Last Saturday, Simon finally got his chance to play Johannesburg. South African troops and police ringed Ellis Park sports stadium, dogs patrolled for bombs and a police helicoptor buzzed overhead as Simon kicked off his four-city South Africa tour before 30,000 to 40,000-predominantly white-fans. The run-up to the concerts had featured grenade blasts, tense press conferences and fruitless meetings with black militants young enough to be the 50-year-old Simon’s sons. When he announced two months ago he would be adding a South African leg to his marathon 45-country “Born at the Right Time” tour, he scarcely could have imagined the minefield he was walking into. He wanted, as he put it, to “repay” a personal debt to the black South African musicians who helped him record “Graceland.” The news delighted his fans south of the Limpopo River, and set the stage for the first approved live appearance by a major pop-music star in South Africa since the cultural boycott took hold.
Both the United Nations and South Africa’s leading black-liberation movement, the African National Congress (ANC), had called off the decade-old cultural boycott late last year, in tacit recognition of President F. W. de Klerk’s political reforms. And where once the ANC had censured Simon for recording parts of “Graceland” in Johannesburg, all was forgiven. Now Nelson Mandela was welcoming him with a pre-tour reception. But officials of two radical black-liberation movements believed Simon had picked the wrong time to visit South Africa-and on the night of his arrival last week, two hand grenades were hurled just outside the offices of Simon’s local tour promoters. The military wing of the far-left Azanian People’s Organization (AZAPO) claimed responsibility.
No one ever said that working in the new South Africa would be easy, but as Simon and actress Whoopi Goldberg discovered last week, performers who break new ground must pay a price. As Simon had done, Goldberg sought the ANC’s OK before accepting the role of a Soweto highschool teacher in a movie version of the Broadway musical “Sarafina!” But within 24 hours of her arrival an astonished Goldberg learned that AZAPO had “declared war” on her. “There are a lot of different factions, and Paul and I got caught up in a cross-fire,” Goldberg told NEWSWEEK. “It doesn’t have that much to do with us as it does with their own internal squabbling.”
To make matters worse, there appears to be no consistent enforcement of the cultural boycott by its diehard advocates. By the weekend, Goldberg, who is the first African-American actor to star in a film shot on location in South Africa, had secured AZAPO’s approval. But negotiations with Simon broke down, and AZAPO and the Pan-Africanist Congress (PAC) threatened to demonstrate outside Ellis Park stadium. Several dozen protesters did in fact turn up for the Saturday concert, but amid tight security, the demonstration was peaceful.
In the turbulent politics of South Africa, AZAPO and the PAC are relatively small players that talk black power and occupy the far-left wing of the spectrum. Both organizations have adopted a rigid stand on the quarantine: until the country has a democratic constitution giving all citizens the vote there can be no relaxation of any of the sanctions aimed at the de Klerk government. “We are trying to put as much pressure on the system as we can,” explained PAC official Ntsundeni Madzunya. “The cultural boycott is one of those pressures. "
From its inception in the early 1980s the cultural boycott has always been about power and has had almost nothing to do with art. Today it is for all practical purposes a dead letter, but at its height it was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of the anti-apartheid movement. Until quite recently, foreign performers who entered South Africa did so at their own peril. The blacklisting of Elton John, Rod Stewart and others who appeared at the Las Vegas-style gambling resort of Sun City made the international rock star a more endangered species than the black rhino. South Africans streamed by the tens of thousands into neighboring Zimbabwe and Swaziland to see the likes of Bruce Springsteen and Eric Clapton.
To some South African writers and artists a rejection of apartheid and support for the quarantine went hand in hand. “It was one of the popular ways of bringing home to the man and woman in the street that the majority of black South Africans were marginalized culturally,” says Nadine Gordimer, winner of the 1991 Nobel Prize in Literature. But that certainly hasn’t changed in South Africa: the price of tickets for Simon’s Johannesburg concerts ranged from $15 to $30-affordable by U.S. standards but a very expensive proposition for the vast majority of blacks.
