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World-renowned political organizer and one of Africa’s most celebrated poets, Dennis Brutus, died early on December 26 in Cape Town, in his sleep, aged 85.
Even in his last days, Brutus was fully engaged, advocating social protest against those responsible for climate change, and promoting reparations to black South Africans from corporations that benefited from apartheid. He was a leading plaintiff in the Alien Tort Claims Act case against major firms that is now making progress in the US court system.
Brutus was born in Harare in 1924, but his South African parents soon moved to Port Elizabeth where he attended Paterson and Schauderville High Schools. He entered Fort Hare University on a full scholarship in 1940, graduating with a distinction in English and a second major in Psychology. Further studies in law at the University of the Witwatersrand were cut short by imprisonment for anti-apartheid activism.
Brutus’ political activity initially included extensive journalistic reporting, organising with the Teachers’ League and Congress movement, and leading the new South African Sports Association as an alternative to white sports bodies. After his banning in 1961 under the Suppression of Communism Act, he fled to Mozambique but was captured and deported to Johannesburg.
There, in 1963, Brutus was shot in the back while attempting to escape police custody. Memorably, it was in front of Anglo American Corporation headquarters that he nearly died while awaiting an ambulance reserved for blacks.
While recovering, he was held in the Johannesburg Fort Prison cell which more than a half-century earlier housed Mahatma Gandhi. Brutus was transferred to Robben Island where he was jailed in the cell next to Nelson Mandela, and in 1964-65 wrote the collections Sirens Knuckles Boots and Letters to Martha, two of the richest poetic expressions of political incarceration.
Subsequently forced into exile, Brutus resumed simultaneous careers as a poet and anti-apartheid campaigner in London, and while working for the International Defense and Aid Fund, was instrumental in achieving the apartheid regime’s expulsion from the 1968 Mexican Olympics and then in 1970 from the Olympic movement.
Upon moving to the US in 1977, Brutus served as a professor of literature and African studies at Northwestern (Chicago) and Pittsburgh, and defeated high-profile efforts by the Reagan Administration to deport him during the early 1980s. He wrote numerous poems, ninety of which will be published posthumously next year by Worcester State University, and he helped organize major African writers organizations with his colleagues Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe.
Following the political transition in South Africa, Brutus resumed activities with grassroots social movements in his home country. In the late 1990s he also became a pivotal figure in the global justice movement and a featured speaker each year at the World Social Forum, as well as at protests against the World Trade Organisation, G8, Bretton Woods Institutions and the New Partnership for Africa’s Development.
Brutus continued to serve in the anti-racism, reparations and economic justice movements as a leading strategist until his death, calling in August for the ‘Seattling’ of the recent Copenhagen summit because sufficient greenhouse gas emissions cuts and North-South ‘climate debt’ payments were not on the agenda.
His final academic appointment was as Honorary Professor at the University of KwaZulu-Natal Centre for Civil Society, and for that university’s press and Haymarket Press, he published the autobiographical Poetry and Protest in 2006.
Amongst numerous recent accolades were the US War Resisters League peace award in September, two Doctor of Literature degrees conferred at Rhodes and Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in April - following six other honorary doctorates – and the Lifetime Achievement Award of the South African government Department of Arts and Culture in 2008.
Brutus was also awarded membership in the South African Sports Hall of Fame in 2007, but rejected it on grounds that the institution had not confronted the country’s racist history. He also won the Paul Robeson and Langston Hughes awards.
The memory of Dennis Brutus will remain everywhere there is struggle against injustice. Uniquely courageous, consistent and principled, Brutus bridged the global and local, politics and culture, class and race, the old and the young, the red and green. He was an emblem of solidarity with all those peoples oppressed and environments wrecked by the power of capital and state elites – hence some in the African National Congress government labeled him ‘ultraleft’. But given his role as a world-class poet, Brutus showed that social justice advocates can have both bread and roses.
