Constitution Hill

Disclaimer: This entry is graphic, so please be warned. To be honest, censoring it wasn’t an option and I think it’s important to recognize the realities of prisons in South Africa during Apartheid. I wrote it as honestly as I can remember.

Background:

Constitution Hill was built on the site of the main prison in Johannesburg. The constructors left some of the old bricks and large parts of the prison in tact so that visitors could come and see what men and women went through before 1994. Now the site is home to the Constitutional Court of South Africa, the idea was to build a place for the future on the ruins of the past. Number Four was the prison for black males, with a separate section for political prisoners because it was thought that if they intermixed with the others they would gain support. This is my recollection.

I’ve known that I should write about the prison visit for a while. In the back of my head I told myself I was “processing it.” I don’t even know what that means. You can’t process such hideousness. I can’t explain what could make a human being do such horrifying things to another human being.

People frequently say that I’m innocent. In my heart I think it’s because I have never met someone that I thought was inherently evil. Someone who I could look at – truly look at -- and not see some remnants of humanity, some shed of light no matter how hidden.

But the men who monitored Number Four… there are no words that I have to describe these men. When I think that the cracked bricks still standing were once the caged in reality of political prisoners... that these men actually felt the end of the whips that now hang on display.. that these men stood on these steps and were forced to dance naked in front of each other, then bend over so that the guards could inspect their anuses… that these men, young and old, had to put their arms out like birds, spin in circles and jump--  their black naked bodies catching the light, humiliating themselves in front of the thousands of men around them…it makes me pause at the human condition that we could create such a reality.

It’s painful for me to write because I don’t want to romanticize it. The reality is sickening enough. We walked along the brick sidewalks, silent as our soft-spoken guide thoughtfully explained the lives of the men who lived in Number Four. They were cramped—60 peoople in a cell made for 20 with concrete walls and no windows, maybe 20 feet by 10 feet. With gang bosses who—rather than joining together—exploited new prisoners and established power. Yes, you say. That is a typical prison, what do you expect?

But is it typical to have a chamber only large enough for one man to stand inside with his hands and feet chained to the ceiling and the floor, spread eagle and naked like the Peruvian man? Is it typical for this metal chamber to be completely closed off except for “peep holes” just large enough to slide open and see the handcuffs and whips hanging from the ceiling-- to see only glimpses of the suffering inside? Because men were chained for hours, waiting until the guards came to whip and beat them over and over again. Did they die? Bodies were taken from the prison daily. 

Our guide tells us that some of the cells are haunted. Perhaps it’s because even the Universe can’t avenge such atrocities.