I have unearthed a short story I penned over 30 years ago.
The story, entitled The Park, contains no dialogue and does not feature an individual lead character. In addition, the urban park featured in the story itself becomes a key role-player.
The short story is contained in a magazine called Ingolovane, initially published by the now-defunct writers' organisation, COSAW.
The story touches on issues of distorted nationalism, the ways in which some political actors seek to appropriate public goods or resources for exclusive use by elites who define themselves in ways that lock others out.
Here is the story (Pages 79 and 80 of Ingolovane, with only last two paragraphs falling on page 80):
The Park A Short Story by Frank Meintjies
Things have not changed since they took their bizarre turn
at the lake. From the hilltop houses nearby, you can see the sliminess on the
skin of the water. Hunks of metal and bits of wood blackened by long
waterlogging jut out like ugly scars. The lake is inside the park, and as the
yolk is in the centre of a hamburger egg. As you peer through the dense
shrubbery immediately inside the fence, you see signs of decay and wanton
neglect everywhere. Here and there the wall of china fence has broken down, the
metal girding with the spiky top removed for other purposes. It would be a
brave person indeed who would venture into the park. No-one has been inside it
for years, except the four men who staged an armed seizure of the park some
time ago.
The men wear insignia of the once-fearsome right-wing
movement, although this grouping now refers to them as dissidents. This
movement itself has declined to a handful of members. Those who have spotted
the men say their hair grows untamed and their clothes are ragged, a fact
confirmed by an out-of-focus newspaper photo taken some years back.
Time was when parks and swimming pools were a big political
issue, when parks were fenced and whites-only signs were posted as grim sentry.
In many cases, however, conservative town or city councils, pressured by a
crippling consumer boycott or repeated defiance actions by black people, had
been forced to reverse an earlier decision. That’s when the right wing four
made their move. A newspaper was told by two of their comrades-in-hate — who
had allegedly tried to dissuade the rebels — that the four made a covenant:
they would only surrender the park when a white volkstaat had been declared.
They saw their act as a beacon, as a constant reminder to all the volk that
unless they resisted the gradual erosion of white power, their children would
become homeless wanderers in the African wilderness, always at the mercy of
other ‘nations’.
People walk past the park and stare. A movement in the
bushes triggered excited pointing and craning of necks. Sometimes youth would
throw a stone which would or would not be answered with retaliatory missile.
The council has put up a sign, in several languages saying: Throwing of
stones strongly prohibited. Spectators mostly react angrily to anyone who
disobeys this injunction and puts all at risk of injury. Many foreigners have
come to the park, pointing their Instamatics and long-nosed cameras at the undergrowth.
Many international magazines have run feature articles under headings such as ‘The
Last Outpost’ or ‘Monument to Apartheid’.
At first the denizens fended for themselves. They shot birds
and caught fish. It seems like their bullets are depleted, although it is very
likely they still have enough to repel anyone who dares set foot on the other
side of the fence, although in practice no-one has been shot at for many
months. They are given groceries every month by the Red Cross and Operation
Hunger. The food is pushed through a gap in the fence at night and, if no
spectators are around, is dragged into the lavish greenness before, long
before, dawn breaks.
At Christmas time, they received food and clothes hampers
from these organisations. No-one else had dared provide any practical
assistance for fear of being prosecuted for making common cause with criminals.
The state could easily have reclaimed the park, either
through army invasion or the use of a crack squad. But the government of the
time feared the fanaticism of the armed right-wing movements, who hailed the
four last as new Stydoms: “Although we disagree with their tactics we admire
them as patriots and men of principle.” They warned that if any harm came to
the four as a result of state action there would be ‘big trouble’, and compared
the park action to the consulate sit-ins of anti-apartheid activists.
Governments, and times, have changed since then, and the
country is now ruled by a black government wedded to the Freedom Charter. Two
of the former conservative councillors on the city council — now swayed by
black votes — have renounced conservatism and racism and have pledged to be
members of the ANC. And the park?
The present government says it has more important issues to
address first: redistribution of abandoned farmlands, taking control and
restructuring key monopolies, reorganising and equalising education facilities,
trying to hammer out a job creation programme. One Minister called the park “a
smelly carcass on the new road of a free South Africa”. People still walk past
the decayed park that is besieged from within — and stare.
Ends.