Brutus’s poetry collections are: Sirens Knuckles and Boots (Mbari Productions, Ibaden, Nigeria and Northwestern University Press, Evanston Illinois, 1963). Letters to Martha and Other Poems from a South African Prison (Heinemann, Oxford, 1968). Poems from Algiers (African and Afro-American Studies and Research Institute, Austin, Texas, 1970). A Simple Lust (Heinemann, Oxford, 1973). China Poems (African and Afro-American Studies and Research Centre, Austin, Texas, 1975). Strains (Troubador Press, Del Valle, Texas). Stubborn Hope (Three Continents Press, Washington, DC and Heinemann, Oxford, 1978). Salutes and Censures (Fourth Dimension, Enugu, Nigeria, 1982). Airs and Tributes (Whirlwind Press, Camden, New Jersey, 1989). Still the Sirens (Pennywhistle Press, Santa Fe, New Mexico, 1993). Remembering Soweto, ed. Lamont B. Steptoe (Whirlwind Press, Camden, New Jersey, 2004). Leafdrift, ed. Lamont B. Steptoe (Whirlwind Press, Camden, New Jersey, 2005). Poetry and Protest: A Dennis Brutus Reader, ed. Aisha Kareem and Lee Sustar (Haymarket Books, Chicago and University of KwaZulu-Natal Press, Pietermaritzburg, 2006).
He is survived by his wife May, his sisters Helen and Dolly, eight children, nine grandchildren and four great-grandchildren in Hong Kong, England, the USA and Cape Town. (By Patrick Bond)
Statement from the Brutus Family on the passing of Professor Dennis Brutus
Professor Dennis Brutus died quietly in his sleep on the 26th December, earlier this morning. He is survived by his wife May, his sisters Helen and Dolly, eight children, nine grandchildren and four great-grandchildren in Hong Kong, England, the USA and Cape Town.
Dennis lived his life as so many would wish to, in service to the causes of justice, peace, freedom and the protection of the planet. He remained positive about the future, believing that popular movements will achieve their aims.
Dennis’ poetry, particularly of his prison experiences on Robben Island, has been taught in schools around the world. He was modest about his work, always trying to improve on his drafts.
His creativity crossed into other areas of his life, he used poetry to mobilize, to inspire others to action, also to bring joy.
We wish to thank all the doctors, nurses and staff who provided excellent care for Dennis in his final months, and to also thank St Luke’s Hospice for their assistance.
There will be a private cremation within a few days and arrangements for a thanks giving service will be made known in early January.
 Dennis Vincent Brutus, 1924-2009
Democracy Now on Dennis Brutus
Renowned South African poet and activist Dennis Brutus died in his sleep on December 26th in Cape Town. He was 85 years old.
Brutus was a leading opponent of the apartheid state. He helped secure South Africa’s suspension from the Olympics, eventually forcing the country to be expelled from the Games in 1970. Arrested in 1963, he was sentenced to eighteen months of hard labor on Robben Island, off Cape Town, with Nelson Mandela.
“In his last days, Brutus was fully engaged, advocating social protest against those responsible for climate change, and promoting reparations to black South Africans from corporations that benefited from apartheid,” writes Patrick Bond. “The memory of Dennis Brutus will remain everywhere there is struggle against injustice. Uniquely courageous, consistent and principled, Brutus bridged the global and local, politics and culture, class and race, the old and the young, the red and green…Given his role as a world-class poet, Brutus showed that social justice advocates can have both bread and roses.”
Dennis Brutus was a frequent guest on Democracy Now! over the years. A collection of his appearances is listed below. http://www.democracynow.org/tags/dennis_brutus
Poet, anti-apartheid activist Dennis Brutus dies Associated Press
South African poet and former political prisoner Dennis Brutus has died. He was 85.
Brutus' publisher, Chicago-based Haymarket Books, says the writer died in his sleep at his home in Cape Town on Saturday.
Brutus was an anti-apartheid activist who was jailed at Robben Island with Nelson Mandela in the mid-1960s. His activism led Olympic officials to ban South Africa from competition from 1964 until apartheid ended nearly 30 years later.
Exiled from South Africa in 1966, Brutus later moved to the United States and taught literature and African studies at Northwestern University and the University of Pittsburgh.
Over the years, he wrote more than a dozen collections of poetry, including two while imprisoned. He is survived by a wife, eight children and many other relatives. ©2009 The Associated Press
Sport struggle hero dies Rafiq Wagiet
Proffessor Dennis Brutus, one of South Africa’s most influential activists against the apartheid government, has died at the age of 85.
