Amok (1983) - full transcript

Mom! I'm going to the teacher's house.

I'm delivering a letter
and I'll be right back.

To whom?

What are you delivering?

Zenzi. Zenzi!

Come in.

G'day, sah.

Zenzi…

I've told you a hundred times
not to say "sah", but "sir".

- Yes, sir.
- Good. Don't forget it.

- Someone brought this letter for you.
- A letter?



Who gave it to you?

A foreigner who was passing by.
He dropped it off at uncle Vilakazu's.

Thank you.

You can go.

Perhaps you're a bit hungry?

No, I'm not really hungry.

Not even a little?

Yes, a little.

Go to the kitchen.

Hopefully my wife will find
something for you to eat.

Go on. Muntu!

Muntu!

Yes, I'm coming.

What is it?



She just brought this.

- Any idea what it might be?
- No, I don't know.

It could be from your brother Delius,
our son Gasha or your sister Josephine.

You wait and wait
for a letter like this one,

and when it does arrive,
you're afraid to open it.

"Clarktown Mission, Johannesburg.

"Dear Mr Sempala, I recently
met in Johannesburg

"a young woman named Josephine Sempala,
whose brother is one Matthew Sempala.

"At the Dorfner elementary school
for natives

"I remember that one of my classmates
bore the same name.

"Perhaps you're the same Matthew.

"Whatever the case may be,
your sister gravely ill.

"I believe it would be best for her

"if you came to Johannesburg
immediately.

"Contact me as soon as
you reach the mission.

"Clarktown, Reverend Sikau Norje."

Well, now you've read it.

Yes, I have read it.
That was no easy letter to read.

What will you do, then?

What will I do?
I don't know what I'll do.

My brother left for Johannesburg
over ten years ago.

Then Josephine followed him.

Last year, Gasha, our only son,
left in turn. Yes, our only son!

As you say yourself, when people
leave for Johannesburg,

they never come back.
They don't even write.

They take the train, then no one
ever hears from them again.

They leave just like that
and never bother to write.

Not even a letter
every once in a while.

To them, family…

Try to stay calm and make a decision.

Oh, I don't know.

I think I'll take the train tomorrow.

Alright. In that case,
I'll prepare your things.

Do you know this Reverend Norje?

I don't remember.

I don't know anymore.

- Having trouble, Mr Sempala?
- Hello, Mr Horn.

No, my tires are a bit deflated,
that's all.

It's been a while since
we last saw your son.

They say he's become a celebrity
in Johannesburg, a great journalist.

As it happens, we're expecting him
any day now. Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mr Horn.

Have a good day, Mr Horn.

Sempala the teacher is outside.
He wants to talk to you.

- Who?
- Matthew Sempala, the teacher.

He came here on his bicycle.

What does he want now?

I'll bet it's that letter
from Johannesburg.

In any case, he brought
chickens and eggs.

Chickens and eggs? Couldn't you
mention it earlier? Let him in.

You idiot.

Take that stuff away, quick!

Hello, Matthew.

To what do we owe your visit here today
in your chief's humble abode?

- Thank you. Well… I received…
- I know, I know.

Good news?

Both good and bad.
If you want to read it…

No, it's not necessary.
Just tell me what it's about.

My sister is very ill.
I must go to Johannesburg.

To Johannesburg?
You've lost your mind, Matthew!

You? One of my best
and most faithful subjects?

That's nonsense, Matthew. Nonsense!

You can't do that to me.

But it's only for a few days.

You won't come back, Matthew.
No one comes back from Johannesburg.

Have you thought of our children?

They'll never grant me another teacher,
you know that. Never!

Bugger off!

Do you realize the stupidity
of what you're about to do?

Now listen to me, Matthew. Listen well.

I'm giving you one week.
Only one. Understood?

If you're not back in time,
I'll go find you myself.

Did you get that, Matthew? I myself,
Masimba Fefu, will go find you.

Idiot! I've already told you to beat it.

Johannesburg! Unbelievable.

So on a daily basis,
you visit every morgue

to look for… how should I put it?

Corpses that are suitable for export?

Yes. As you can see,
nothing too exciting

for the distinguished readers
of our union journal.

Ah, but it is.

It's a rather uncommon trade,
after all.

Excuse me, gentlemen. You are expected.

If will please follow me…

You know, our occupation exists
all over the world.

In every country, bodies are sold
to medicine faculties,

to research institutes,
and to who knows what else.

Besides, we are far from being

the only business
specializing in this field.

You should go to India.
There, you will find real specialists.

And they do it on a much larger scale.
It's almost an industry.

No. Not this one.

Why is that?

His head has been crushed.

You're giving me chills.

Then you should
put a coat on, my friend.

It's true that it's not too warm here.
Excuse me for a moment.

I wonder how you can enjoy
this occupation.

- Who told you I enjoy this?
- I'm sorry. Of course.

But there is one thing
I find intriguing.

If only they could all be like her.

It's a young girl, about 18 years old.

In perfect condition.

Yes? What do you find intriguing?

I'm told you only export
black bodies. Is that right?

Is it forbidden to trade
in white bodies?

No, not at all, but I can't get any.

Why?

Because the whites always,
always claim their dead.

That is all.

And blacks don't?

No, sir, blacks do not.

You should know, as a sociologist,
psychologist,

and who knows what else,

that three in four bodies are never
claimed by their families.

How do you explain that?

Simply because the families do not know
they are dead.

Remember, Mr Horn, that once
a black man leaves his bantustan,

his family doesn't try to find out
where he is or what he's doing.

It's always the same with so-called
liberal Anglophones such as yourself.

Whites are always responsible
for this country's woes.

But you're the ones
who benefit from this system…

Don't judge him. He's still young.

…in order to plunder the country
and take your assets abroad…

- Hello, Captain.
- Rhodesia was not long ago!