For other South Africans, however, the quarantine was a self-defeating exercise. “The artist has a lot of power to change minds, but the boycott took a lot of those weapons away,” says satirist Pieter-Dirk Uys. “I’ve never understood how it can help a terribly confused and violent situation to withhold the idea that can heal.” Some who did comply with the boycott retain an ambivalence about it. “I never knew if it was the right thing to do, but I felt that if that was the wish it should be respected,” recalls the 36-year-old Goldberg. “But you do think, ‘Jeez, wouldn’t it be nice if people knew there were black people who are in the movies, who are dancers and singers?’ "
Fortunately for the country’s urban blacks, that message did get through: owing to the porous nature of the boycott, most of Goldberg’s movies were screened in South Africa, despite her expressed wish that her films not be shown. But there was yet another downside to the country’s cultural isolation. Moviemakers like “Sarafina!” producer Anant Singh made anti-apartheid films inside South Africa, only to be barred from distributing them overseas because of the boycott.
The furor over Simon’s tour has marred what had promised to be a joyous homecoming for him and the South African members of his 17-person band. For Simon, who endured so much criticism from the anti-apartheid movement over the “Graceland” affair, the ANC’s outspoken support for the current tour must come as vindication of his original decision in 1985 to immerse himself in the mbaqanga sounds of South Africa. On that point he struck a diplomatic note in public. “The debate that surrounded ‘Graceland’ was a necessary debate,” he said. “The rift between the ANC and me is healed, and I don’t feel it has anything to do with vindication.” It remains to be seen what effect his experiences will have on other performers contemplating forays into South Africa, but the initial fallout is not likely to be positive. At the ANC reception held in his honor, a weary Simon told NEWSWEEK that his tour “is a first step. [But] if people throw hand grenades nobody is going to come [here], no matter how many welcomes there are.”
There is no doubt that the cultural boycott is headed for extinction. But like everything else about South Africa its final death throes will be messy and painful. That is a lesson that Simon and Goldberg have learned the hard way-and they will bring back that message to their show-business colleagues. “I’d say, ‘Don’t go over there thinking you’re going to make money’,” said Goldberg, who will reportedly be paid one tenth of the $1 million she normally commands for her supporting role in “Sarafina!” “It’s not about that. This is about a liberation struggle, and if you’re not willing to have some sort of impact on that then it’s probably not a place you want to come into.” In the short term anyway, South Africa will primarily attract writers, entertainers and other cultural figures who have some abiding interest in its future. And for a country that is emerging from a decade of international isolation that m not be such a bad thin after all.
title: “Caught In The Cross Fire” ShowToc: true date: “2022-12-26” author: “Chad Warren”
The loss was crushing to anti-gun forces and the White House. In the wake of the Columbine massacre, polls show that more than 80 percent of Americans back stricter laws. Just weeks ago, the Senate took advantage of the national mood to pass a tough law requiring safety locks on new handguns and a detailed background check on buyers at gun shows. But as they have so many times before, activists underestimated the ferocity and might of the NRA and its 2.5 million members. It may seem a liberal shibboleth, but last week’s clash proved once again that the NRA is a powerful force on Capitol Hill.
In an all-out assault, the NRA unleashed thousands of callers to clog congressional switchboards while a dozen lobbyists worked the halls. The group’s Web site featured a dubious article implying that Bill Clinton, like the Nazis, was trying to disarm the populace. In the end, the House passed a law allowing the Ten Commandments to be displayed in schools, but backed away from gun control. It was just the latest example of a strange political disconnect that has characterized the gun debate for most of this century. Virtually every gun-control initiative since 1934 has enjoyed strong public support–only to be weakened or killed by the Congress.
This time, it was Dingell who tinkered with the process. The politically crafty veteran is driven by the desire to get back his committee chairmanship, something he can’t do unless the Democrats regain control of the House of Representatives. Hill aides say Dingell worried that a strong gun-control law could cost Democrats critical seats in the South and West–wrecking the party’s hopes of winning a majority in November. His solution: draft his own compromise bill, with the NRA’s blessing, that called for less thorough background checks for buyers at gun shows. Dingell’s bill attracted more than 40 vulnerable Democrats, who could avoid the wrath of the gun lobby but still tell constituents they voted for gun control. The plan also reaped unexpected rewards. When Republicans–who thought even the compromise was too tough–killed the bill, they handed House Democrats, and Al Gore, a powerful campaign theme to use against the GOP in the upcoming election. Ironically, even Dingell himself voted against the bill he authored; aides say he never really intended it to pass. “He was satisfied with the outcome,” says a source close to Dingell. So were many of his colleagues. Privately, some Democratic leaders approached Dingell and thanked him for the maneuver.