Brutus worked to get South Africa suspended from international sport participation, which eventually lead to South Africa’s expulsion from the Olympic Games in 1970.
Brutus spent 18 months on Robben Island after he was arrested in 1963 for his stance against apartheid.
President of the South African Sports Confederation and Olympic Committee Gideon Sam said Brutus was a stalwart in liberating South African sport from the grips of apartheid.
“He’s been a stalwart of spot in this country and abroad, making sure South Africa was isolated until we had proper freedom.” (Edited by Danya Philander) www.eyewitnessnews.co.za
Dennis Brutus, poet and activist, dies at 85 Vivian Nereim, Pittsburgh Post-GazetteSaturday 26 December 2009
Dennis Brutus, the prolific poet and impassioned activist who was imprisoned alongside Nelson Mandela in South Africa, died at his home in Cape Town this morning after battling prostate cancer. He was 85.
Dr. Brutus was exiled from his native South Africa for more than 20 years, and he successfully lobbied to ban the apartheid regime's all-white Olympic teams from the games.
During his exile, he traveled around the world, spending many years in Pittsburgh. At the University of Pittsburgh, where he was a professor, he directed the Black Studies department, now the Africana Studies department. He was beloved by many local writers and activists, who today recalled his gentle nature and devotion to human rights, whether in words or action.
Patrick Bond, director of the Center for Civil Society at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in South Africa, where Dr. Brutus was an honorary professor in his last years, said Dr. Brutus was sharp and engaged through his final days of life.
Despite his illness, he was still sending letters to newspaper editors this month about the international climate conference in Copenhagen. He was particularly passionate about environmental issues recently, said Mr. Bond, and he fervently wished he could be in Copenhagen himself.
Pitt Department of History Chair Marcus Rediker, who knew Dr. Brutus well, said he was awed by Dr. Brutus's tirelessness.
I called him a world-wide mover and shaker, he said. You could never be sure at any given moment which continent Dennis was on, what particular cause of justice he was taking up.
Arrangements for services remain unclear today. http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/09360/1023868-100.stm
Sokari Ekine Terrible news has just reached my ears: the lion has died. The lion sleeps tonight. Professor Brutus fought the apartheid regime and helped bring down some of its structures, almost single handedly.
He was a poet whose poems he wrote while in prison on Robben island are mainly why this blog exists, and why I write poetry. Letters to Martha, the book is called. He was my hero.
What do you begin to say when the pillar falls? Do you cry for the empty future (Brutus’s “the weight of the approaching days”) or celebrate his life? Dilemma. I have celebrated his life on this blog and privately in the rooms of my heart. I choose to mourn, now. So, what are we gonna do?
Who’s gonna step into his shoes? What will them think, now that he is dead? That we’re weaker? That they’re stronger? We must mourn no matter what. He will live through his action and through his words, none of which spoke louder than the other.
Let us mourn, then, this man who has done so much for you and for me, and so little for himself. Let us mourn because orphans mourn, and let us hope that because of this departure, we will soon move from mourning to morning.
Their Behaviour Their guilt is not so very different from ours: —who has not joyed in the arbitrary exercise of power or grasped for himself what might have been another’s and who has not used superior force in the moment when he could, (and who of us has not been tempted to these things?)— so, in their guilt, the bare ferocity of teeth, chest-thumping challenge and defiance, the deafening clamor of their prayers to a deity made in the image of their prejudice which drowns the voice of conscience, is mirrored our predicament but on a social, massive, organized scale which magnifies enormously as the private dehabille of love becomes obscene in orgies. www.blacklooks.org
Split This Rock on Dennis Brutus, 1924-2009 26 December 2009
Split This Rock mourns the passing and celebrates the life of Dennis Brutus, who shared his prophetic vision with us as a featured poet at Split This Rock's inaugural festival in March 2008. Our thoughts are with his family and with the broader human family Dennis cared about so much. We are all lucky to have been graced with his fierce, uncompromising love. http://blogthisrock.blogspot.com/2009/12/dennis-brutus-1924-2009.html
Dan MoshenburgFor many, young, old and anywhere in between, Dennis has been a presence, a gentle and insistent education into the beauty of the persistent struggle for social justice and into the need to remember that social justice emanates from and builds on love, laughter, beauty, understanding, sharing, humanity.