Always in top shape.

I have something
very interesting to show you.

They are yours, my friend.
All of them yours.

Yes, I saw them.
But they are all mutilated.

Absolutely unusable.

Well, well. You weren't always
so delicate, Mr Gardiner.

Times have changed, Captain,
as has the quality of your merchandise.

Believe me.

You're the one who cannot keep up
with the times, Mr Gardiner.

You don't even know what's going on
in this country now.

Do you know that we're risking our necks
for people like you

because of such scum?

Do you know that they now have weapons,

that they will look you in the eye
and coldly open fire?

The era when a few baton strikes
were enough to subdue them is over.

Will it be the usual, then, my friend?

I'm sorry, Captain.

No need to insist.
I can't pay for this delivery.

For now, we don't export spare parts.

It's clearly an obsession with him.

I recognize that Elton has
developed his thought

with much strength and conviction,

but I must say that his political
positions do not please me much.

What he will not admit

is that the concept of racial purity
and conservation

is the very foundation of our society,

and that compromises
are out of the question.

Listen to me carefully, son.
I've long been aware of your ideas.

I'll admit that
they frightened me at first,

but you can rest assured
that they no longer scare me.

Common sense has regained
the upper hand. Look!

Just look at the latest
election results.

Four fifths of the votes
went to the majority.

How do you explain such a victory?

Four blacks out of five
voted for the white majority.

Absolutely not. Blacks will never vote.

Do you hear me? They will never vote.

As long as a single white man remains
here, they will never vote.

Better to die than to see our country
at the hands of such scum.

- Our country?
- Yes, our country.

Because we're the ones who built it.

It's always like this.

Whenever they talk about politics,
they can't stop bickering.

Without us, there would only be
savages stalked by famine.

And you know it very well.

You let yourself get carried away
by idiotic ideologies.

… the standstill continues in the
heartland mines.

Clashes have resurged
with even more violence

between Xhosa and Zulu workers.

While some clandestine organizations
have been totally dismantled,

police has not managed
to completely restore order.

Did you hear that?

The police hasn't yet managed
to restore order.

It's a real disgrace.

To make things worse, they have the gall
to say that on television.

- It's a scandal.
- A pitched battle broke out

between the two rivaling tribes,

and according to
the first police reports…

The Xhosa and Zulu stopped killing
each other ten years ago.

Yet this is how they're reporting it.

I've always told you
that we are governed

by impotent intellectuals.
Instead of going to university,

they should come here instead,
for an internship in the country.

We could teach them
how to treat this riff-raff

if you want respect.

Get up! Come on, up!

Hands in the air!

Come here, you!

Excuse me, sir. Good evening.
I need some information.

Excuse me but…
How does one get to Clarktown?

Clarktown?

At this hour, you should go
to the bus terminal.

Here. Take this street and walk
for about two kilometers.

Ask someone else then.

- Two kilometers?
- Otherwise you should take a cab.

Good luck.

Thanks.

I didn't even see them
walk past my apartment.

They didn't even need to ask
which floor.

Or which number, or anything.

They knew where to go, that's certain.
Someone here must have told them.

- A spy!
- Are you hearing this?

What is this little whore to you,
anyway?

Yes, I said "whore", certainly.

She let a negro fondle her,
and it's not the first time.

Believe me, I've seen
my share of whores around here.

It's sad, isn't it?

What do they care
if she loves a black man?

Can't people be left alone?

Come Gladis, let's go home.

- Let me go, you filthy brute!
- Get back!

- Leave me alone!
- Spread out.

This is my home. I said let go of me!

Let me go! Let me go, will you?

Let me go, you beast!

Here is what our democracy leads us to.

To the deterioration of our morals.

To the complete collapse
of our civilization.

And soon, to atheistic communism.

The worst is that we even let them
settle down in our neighborhoods.

They are everywhere now, as you can see.

They take over everything,
and we let them!

Naturally, we can't tell them anything.

They even have all the rights.

That's liberalism for you.

They chase us out, they steal our women
right under our noses.

They plunder our property!
And they call it democracy!

Excuse me, sir. Are you
from Umtata by any chance?

- Huh?
- I thought you were Xhosa.

No, I'm not Xhosa. I'm Zulu.

- Ah, you're Zulu?
- That's right.

- Then perhaps I can help you.
- That, I would like.

Where do you want to go, exactly?

To Clarktown, to see the Reverend Norje.

- Norje?
- Yes.

I don't know him.
The bus for Clarktown is that one.

You have to get in line, but first

you need buy a ticket at the booth.
It costs one rand.

If you want to get in line,
I'll go buy you a ticket.

- Here. - One ticket?
- That's it.

Come back quick!

He's a thief! Stop him!

Stop that thief!

Thief!

Stop him! Stop him!

Damn you, little thief!
He's getting away. Thief!

Easy, easy. Calm down.
There's no point in running.

You'll never see your money again.

But he's a thief! He stole from me.

A thief, yes. If that's what
you want to call him.

There's thousands like him,
who have no choice but to steal.

No choice?

No other choice, yes.
They do have to eat, after all.

But I'm telling you I was robbed.
He's a thief!

I know, he robbed you. Are you staying
in Johannesburg for a few days?

- Yes, a few days. Why?
- You'll understand.

Where are you going?

To Clarktown, to see the Reverend Norje.

Come with me.
Come, I'll take you to the bus.

It's close by.

Have a seat.

No, not there. You'll be more
comfortable on the bed.

Thank you.

To tell the truth…

I only have a vague memory
of those days.

I don't remember much, you know.

It doesn't surprise me.
Your memory was never any good.

Yes. It's almost forty years
since we last saw each other.

Forty years?

We'll have plenty of time
to get reacquainted.

- We'll have much to talk about.
- I'm sure we will.