One Democrat who wasn’t smiling was the commander in chief. “The NRA beat me,” he complained to reporters traveling with him in Europe. Earlier in the week, aboard Air Force One and again in Paris, Clinton picked up the phone to make what one congressman called a “passionate” appeal to 14 conservative “blue dog” Democrats and moderate Republicans. He got 12 of them. One of those who ultimately snubbed Clinton was Nick Lampson, a Texas Democrat who watched his powerful predecessor, Jack Brooks, get taken down after the 1994 gun vote. Lampson wasn’t about to repeat the mistake. “From the time I ran, it was clear that I would vote to protect the rights of all citizens to buy and bear arms,” Lampson said in an interview.
It’s hard to blame vulnerable Democrats for taking cover. It’s a common misperception that the NRA’s power derives from its money. The real muscle of the group is its tenacious membership. “Its members will mobilize,” says Robert Ricker, head of the American Shooting Sports Council, a gun-industry group. “They’ll call. They’ll send faxes. They’ll threaten and they’ll cajole.”
They’ve certainly had plenty of practice. Last week’s gun vote was just the latest in a long string of NRA victories. In 1968, with some 70 percent of the public supporting stepped-up gun control, the NRA thwarted President Johnson’s call for registering all guns. Congress did manage to ban the import of lethal junk guns known as Saturday night specials, but domestic manufacturers rushed to fill the void. Four years later, the NRA helped kill a bill that would have banned Saturday night specials altogether. In 1986 the NRA worked to weaken a ban on so-called cop-killer bullets. The streak was interrupted in 1993, when Clinton stung the NRA by passing the most sweeping gun-control law on the books: the Brady Bill. But more guns are now sold at the gun shows and flea markets that the law left out. The assault-weapons ban, bitterly opposed by the NRA, proved easier to thwart. Many companies simply retooled the weapons slightly and put them back on the market under another name. The best known of these is the Intratec TEC DC-9 used in Littleton, now sold as the AB-10. The AB stands for “After Ban.”
Gun-control advocates are already preparing for their next confrontation with the NRA, building a grass-roots network and bringing in more PAC money for lobbying. The goal is to beat the NRA at its own game by mobilizing militant anti-gun votes in 2000. The lesson of last week–and the last 50 years–is clear enough: if gun-control advocates want Congress to take on the gun lobby, they’ll have to make the politicians pay at the polls.
title: “Caught In The Cross Fire” ShowToc: true date: “2022-12-26” author: “Juan Williams”
Over the next week, I saw violence eerily reminiscent of another horrifying conflict. I had worked in Sarajevo as a documentary producer and came to Ambon with an aid program for journalists. Both cities were known for social harmony until holy war erupted between Muslims and Christians, turning neighbor against neighbor. From the center of Ambon I could hear the muezzin’s call to prayer and the bells of the Roman Catholic church–signals of an intimately lethal divide.
At first, entire families shouted words of support to young men hurling handmade grenades at their enemies in the street. Watching from the cathedral, I saw a mob of Christian men walk by laughing, singing–and dragging a decapitated Muslim corpse. They waved. Among them was a young boy carrying a slingshot. The pastor next to me shook his head. “It’s time for me to get out of here,” he said. “I want to go and live with my son, where godlessness has no such place.” Where is that, I asked. “Las Vegas,” he said.
The police and military only seemed to make it worse. One afternoon the Christian-dominated police took up posts in tall buildings and shot down into the Muslim quarter. Indonesian Army troops–most of whom are Muslim–returned fire with cannons and mortars. Nearby, at the Protestant church, men in police and military uniforms changed into jeans and T shirts, saying they were fed up with the unwillingness of Muslim security forces to stop the fighting. They handed their AK-47s to young men sitting on the steps of the church. Now it was their turn.
By the end of the week, snipers had surrounded my hotel. Most foreigners left for Christian villages in the hills, but I wanted to head to the port. My companion and I slipped past sniper roosts and armored personnel carriers, making our way to the last Christian neighborhood in the city. A gang of machete-wielding kids –the only ones with a car–gave us a lift. The driver, 22, pointed joyfully to the destroyed military barracks: “See! We burned it down, and everyone fled!” At the port, a Christian woman called to me: “Get out of here, and go tell the world what they are doing to us, the Ambonese.” Bullets and explosions rattled the air as speedboats darted across the water. We ducked into a small boat and motored around a peninsula to the airport, where we jumped on a flight out of Ambon.