Dennis first came to the attention of many with his collection Letters to Martha & other Poems from a South African Prison. Here’s one of those poems, “Letter 18”, dated 20 December 1965. Hamba kahle dear greatly daring poet hamba kahle sala kahle. I remember rising one night after midnight and moving through an impulse of loneliness to try and find the stars.
And through the haze the battens of fluorescents made I saw pinpricks of white I thought were stars.
Greatly daring I thrust my arm through the bars and easing the switch in the corridor plunged my cell in darkness
I scampered to the window and saw the splashes of light where the stars flowered.
But through my delight thudded the anxious boots and a warning barked from the machine gun post on the catwalk.
And it is the brusque inquiry and threat that I remember of that night rather than the stars. 20 December 1965 http://www.womeninandbeyond.org/?p=589
The Poet signs a higher note Nnimmo
My condolences on the passing of the great comrade who so inspired us with his pen and commitment.
Gillian Hart My deepest condolences on Dennis's passing. One of the people for whom Dennis was very important is Alfred Duma, who was with him on Robben Island. Baba Duma often speaks of Dennis very fondly, remembering in particular how Dennis was very important in enabling illiterate people like himself to learn to read on the Island. At the end of 1998, a year in which both my parents died, I recall sitting in Mr Duma's house in Ezakheni township outside Ladysmith, and was gripped by a spasm of grief. Baba Duma took me by the hand, and explained that in the Zulu tradition one grieves when a young person dies - but when an old person who has lived a good, full life passes on, then one celebrates. Dennis gave so much to the world, and there is so much in his life to celebrate.
Michael Yates I knew Dennis Brutus when he was at the University of Pittsburgh. A very fine, courageous, and gentle man. A friend of mine invited him to a class she was teaching at a prison in Pittsburgh. You have to go through a metal detector to get inside. Dennis had to go through about five times, each time removing some object he had forgotten about. I am sure the guards were irritated, but what could they do? If you knew Dennis and his manner, I am sure you can appreciate the humor and irony in the situation. Needless to say, he was a big hit with the men in the class.
Dennis Brutus had that rare quality of making you feel important in what you were doing even as he was humble about his own profound contributions to the struggle for human liberation.
Muna Lakhani I am sorry to announce that a giant amongst us has passed on... Dennis Brutus departed this planet about 2 hours ago..... all who know him, will miss his integrity, clarity of thought and infinite wisdom.... those who do not, will feel the void he has left behind... hamba kahle...
Khadija Sharife all my favorites poems and poets have his voice - he would read for me my favorites, even when he was really tired...
Tony Brutus: (speech at Dennis' CT memorial today)
How do you do? Aangenaame kennis, my naam is Dennis. A phrase with a ring to it, and a sense to it—
Dennis was ready to meet the world, polite, respectful and clear minded. In the living room of our Shell Street home in Port Elizabeth, he would greet neighbours and fellows from near and far. And in fact, the names of Govan Mbeki, Walter Sisulu, MN Pather, Lutchie Lutchman, Luthuli, were household names for me growing up. An engaging man.
According to his sisters, Dennis was an extrovert and very early on, it is clear, he was a man with a mission, ready to take on the world.
The measure of the man can be found in the treasure of rich ideas, lyrical poetry and breadth of achievement over many walks of life. He took pleasure of mooching down to the Port Elizabeth docks to greet and befriend foreign sailors arriving from far and stranded without a knowledge of the town – and he was rewarded with a unique and broad collection of jazz records and wonderful East German cameras. He could tell you a story about that.
An aside – when I was turning twelve or thirteen, Dennis decided it was time for us to have a father and son discussion on the hormonal changes I would be going through. He said I suppose you will start to find girls more exciting and you will want to know how it happens when you want to be physical with each other. Just ask me anything. The trouble was that we were sitting on a Red London Bus in Finchley in rush hour and everyone was turning to stare at me. He might as well have started to read a poem out loud, and of course I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t with him. When you’re around Londoners, you feel this pressure to fit in and conform with them.
The legacy of a legend is the inspiration he provided. People from many different walks of life encountered him when they were searching for focus and purpose – Dennis was a intellectual guide, a pilot light assisting other souls with unfailing insight. Arthur Nortje, Vaughn Fayle, Charles Abrahams are among immensely talented young people who have with his nudging, achieved magnificent accomplishments.