And Josephine?

- Your sister?
- Yes.

Oh, she's doing fine, rest assured.

But… in your letter, you said…
You said she was gravely ill!

Yes, I know, but I needed a pretext
to bring you all the way here.

A pretext?

Yes, a pretext.

- But what does it mean?
- Don't get all worked up.

Calm down, Matthew. Calm down.

I'll explain.

You sister is not ill.

Not in the usual sense of the word.

It's something else.

I learned that she came to Johannesburg
to find her husband.

She didn't find him, as you know.

I'm completely out of the loop.
She never wrote me, so…

Then I'll tell you.

She didn't find a job either,
so she had to…

How should I put it?

Let's say that since her arrival,
she's had many husbands.

Now she lives in Clairmount.

And you should know
that a man was killed in her home.

And that she's been in jail.

But all that is in the past.

Nowadays she sells drugs.

Drugs?

Yes, drugs.

Yes, I know.
Those aren't very good news.

Here, it's almost normal.

But everyone needs to earn a living
one way or another.

There isn't always much choice.

No need for the long face.

- Here, a cigarette will cheer you up.
- No thanks.

Smoking can be soothing, you know.

What is happening?

Last night on the train,
we were attacked by thugs.

They had knives and savagely
beat everyone up, even old folks!

At the station,
I was robbed of my money.

In the street, I saw a man and a woman
being roughed up.

They were thrown in a wagon, like dogs!

Now I'm learning that…
that my sister is a whore.

And I'm hearing priest
who wants to defend her.

Because he thinks it's normal.

What kind of place is this?

What kind of place?

Is it so easy for you in the country?

What do you know about poverty,
about hunger?

Zilch!

You'll see all of that here, of course.

But you'll also see the worst kind
of violence at every instant.

You'll get used to it.

Then there's naive folk like me
who still believe

that there is a spark of peace
inside every man.

- But… her child?
- He's with her.

It's precisely because of him
that I brought you all the way here.

I think it would be best
if you took him back to the village.

You should get some rest.

We'll talk about all of this
in the afternoon.

Yes, I think you're right.

Do you happen to know
my son Gasha or my brother Delius?

I haven't heard news from them since…

Since they left, years ago already.

No, I don't know your son.

On the other hand, everyone here
knows Delius. He's into politics.

- Politics?
- Yes, politics.

Just what I needed to hear.

Do you see that woman over there?

That one? I know her.
She was on the train with me.

She must be the richest woman
of our kind.

The queen of alcohol.

That's right.

We're almost there.
It's the first street on the left.

Your sister lives there. Number 12.
Go by yourself.

I have something else to do.

We'll meet here in an hour.

Understood? Good.

Matthew…

Don't be too hard on her.
She doesn't deserve it.

Unbelievable.

Matthew! No!

Yes, it's me.

I have come.

What happened here? Who did this?

The police.

I wasn't here when they did it.

So they broke everything.

Aren't you going to ask why?

If I asked, you wouldn't tell me.

But I know the truth.

Where is Dano?

He's outside, playing with the others.

I'll go get him.

Josephine…

Why did they put you in jail?

I needed money for the child.

Why didn't you write?

I'm not rich,
but I could have always helped.

At least a little.

I'll go get him.

Do you know why I'm here?

I suppose it's to bring me
back to Ndotunza?

Isn't that it?

Yes. That was my idea, yes.

To be frank, I don't quite know anymore.

Go on, now. We'll talk about this later.

Especially about the kid.

Unbelievable.

Go see your uncle Matthew.

Come, Dano. Come.

You know your uncle, don't you?

Say, you're a big boy, now.

Wait, let's get you cleaned up.

There. Here… and here. Good.

We did it. Now listen to me carefully.

Tomorrow around 10, I'll come get you.

Then we'll go buy candy, OK?

Here's your water.

He's my big brother. I owe him respect.

- That's good.
- Don't worry about Josephine.

It's not the first time that cops
raid her home, you know.

It's not her I'm worried about,
but you as well.

Me? Why?

Because you're into politics,
and I don't like it.

It's not politics, but unionism.

It's not the same thing.

Yeah, I understand. But why
did you never send me news?

None of you ever wrote me.

What could I have written you?

You people in the village cannot
understand the life we live here.

Over there, I'm nothing,
just like you are nothing.

Only the tribe chief counts.

That ignoramus they impose upon us.

I have to salute him,
to bow down before him.

I'm not saying we're free here, no.

But at least we're free
from that white man's watchdog.

Here, we can feel ourselves existing.

And History won't be written without us.

It's about time the Church
also understood this.

I don't mean to offend you, Reverend,

but the Church is just like the chief.

"You must do this, you must do that."

While they lecture us on morals
and humility,

we are the ones building
the magnificent cities

you travelled through on your way here.

We're the ones being cooped up
in rusty shacks.

Us, who come from Transkei, Basotho,
KwaZulu, and even from Ndotunza.

We're the ones digging for gold
for 3 rands a day.

And they make us live
in concentration camps

without our wives and children.

Each grain of gold

embellishes their streets,
parks and houses.

What do you know about any of this
in Ndotunza?

That's why I stopped writing.

And why I no longer go to church.

Don't take it as an offense, Reverend.

- Yeah.
- Delius!

- Yes, I understand.
- I'm coming.

- And Gasha?
- I don't see him much, you know.

Your son is a loner.
I know where he works.

Wait. I'll give you his address.

Turn around discreetly.
See that big guy in the back?

The one wearing sunglasses
and a hat with a white ribbon?

That's it. He's Zolo.

They call him the Soweto billionaire.

A pimp and a smuggler
who sold out to the whites.

He has a whole network of informants
working with the police.

Here's his address.

Couldn't we give him a call?
Tomorrow morning, if possible.

