he insisted upon taking us for a drive to the outskirts of Sophiatown, which was in the process of being bulldozed.
    The sun was just setting as we arrived. We got out and walked around to the side of the car facing the ruined city, and your grandfather took out a silver case and offered us a cigarette. Michaela was surprised, but he thrust the case at her again, and she took one.
    “You’re a married woman, Michaela,” he said. “I know you smoke, and you certainly know your own mind. And after the correspondence you received today, you’re entitled to all the privileges—and responsibilities—of adulthood.”
    I pulled out my lighter and lit our cigarettes, and as we smoked, we leaned against the car in the evening silence, looking at the ruins. The church tower was still standing against the sky, and a few of the better houses, but block upon block of shacks were bulldozed rubble, and the dust rose into the evening sky.
    “You know the population statistics as well as I do,” your grandfather said. “Thirteen million blacks; three million whites; fewer than a hundred thousand Jews. We’re a drop in the bucket here—and we’re only safe as long as we don’t make a big splash.” He took a deep draw on his cigarette and slowly exhaled. “This People’s Congress you’re involved in is about to make a huge splash—and you’re being shortsighted if you think you’re only putting yourselves at risk.” He pointed to the acres of destruction before us, red dust rising into the sunset. “You know better than I do what’s gone on here. But I don’t want you to forget what they’ve done. The world watches, and doesn’t give a damn. This government has forced the residents of Sophiatown out—and they’ll find a way to move us Jews out, as well. It wouldn’t be the first time in our history—we’ve been