The power of his story telling and his prophetic vision surrounds us at the turn of the year: this year’s big event – a Fifa football spectacle the likes of which the continent has never seen – the story Dennis tells has this twist: will the trick of the trickle down effect wash away or divided history? Or will it be a washout of elite corporate entertaining leaving the local people complaining about empty promises, empty stadiums, stars in the eyes and nothing in their pockets: we’ll see just now if Dennis gut feeling was unfailing.
Youth Leaving home going out to the world he said to his Mum: “ they won’t like what I’m going to do…nevertheless I have to do what is right” He could have meant his family, he certainly meant his compatriots.
By example that soul force will defeat police cordons: pen in hand, clear of his conviction, he use his charm and courtesy, and ability to spin a story as a formidable weapon.
Anyone of my brothers or sisters can tell you, that at St Patrick’s Catholic Church in Sydenam there were only white alter boy. Dennis changed that. Usually on the way there on a Sunday, we walked through a park where the slides and swings had the all too familiar “For whites only sign”. Go ahead and play on them, he used to say. And when people or the park attendants approached us to object – he calmly, without anger, stood up to them and defied them. It wasn’t fun, and the lesson Dennis had for us was that you can make change: fly as straight as an arrow to your goal.
There is too much of an attitude of “what can I get? Rather than how can I serve?” these days. Back in Port Elizabeth at the time Americans were in the awakenings and uprisings of the Civil Rights movement, a letter would arrive in the post from Robert Kennedy, at the time Attorney General or some such, replying to a persistent and principled enquiry from Dennis.
And that links to now, look at what we have now – you should know our Minister of Justice Mr. Jeff Radebe has, on behalf of the South African government shifted their position to support the case for reparations – and the case is moving forward, with Dennis as a litigant: way ahead of everyone, but he told, no intention of personal gain.
About unanswered questions. In the last World Cup final, what did the player who incited Zinadine Zidane actually say? And all sorts of possibilities have been suggested. What could I say to sum up the meaning of my father, what would he actually say to advise me? And it is this, don’t fear to tell the truth about me. Lies are chains. I have looked for and stood for the truth.
And this location, this slave lodge will have heard the shouts and shrieks of pain, the whip the lash and sjambok were used around this place and these spaces. People crowded and sick and dying for lack of dignity, the right to decency. We are the descendents of slaves, though I haven’t exactly traced the precise roots. Our ancestors rebelled, and Dennis would recall the uprisings that took place around the Cape against injustice and oppression, as they take place everywhere around the world.
Dennis and the written word. Letters of protest to the governing elites, that plainly and simply demanded that people act according to their words and their constitutions. Brief updates of news or filtered, coded messages slipped under doors in prison cells on Robben Island where Dennis mooched along with a mop, washing the floors. Open letters to the editors of newspapers. Petitions to the courts: a rare and remarkable intelligence and gift of reading and writing to back up the singular purpose he had chosen: to live with integrity and to defy injustice and oppression.
Dennis and meetings, an early memory of a rally – the names Chief Albert Luthuli, Walter Sisulu and Govan Mbeki were always in the air; and the funerals of struggle activists: meetings and funerals were much the same thing.
We were not very much in touch with each other in recent years, but then that changed and it is a credit that Dennis could put aside the differences between us and say that he would spend some months with us as his candle started to flicker. Eighty five years is a decent span.
Hamba Kahle Dennis!
Beverly Bell: Small Tribute to the Giant Dennis Brutus
Dennis… How does one pay tribute to Dennis Brutus? The man was sui generis. Capturing him even partially would take a short book or a very long poem. I hope someone attempts the feat, both because Dennis deserves it and because it will help spread the power of his life, work, and words.
And spread Dennis’ life, work, and words must continue to do, for in them lie the essentials of a more just, humane, equitable, and environmentally sustainable world.
The Dalai Lama is reported to have said, “Let your life be your message.” Dennis’ was. This is true in the humility and beauty with which he carried himself, the kindness with which he treated others, the strength of his convictions, the energy with which he worked for those convictions, and the wisdom and clarity of his words.