- To talk to him?
- Well, yeah.

No, my brother. That's not possible.

You can't give a black man a phone call.

All you can do is go there and wait.

Wait for the workers
to end their shifts.

Don't worry, I'll go with you.

- Have you seen Delius? - He must be
at the crusher. South sector.

Tabo, have you seen Delius?

I think he's up there, by the excavator.

- Have you seen Delius?
- He's by the excavator.

- Where?
- By the excavator. - Thanks.

Aduma, call Delius.
Tell him to come down.

Alright, we're coming.

Delius, come down!

- Well?
- It's on. It's working.

- All the mines are closed.
- No way.

- Everyone is on strike.
- Fantastic, guys!

Well done.

Nobody will follow along
with the bosses' racial schemes.

Not the Xhosa in the diamond mines,
not the Tsonga,

not the Transkei Zulu, not the Swazi.

They all stopped working.
The ball is our court.

We'll have to act very fast.

We need to keep announcing the strike.

You tell Steve and his cell.

- You tell Marcus.
- I'm going.

The gold and diamond mines
are already buzzing.

If we join the movement,

we'll have caused the largest strike
ever seen in South Africa.

That's the important part.

For that to happen,
everyone must be made aware.

- There's no time to lose.
- Don't get too carried away!

Delius, you know as well as we do

that general strikes
always end in bloodshed.

It scares those who are sheepish

and the few whites who still
try to support us in our demands.

That's all bullshit!

Whites understand only one thing:
the baton and the gun.

I'm sick of this shit!
I say we imitate them.

An eye for an eye.

This region has
over 800,000 unemployed.

They won't hesitate to give
us a hand in cracking skulls.

Silence. Silence, I said!

For God's sake, silence! Silence!

Goddammit, shut up!

Silence!

Art. You're right, Art.

Yes, you're right. But you're
putting the cart before the horse.

Riots cause too many unnecessary deaths
and too much bloodshed.

No. For the time being, we have to show
them that we have become a nation.

That's something
that will give them pause.

That word frightens them now.

I want a maximum of discretion.
No one must escape.

Is that clear?

South sector, do you read me?
South sector?

Loud and clear, captain.

Good. Stay on this frequency. Over.

HQ, do you read me?

Give me Kreiss.

Send the other convoys
toward the quarries.

Everyone out now!
They're everywhere, guys.

Hit the lights!

- Go evacuate the wounded
and round up the rest. - Yes, chief.

Come on, get up.

Get on board. Come on.

Get in there. Let's go.

Can you drop me off?

Stop here.
I feel like walking a little.

- See you.
- See you.

The suppression of strikes
and all other mass demonstrations

now seems unavoidable because…

because blacks are resolving
their internal conflicts

and are moving towards…

Be careful, goddammit.

250 of us are already locked up.

If you get pinched, do as they did:
keep your mouth shut.

They'll strangle you with towels.

They'll hang bricks from your balls.

They'll shove bottles up your ass.

They'll make death threats every day.

But do like the others:
keep your mouth shut.

Is that understood? Now go.

Come here, you.

Now listen to me:

if you fuck up again,
I'll strangle you myself.

Understood? Watch yourself.
Don't fuck around.

Lie low and wait for instructions.

That's a good boy.

You scare everyone that comes here.

M'golo…

Mafeta. Bostowa.

Young Kumalu…

You're hurting me.

Gently.

They also killed Bakus.

Jonathan… Steve.

And young Vilakazi.

The sons of bitches!
They'll kill all of us.

Now listen to me.

You'll have to switch hideouts.
Is that understood?

Zolo's snitches have been here
too often lately.

Those sons of bitches
must suspect something is up.

- Did you hear me?
- Don't worry.

Who'd have imagined that the biggest
alcohol smuggler of the century

could also fight for a just cause?

Shut your big mouth and think.

The more the masses
unite and organize…

the swifter and bloodier
the repression will be.

Get up, Stephen! Now's not the time
to give up, dammit!

If you stay here, you'll lose
your spot. Come on, get up!

Those assholes won't wait for me.

I warned you. You know what they'll say.
Just don't get carried away.

All they need is a pretext to kick
you out of the editorial board.

That's not the issue, Alex.

This is not about me,
but about defending the right ideas.

I'll stop at nothing to defend them.

Don't worry.
I'll be careful if necessary.

- Please have a seat.
- Thanks.

Apparently some of my pieces
are disturbing.

No, that's not it, Mr Horn.

No one has anything against you,
on the contrary.

We find that for the most part,

your articles are excellent, but I think
that with the current situation,

with all this agitation,
the moment is perhaps ill-chosen

for dedicating entire columns
to violent and provocative opinions.

All things need balance and compromise.

You've chosen a sensitive issue.
Don't get carried away. Understood?

Stuyvesant… here.

Keep this part.

This way your article will be perfect.

Put it on page 16.

I don't understand your attitude.

- How do you mean?
- This article is essential.

It only aims at the eradication

of positions that are reserved
for whites only.

It seems to me that our policy

has always been to defend
that point of view.

I think that our paper

as Mr Reagan says,
defends that point of view.

In a sense, yes, but we must admit
that blacks don't yet have

the necessary qualifications
to hold such positions.

We must after all be reasonable
and not delude ourselves.

Reality is what is is, unfortunately.

Mr Horn, why are you so impatient
to see total equality

between our two communities?

Besides, you cannot deny

that they lead much better lives here
than they would in Angola.

Or in Mozambique.

I would even add that they have
more freedom here.

That's possible.

Perhaps they do have
better lives here, as you say.

But you're forgetting one thing:
this is also their home.

If you insist on refusing
to understand…

you and your country will collapse.

Listen to me, Mr Horn.

You have the freedom to write
whatever you want in our pages.

No one has ever made any remarks.