I met Dennis when he was fighting for political asylum from the Apartheid regime in the early 80’s. Our collaboration began when he sat on the board of the Washington Office on Haiti where I served on the staff. Never mind that he could never attend the meetings due to his back‑breaking schedule; he always took the time to send beautiful notes of inspiration for the Haitian liberation struggle, written in his remarkable free‑hand calligraphy. How we treasured those notes! He later sat on the board of the Center for Economic Justice that I ran, and this time he showed up for most of the meetings. Though reaching the remote city of Albuquerque required many hours of travel, and though he often had meetings or presentations in other countries on the front and back ends, and though his participation was often for no more than a day, still he came… for Dennis was faithful to whatever he committed to. The same was true of the World Bank Boycott, of which we were two coordinators: Dennis appeared for most any workshop, presentation, or meeting we asked of him, raising high the flag with all his strength and brilliance.
He didn’t just show up in body, of course. He came with his most pressing passions and most politically urgent campaigns. He lobbied all to involve ourselves, to turn out, to unite our voice and strength, to do more than we were doing. The man was tireless and fearless, and gently urged us to be, too. I recall running a workshop on strategies to fight the World Bank in a church in Washington during a week of protests. Making a cameo appearance, Dennis asked for the floor and proceeded to make a long appeal for everyone to join him at another gathering on another topic, many months out, in another country. As he went on about whatever the topic of that gathering was, a young woman hissed at me that the speaker was off‑message and that I should cut him off. I tried to be polite while denying her request, but what I really wanted to say to her was, “Do you have any idea who is speaking? You should just feel honored. Just listen very carefully to what he has to say.”
The schedule he kept was remarkable for anyone of any age or state of health. But I never heard him complain or make excuses. Dennis’ entire history was a testament to the idea that you do what needs to be done, you rise to the occasion. So on he plugged when he had surpassed 80, when his health had diminished, when his itinerary exhausted him, when his memory flagged. I ran into him at the World Social Forum in Mumbai in one of his final years when he was clearly weary of body and mind. After sharing a hug, he said, “I must go now because I have a meeting. I can’t remember with whom, or where it is, but I know I have one.” And off he went through the throngs, tenacity and a fierce commitment to obligation trumping all personal challenges.
When we were lucky, Dennis had the time and inclination for a story. No matter how grand or quotidian the narrative, it was marked by his beautiful verbiage, exquisite oration, enlivened eyes, and ‑if a good story‑ delight, or ‑if one of injustice‑ calm. My favorite stories were of his and his comrades’ fierce fights against Apartheid. So much courage and creativity they bespoke. He found humor in unexpected places, and always understated the suffering. There was the tale of attempting to flee the guards as he was being transported from one prison to another, jumping out of the police car at a red light and setting off in a dash. “That was when I learned what a through‑and‑through wound was,” he said of the bullet which pierced his chest and went out his back. He told of lying on the ground bleeding to death, “in the shadow of the Anglo American Corporation, appropriately enough,” waiting for the ambulance. When a whites‑only ambulance arrived by mistake, he had to lie bleeding for another long while during which a second ambulance – this one for so‑called coloreds ‑ journeyed from the hospital. He told of his comrades’ breaking into the hospital to free him after the shooting, as he barely survived on life support, and of his stealthily writing on his hand, “Abort mission,” – knowing that he would die in the process. He told of being under house arrest with guards parked in front of his home around the clock, while he climbed out the side window to attend political meetings.
During one of his narrations in my living room, I noticed that the self‑deprecating chortle that usually punctuated his stories had vanished. Dennis was softly crying. A tear ran down his nose and hung at the tip, where it remained throughout the rest of his tale of horror and brutality. Like Dennis’ life, the sadness or frustration it revealed did nothing to stop or quiet the truth‑telling in which he was engaged.
It was easier to get a poem from him, whether he read it during a public presentation or shared it in a quiet moment. Whenever he had a new book, he carried copies around and freely gave them out, after adding a warm inscription in that lovely penmanship. Dennis was perhaps most full in his poems, merging the personal and the political, never denying the existence of tyranny but always bringing to it his breath of hope that the world can be different – if we organize to make it so.
It is perhaps easiest to remember Dennis the fighter, but I was always equally impressed with Dennis the human being. No matter how ugly the political fight, Dennis’ anger remained streamlined on the wrongful systems and policies, not wasted on the individuals behind them. I do not mean to imply that he was ever soft or compromising. But he kept his eyes on the prize – the principles at play ‑ and in so doing, brought us one step closer to the world we seek.