Your articles never bother
the white community.

But this time, you're going too far.

First we allow free access
to skilled jobs,

then continue with pay equity,
which is to say total equality,

which inevitably leads to
one man, one vote.

To the elimination of racial barriers.
To black power.

That means perpetual exile.

I won't mince words:
if it ends up happening,

you would leave well ahead of us.

I guarantee you that.

You before anyone else.

Have you thought about the consequences

of the policy you've been applying
lately, gentlemen?

Look around you.

Robberies, murders, riots.

Do you even know what the children
of Soweto are shouting in the streets?

"We have nothing to lose
but our chains!"

That's what they are shouting
out loud nowadays.

That's what your blind policies
lead us to.

There's your biggest mistake:

you've made it so that blacks
have nothing to lose anymore. Nothing!

Elton! Wait for me, will you?

What will you do now?
Have you gone insane?

Does that make them the sane ones?

Here, look at that.

To think that we're in the year 2000

and that such anachronisms still exist.

Alright, ciao. I'll see you later.

Look over there, on the lake.

They must be going to Namibia.

And over there,
those are the amok convoys.

Amok? What's that?

It's a word people use around here,
meaning "raving mad".

They are the white commandos

gripping the Namibian guerrilleros
by the balls.

That's what racist cops and soldiers
are also called.

You are Miss Zike, aren't you?

We are looking for a young man,
Gasha Sempala.

We've been told that he lives here.

Yes, but he's not here.

- When is he coming back?
- He's no longer here. He's gone.

Gone?

Where has he gone?

I don't know.
He didn't tell me where he was going.

He didn't leave an address.

You're lying. He must have told you
where he was going. Talk!

I don't know anything, I swear.
Please go away now.

- Why are you scared?
- I'm not scared.

Then why are you trembling?

I'm cold.

Don't be afraid, Miss.
We are not the police.

I am Gasha's father.

You're hiding something.

- Talk, or else…
- I swear I don't know anything.

He just left one day, without a word.

You're lying, and I'm getting angry.

He would bring lots of things at night:
watches, radios,

and when I saw all that stuff,
I got scared and kicked him out.

What I want to know is where he went.

He went to Orlando,
but I don't know where exactly.

Thank you.

I know, sometimes I look like a cop.
But it was necessary.

As a black man, you have to know
how to twist someone's arm.

Even for a piece of information?

Especially for information.
People are afraid.

So they prefer to mistrust you.

To whites, each of us
is a potential terrorist.

- It's that bus over there.
- That one?

Hello, gentlemen.

- You want to take the bus?
- Yes.

If you take the bus,
you're harming our cause.

We have decided to boycott them

until the price of a ticket
is 50 cents again.

Good God, it's true. I'd forgotten.

Don't stay here.
The police is watching us.

Yes, but we've got important business.

So do we, gentlemen.

They want us to pay one rand per day,

when some of us don't even earn
that much. Do you understand?

Yes, I understand, but you know,
for an old man's legs, 17 km…

It's not easy.

Men older than you do it every day.
Round trip.

Even children and pregnant women.

They barely have time to have a bite
to eat and sleep for one hour,

then they have to leave again at dawn,
often in cold and rainy weather.

I hope you understand.
Excuse me, gentlemen.

I know him.
He was one of our parishioners.

One by one, they're deserting us.

I've been looking for you all morning.

- So? - He's in.
Tonight at 9 at your friend's house.

That's unbelievable.

All those cars driving by,
and no one to pick you up.

White people used to stop
to pick up the elderly…

Now it's formally forbidden
on bus routes.

You'll have dough. Plenty of it.

But be careful
and don't let it go to your head.

Understood? Do the job.

Then go straight to bed and wait.

The last thing you should do
is to get hammered.

If you do that, you won't be able
to hold your fucking tongue.

Got it?

Good. Now listen to me.

Should you get pinched,
tell the cops any old bullshit,

that you went in to rob the place

and that you wasted the guy
because you got scared. Is that clear?

Are we on the same page? Remember
that you can't contradict yourself.

Don't worry about the rest.

If you keep quiet,
I'll get you out no matter what.

Got that?
But if you screw up…

We'll deliver the cash to your house.

Is that clear?

There he is.

Tell me… are you really his father?

Yes… of course!

Then that's funny. That's our Gasha.

He used to say
that both his parents had passed

and that he'd been orphaned
at a very young age.

You don't say!

What a disgrace!

It's understandable.

He didn't want his parents to know

that he was in a reform home.
That's all.

In any case, he's no longer with us.

You mean he left?

I mean… he was released?

It's been at least a month now.

Since he was one of our best lodgers,
he was given a reduced sentence.

It's quite common, especially here.

He was lucky to end up here.

Usually, when a black man
is in prison…

Careful now.
A reform home is not a prison.

I prefer "reeducation" myself.

It's a more suitable term.

Your son really is an elusive man.

Even in jail!

You should stop worrying.

I know where he works.
I can take you there tomorrow.

Be here around 10.

Why was he brought here,
to a reform home?

He didn't do anything too serious,

just a few burglaries
of small worthless objects.

A bit of smuggling. Small-time stuff.

What is important is
that there's a young girl who…

as we say, is carrying his child.

So I thought it might be best

for him to start a family.
Do you understand?

A pregnant girl…

Nowadays, marriage is a formality
that we sometimes forget to observe.

Really?

If you say so.

He surely must be ill.

Thanks for coming. See you soon.

Hello.

Your son really is elusive.

He hasn't been here in four days.
He must be ill. I'm really sorry.

You're out of luck. He lives
in Pineville. Here's his address.

- He probably moved already.
- Don't worry, Matthew.

This time, we've got your troublemaker.
Come along.

I'll drop you off at Springbok.

- It's her.
- That one?

- That girl there?
- That's right.