The same was true with his approach to the movement. When comrades and allies around him made errors, his response always shone like a beacon above the oft‑divisive internal politics. He seemed to know better than most that we are all limited and imperfect, and that the benefit of the doubt or the possibility of change is a grace we need for humanity to continue to evolve. Or perhaps it was simpler: perhaps he knew that he was no one’s judge. Or maybe he just knew that the world was harsh enough already, as he expressed in his poem “Somehow We Survive”:
All our land is scarred with terror rendered unlovely and unlovable sundered are we and all our passionate surrender but somehow tenderness survives.
Dennis wrote his own simple obituary in 2009 as he discussed the Sharpeville massacre. “I was committed to the struggle and I would if necessary die in the cause of liberation: ‘Freedom or death.’ It was a very simple resolve.” He did indeed die in the cause of liberation – though fortunately not a violent or premature death. Every single thing that Dennis did was in the cause of liberation.
I would say I will miss Dennis, but he's not going anywhere: he is in all of us who care profoundly for humanity and justice.
‑ Beverly Bell, Other Worlds, New Orleans, January 4, 2010
Deena Padayachee:
Dear Friends of the Literary Network, my family and those who cared for Dennis
The year ended on a sad note with the passing of our dear, beloved, greatly respected Dennis Brutus.
I thnk that the greatest accolade I can pay him is to say that he was a human being who used his incredible intellect for the greater good of all humanity. And he paid the price for that lonely path. In some senses of the term he was a martyr but he never carried himself with a sense of victimhood or martyrdom. He consciously immolated his life in order to help liberate the world from tyranny, racism and oppression. God was good to allow him to be on Earth.
He was a sentient human being of impeccable integrity and incredible nobility. He was at home with the 'simplest' among us but he could cross swords, most deftly, with the most assinine among the arrogant academics and the many mean spirited ogres who dwell among us. His manner, the way in which he carried himself, reminded me of aristocracy ‑ without the arrogance which usually accompanies that state of being. He was as naturally noble and charming as breathing is for the rest of us. His charm and soft manner of expression was always at odds with the way the Apartheid media had reported about him with great ire ‑ the way they reported about his activities which he conducted on behalf of us all.
It goes without saying that he was not for sale. If you were his comrade you counted yourself truly blessed. If he took your assistance, then you counted yourself fortunate, because he never asked for it. He was the essence of good manners.
Cast in the role of the thorn child, it was inevitable that he would have to oppose the gangsterism of fascism.
His resistance to tyranny was never done with the uncouth, wild aggression of the immature. His was a resistance that was always conducted with a Gandhian dignity and with a great deal of respect. Those who he resisted must have gone away feeling, somewhere within themselves, a great deal of shame.
In his everyday conversation Dennis was about subtlety ‑ never for him the rudeness and tactlessness of direct confrontation. When he criticised individuals it was always done with careful consideration for the other. Poetry is about many things including emotion; yet, somehow, Dennis always seemed to be in control of his emotions.
Yes, we celebrate his life now, now that he is taken from us. But many of us celebrated Dennis Brutus while he was still alive. That memory will stay with us for ever. He allowed his light to illuminate our lives. Most of the people on this List learned a great deal from dear Dennis. We are deeply grateful, Dennis.
While I was fortunate enough to associate with Dennis, he hardly ever spoke about the many organisations he worked with or the many very great human beings who respected him so much. He was the very personification of humility.
In a sense the depth of his humanity is reflected in the quality of his great comrades, Claudia Martinezmullen and Professor Patrick Bond who were the greatest friends any person could ever hope to have.
Dennis Brutus is immortal. He represents the best that is in Homo Sapiens.
Regards Deena Padayachee
Trevor Ngwane: The soldier did all that he had to do and more, may he rest in peace.
Ronnie Kasrils: He fought fiercely for freedom, equality and justice, and apart from many admirable qualities was one of this country's outstanding. He lived a life of fulfillment and will be remembered for his sterling qualities and the courageous role he played to set our country free.