He left.

Sure, he left. We know that.
But where to?

- Springs.
- Yes, but when?

When is he coming back?

I don't know.
He took some time off work.

But he's coming back, isn't he?

- I don't know.
- How do you not know?

I just don't know.

But if he doesn't come back,
what will you do?

- I don't know!
- Forget it.

You won't learn anything at all.

You've tortured her enough as it is.
Come on, let's go.

Are you sure he won't be back?

- I don't know.
- That's quite enough.

Don't you see you're wasting your time?
There's thousands of girls like her.

Don't you see that Gasha
merely came into her life one night

and left in the morning,
never to be seen again?

Don't you understand that this child
will be my grandson?

How can you be sure?
Even Gasha doesn't know it.

Wait for me, will you?

- I've lost control.
- Don't say that.

There are moments
when I have the impression

that even God has abandoned us.
May he forgive me if I'm wrong.

Dead?

Elton?

Elton is dead?

Alas, he is, Sir.

He was killed by a bullet
that went through his throat and brain.

So far we only have vague clues,

because he was alone at home
when he was murdered.

- The murderer hasn't been identified?
- No.

Why? Why did they kill him?

We're assuming it was a burglar.
A native, of course.

Oh my God.

Try to stand straight, Mr Horn.

Your wife is watching us.

Benedict… The poor woman.

Oh Lord, how will she bear the news?

She never will. Never.

Turn around.

Go on, get lost.

They're hunting men down,
and I'm looking for a ghost.

What… what's wrong?

Answer me, will you?

Answer me, for God's sake!

It's the cops. Those bastards.

They beat me up.

Just so I'd tell them where Gasha is.

Gasha? But why Gasha?

Why are they looking for him?
What did he do to them?

I don't know anything.
They wouldn't tell me why.

In any case, it looks serious.

- What did you tell them?
- What would I tell them?

You want me to believe
you didn't tell them anything?

I gave them his address in Pineville.

You did the right thing.

Bastards.

What is it, Mommy?

When where they here?

- Answer me!
- Last night.

- They're looking for Gasha,
aren't they? - Yes.

What did you tell them?

Nothing.

Don't lie. Those people
always demand answers.

What did you tell them?

That I haven't seen him for…
for a week.

You didn't ask them
why they're looking for him?

No. I was afraid.

Of course, that's all you know:
to be afraid.

You're all afraid, here.

Afraid of everything and nothing,
afraid of yourselves.

Naturally, no one asked them anything.

I don't know.

"I don't know!"
Always the same words.

"I don't know, I don't know."
It's all you can say!

Then keep on not knowing!

Please don't ask me. I know nothing.

Calm down. We'll explain everything.

I'm afraid
it's a politically motivated crime.

In that case, I'd be surprised
if the murderer is a black man.

It's unbelievable how destiny
sometimes works against all logic.

He was writing an article
on crime in the black community

when he heard noises in the kitchen.

There was a blast, then it was all over.

I'm your father, am I not?
You can tell me the truth.

I can't tell you anything else.

I'm not going to lie
to make you happy, am I?

It wouldn't change a thing.
It was an accident, that's all.

I was unlucky.

Were you really the one
who shot that man?

I'm begging you, tell me the truth.

Yes, it was me.

I was alone, so…

But how?
How could you kill a man so coldly?

I already told you it was an accident.

I didn't intend to kill him.

I knocked some things to the ground,
and it made a noise.

So I hid.

Someone came
and turned the light on, and…

- And you shot at Horn's son?
- I didn't know who it was!

To me, he was a white man
like all the others.

When I saw him there
standing in front of me,

I got scared and the gun went off,
that's all.

Again with fear!
That's all you can talk about. Fear!

You don't turn into a murderer
because you're afraid.

You wouldn't understand.

- Some things are beyond you.
- For God's sake!

You had money. You had a job.

You had no need to steal.

Why did you do that?

If you think that on my salary
I can get married and have kids…

How do other people do it, then?

Other people?
I could care less about other people!

I don't want to die in poverty.

But why? Why did you do all that?

Stealing, killing…

Causing so much pain to others. Why?

I don't know. I don't know!

I know that you don't know.

That's the most awful part.

Leave him alone, will you?

You didn't come all this way
to lunge at him like a fox on a chicken!

If you keep going,
he'll stop answering you altogether.

Delius, we need to find
a lawyer immediately.

- A lawyer? - Yes, a lawyer.
- What for?

In this country, when a black man kills
a white man, only God can help him.

Even God can no longer help him.

- But I do know a good lawyer.
- Let's go find him.

… a symbol of altruism has
disappeared.

Some may cry
that the guilty must be punished.

The very same people clamoring
for punishment

are even guiltier.

They are guilty of having set up
a racial system to organize life,

guilty of asking God
to condone their treachery.

Guilty of breaking the natural
brotherhood of mankind.

May those making accusations today

be careful of not becoming
tomorrow's accused.

Elton Horn was 30 years old.

For some, he was nothing
but a traitor or a renegade,

but having always known him,
we deplore with much pain in our hearts

that such a bright and beautiful flame
was extinguished so soon.

We deplore that a life so full
of understanding and courage,

that this life constantly
inspired by that kind of love,

which triumphs over fear and hate,
has left us for eternity.

Now let us rise

and pray together
for the repose of his soul.

Munto, my dear wife,
I don't quite know how to write you

about everything that's happened
since I left home.

This awful city
has turned my life upside-down.

I have found Delius,
Josephine and Gasha.

I must say I understand their silence.

Even if I don't completely
approve of it.

I won't use the usual words,
because I'm no longer the same.

No.

I can't write that.

He was right. One can't write.

"In Soweto's black community,

"the number of criminals,
prostitutes and alcoholics…

"keeps rising, not because it is
in the indigenous people's nature,

"but because we've humiliated them
beyond all comprehension,

"by dispossessing them
of all values…"

- More coffee?
- Yes, I'll have some.

"… whether material, religious,
or human.

"Our social system is thus reduced
to tragic dilemmas

"that our arrogant assuredness
will never resolve."

- Suzanne… have a seat.

- You know, I'd have never thought
I could… - Could what?

Today, I shook a black man's hand
for the first time.

"With hatred and contempt,
they call us amok, the crazy ones.

"Give me one moment, just one moment.

"Give me one moment."

The last sentence he wrote.

"Give me one moment.
I'm hearing noises in the kitchen."

Give me one moment.

The moment that leads to death.

Give me a thousand moments.

Because I'll never come back. Ever.

Why do you want to kill me?

- You don't even know me.
- I must kill you, that's all.

We will now hear the accused.

When I went inside,
the gun was in my pocket.

I was looking for…
for things I could resell.

The light was off.

So I stumbled on something,
and some plates fell down.

I hid immediately,
then I heard footsteps.

Someone walked in
and turned the light on.

Suddenly there was a white man
in front of me. I got scared.

Then I don't know. I don't remember.

The gun went off,
and the man fell to the ground.

When I saw the blood, I got very scared
and jumped out the window.

That's all. It happened that way.

You told the prosecution
that you bought the weapon

solely for intimidation purposes,
is that right?

Yes, that's true.

Then how did you acquire ammunition
and why did you load your weapon

just before going into the house?

One doesn't load a weapon
without an intent to kill, as you say.

It was like that when I bought it.
I didn't even know it worked.

But when you bought it,
you saw that it was loaded,

and you didn't try it?
- No. I never planned to.

Yet you did not hesitate
to shoot your victim.

I had no intention of shooting.
I was scared, that's all.

Very well.

Do you have anything to add
to your deposition

before the hearing is adjourned?

No, nothing.

In order to allow the court

to examine the content
of the last depositions,

the hearing is adjourned, and a sentence
will be delivered in a fortnight.

You saw him turn around, didn't you?
Surely he was looking for someone.

No, I think he turned around
instinctively.

That's what I think, too.

Excuse me one moment.
I'll be right back.

I see that the powers of money
are pleased to be so well-protected.

The powers of money?
You sure have a way with words.

- You are unique, father.
- Fortunately, my son.

Fortunately.
If there were hundreds of us,

you would have stopped harming
your own a long time ago.

Be careful not to play with fire
too much.

Thanks for the advice.

It's not advice. It's a warning.

You are digging your own grave.

Tell me, father, what is pushing you
to preach violence?

There are many things
you still don't understand.

God works in mysterious ways, my son.

Especially for your kind.

I'm getting…

It looks like I have made
a new believer in violence.

Beware, father.
You're the one playing with fire.

Let's go.

The true motive of this crime
is not hate.

It is fear.

But we're not talking
about a sudden fear.

Or about an involuntary reflex. No.

No, what he felt was
another kind of fear.

A fear he has carried with him
for a long time, since birth.

A fear which sticks to the color
of his skin, which is hereditary.

A fear which is built into the genes
of every black person

here in this very country.

But if you are not capable
of analyzing and understanding

this profound motive
which is shaking up our society…

Mr Johnson, please do not underestimate
this court's competence.

During these proceedings,
the court has recognized no fact,

has discovered no circumstances
which could have supported

the granting of clemency.

We have given this question
much consideration,

but have been unable to find extenuating
circumstances for the accused.

Do you have anything to say
before sentencing?

I had no intention of killing him.
That's all.

We asked you if you had anything to add.

Not what your intentions were.

Nothing.

Silence!

Gasha Sempala, this court
condemns you to return to prison

and to be executed by hanging.

- May God have mercy on your soul.
- But it's false! They made me…

The sentence has been delivered.
The hearing is adjourned.

Pray, my friend. Pray.

Man's distress is sometimes so profound

that only prayer can relieve it.

Yeah. Yeah.

That's what I thought.

All this is very strange.

You're sure he never wrote you?

- Never.
- That's odd.

It's his profession, after all.

Do you realize what this means?

Abandoning his school and his wife
to party in Johannesburg!

A man his age!

There's the result of your blunders.

I told you not to let him go, didn't I?

Didn't I tell you?

- Me?
- Yes, you!

It's always the same thing!

I talk and talk, and no one listens.

I myself, Masimba Fefu,
will go to Johannesburg.

Yes, I am also convinced of it.

His cries had a ring of truth to them.

Surely there is something to it.

But it all seems so extraordinary.

What can we even do? What?

I don't know…

Couldn't we have
the sentence overturned?

Not possible.

Can we really not appeal the decision?

No, that's impossible.

Legally speaking.

Couldn't we ask
for another investigation?

Surely that must be possible?

Yes, it's possible. In theory.

We should be able to get one,
but it won't be easy.

I want to save my son.
That's why I'm here.

Because I'm sure he's innocent.

Perhaps, but that's not the right word.

Yes, perhaps.

The others should also be punished.

Those behind him
are even guiltier, aren't they?

It was them who wanted to kill Horn,
not Gasha.

Calm down. Listen to me well.

Here's my suggestion.

Tomorrow I'll go to the police
to deliver a file

as a request for further investigation.

Legally, that's all we can do.

We'll proceed this way and wait.

Thank you, counselor.

- As for money, I thought…
- No, no. Let's forget that, shall we?

We'll talk about it
some other time, Mr Sempala.

Here is my phone number.

Call me on Thursday.
We should be set by then.

Thank you, counselor. Thank you.

He should be stalking him like I asked!

Kill him!

Kill him! Kill him!

Slaughter him! Attack!

Sir, tell me… why do they have
their arms raised like that?

They are Black Consciousness militants.
One of their own died in prison.

- I see.
- Yes, another one. Excuse me.

Our two communities cannot coexist.
That's a fact.

We want to tell liberals that
they are making a serious mistake.

I'll never understand
why they won't stop their infighting.

To hell with them. Europe is
underpopulated. They can fuck off.

Only within independent republics
drawn along clear ethnic lines

will black people manage
to develop their own aspirations.

Why are they considered ignorant?
Just look at them.

- They know everything. They understand
everything. - That's true.

But we're inevitably headed
toward a breaking point and violence.

To think that the Church
is also responsible!

- You always exaggerate.
- I'm not exaggerating, on the contrary.

It's the unfortunate truth.

Perhaps I shouldn't say this,

but the Church has spread ignorance
for centuries in our country.

It has even taught that God
created whites superior to blacks,

and that it was sacrilegious
to rise up against God's will.

Nonsense. Complete nonsense.

Do you see what it sometimes meant,
to be a priest in this lousy country?

At first, when I would revolt against
this injustice,

believers would desert my church.

They saw me as the Devil,
or as a communist.

More often as a communist, I must say.

Even until yesterday,
I was ashamed to have been arrested.

Today, the children of Soweto are
all proud to be thrown in city jails.

Listen up.

It's about time we started shaking up

those among us
who are still apathetic.

Soon we will be foreigners
in our own country. Foreigners!

They are scared of us.
They fear us.

So each morning over breakfast
they make up some small republic

to coop us in like sheep.

Whenever they need us, they come to us.

When we'll be dead from the dirty work
they don't want to do,

they'll send us back to our bantustans.

They will never know unemployment. Look.

They created another one this morning.
That's the tenth republic!

You, you, and you too.
Perhaps it's your turn to leave.

Soon all of us will qualify
for a passport

with our photo on it. In color, to boot!

By then South Africa will be nothing
but a dream country.

A beautiful country
where 4 million whites live

and 20 million
black foreigners work.

They call us kafirs with contempt

and keep us cooped in reservations
like animals.

When will we realize
that we no longer are sheep?

I say South Africa is ours
first and foremost

and that we'll stay here!

Hello? Hello, yes?

Is this counselor Johnson's residence?

I mean Mr Johnson, the lawyer.
I'd like to speak to him, please.

Hello? Hello?

Whites dumb us down
with their alcohol and newspapers.

It's over now!
Kick all these people out!

We'll set fire to all these rotten
shacks. Let's get to it!

Who is it?

Is counselor Johnson here?

No, he's not here.
What do you want?

The thing is, I had an appointment.

Counselor Johnson is no longer here.
He left.

They came to get him last night.
He's been exiled.

Yes, exiled.

- What?
- You're playing dumb, aren't you?

Don't you know
what the word "exiled" means?

- No.
- Then I'll tell you.

They took him to Transkei
and put him under house arrest

without even saying why
or allowing us to see him.

And all of this is because of you!

No, Madam, it's not my fault.

I never wronged him.

Yes, you did.
It's likely because of your case.

Besides, he was expecting it.

Then… he won't be back?

Did he not say anything?

No, he said nothing.

He muttered something about someone
being hanged tomorrow morning.

Let's go!

Hurry up. Faster!

Squeeze them well.

And soak your handkerchiefs.

That way you won't cry.
It neutralizes the gas.

And don't panic.
Tear gas is not lethal.

Don't forget
to soak your handkerchiefs.

Hurry up. Faster!

Faster. Get in. On the double!

Make it snappy!
Come on, hurry up!

Faster, faster!

Get in there!

Hurry up and get in there.

On the double!

Let's go!

Faster. Get in. On the double!

Make it snappy!
Come on, faster!

Let's go, let's go! Get in there!

Move in.

… are in charge of this operation.

Gas masks!

Fire at will, or they'll slaughter us.

No one has come to greet me,
Masimba Fefu, chief of Ndotunza?

Naturally. We didn't tell anyone.

How about it, you loudmouths?

You're always saying Johannesburg
is full of black people.

Show them to me. I'm waiting!

Follow me!

Dano!

Dano!

Get up!

You, you, and you over there.

You, get up.

You, you too, and you.

You, over there.
You, too. Let's go.

You. You, too.

You, get up. Up!

You too. And you, over there.

Dano?

Dano?

Mommy is looking for you.

Answer me, Dano. Answer me.

Dano!

Dano!

Get back.

Get back.

Clear out!

Get back.

Get back, will you?

Get back.

We'll teach you obedience!

Nothing but white sheep!
You're all rotten fascists!

Shut up! Shut your mouths!
You sons of bitches.

Stop it! Stop it, will you?
Why torture us?

They want only one thing: justice.

And for that,
they'll pay with their lives!

For God's sake, stop!
Stop provoking them.

Stop playing preacher.
You know what they'll do to you.

I don't care!
They can do whatever they want.

I must curse them,
even that means going to hell.

I curse you!

You want play martyr, preacher?
You wait and see.

- Get back!
- I curse you!

Let go of me!

Norje!

Matthew!

David?

David!

Yes, sir?

What are these strange calls?

If you were Zulu,
you would understand them.

Whites think it's magic.

It's the people who live in the hills.

They're saying you are back, sir.

Do you hear it?

Yes, I hear it.

How strange.

They must be rejoicing, then.
Listen to them.

There is only one thing I dread in life.

The day we'll start loving them.

On that day… they'll start hating us.

I'm coming.

Matthew!

Gasha… is dead.

Little Dano… is also dead.

Delius… is dead.

Josephine… has gone mad.

They killed Yosua.

Young Tambo.

Mafuma as well.

They killed Steve.

They killed Bokwe.

Thousands more deaths…
are yet to come.

Thousands.

Subs: xxuuq @ KG, 2023