Hopewell Gumbo: I met you in the last days. Your frail voice, from the wheel chair was a touching inspiration, a sign of courage, determination and ammunition for those you were about to leave, all who had gathered for nothing but the road to an alternative world. With my eyes closed I can see you so fresh in the long red sea march from Alex to Sandton, taking every opportunity to inspire with slogans that told us that there was no other way than that of struggle. For freedom was you call and we will carry the torch as you constantly reminded. You departure is the vindication that struggle is our birthright and we will forever will to set you soul free.
Kiama Kaara: He inspired us all who met him and we are resolute that he died fighting Capitalism through and through. We all will endeavour to live his spirit.
Adelaine and Walter Hain: He was an indefatig‑able campaigner against the Apartheid regime, never stinting himself in his fight, particularly as we knew, on the Sports Apartheid front. He will be always remembered and missed by his fellow campaigners all over the world.
Peter Hain: in his leadership of SAN‑ROC, he was massively instrumental in isolating white South Africa from all international sports. Dennis, we salute you as one of our freedom warriors
Ann Wolfe: I myself met Dennis only on two important occasions, but I know how much he meant to my late husband, John Harris. Dennis and SANROC, were synonymous to John. The occasion, on which I got to know Dennis a little was when I drove with him and John to Swaziland, hoping that Dennis could escape. We were in John's parents' VW Kombi‑camper, and, on crossing the border, Dennis hid in one of the under seat cupboards, so squashed that he could barely breathe I think.
John Minto: Dennis visited New Zealand in 1976 at the height of the campaign to stop that year's planned All Black tour to South Africa. The impact of his visit was profound. He was inspiring with his message and infectious in his energy and passion for justice. That tour went ahead in the face of the Soweto uprising and Dennis was at the centre of the Montreal Olympic boycott by 29 African and Caribbean countries later that year after the Olympic movement failed to censure New Zealand.
His impact on the international solidarity movement was immense which others have attested more adequately than I can.
We admired his principled rejection of entry to the South African Sports Hall of Fame two year back.
I finally met Dennis in April last year in Durban and felt greatly privileged to spend a morning with him. I reminded him of one of his poems called For a Dead African which had a big impact on me as a young activist back in the 1970s. He wrote it after John Nangoza Jebe was killed by the South African police and the final lines are these:
“Yet when the role of those who died to free our land is called, without surprise these nameless unarmed ones will stand beside the warriors who secure the final prize.”
The land is not free, the final prize is still beyond reach but Dennis will stand tall with a name well known alongside those who achieve it. Haere ra e hoa ‑ haere, haere, haere.
Gustavo Castro: This admirable man's life was so notable to me: his life, his words, his person. Dennis hasn't left, he remains with us forever. Dennis may rest in peace, for surely he knows that the rest of us will continue to uphold the struggle.
Anne Mayher: Thanks, Dennis for taking the time to pass on your knowledge and inspiration to so many of us. Your work lives on as we all do our little part to push for a more just system. I think I felt the earth shake a bit the day you passed to the next life, but your spirit is present everywhere I go ‑ you have encouraged us to have the courage to speak the truth against the most powerful corporations and most powerful governments! You live on, Dennis! The deepest gratitude to you for sharing so much of yourself with us.
Steven Mentor: When I came to Stanford University in 1976 I thought I was going to study Renaissance rhetoric, or perhaps Modernism and the experimental novel. Instead I found the anti‑apartheid movement, a group called SCRIP, some truly amazing organizers young and not so young. When Dennis Brutus died, my friend Chris Gray ‑ one of those amazing organizers ‑ sent me a message that brought those days of protest, of strategy, of reading and writing and learning, back. And I reread Dennis's obit, read a good homage to him in Foreign Policy in Focus by Martin Espada, and a fine essay by Patrick Bond titled What we learned from Dennis Brutus' troubadour politics. And I'm struck by something. I did study the renaissance at Stanford: the renaissance of a certain kind of activism, linked around the world and intimately linked by friendship and a feeling of reclaiming our lives from the varius isms and the poverty of dominant cultural practices. And I rediscovered the troubadours, the modern ones like Dennis, and the older European ones whose vision of a world not simply dominated by Mars but also inhabited by Venus, inhabited as well by flights of imagination tied to a new/old way of living freely and joyously on this earth. So Dennis, wherever you are. I'm raising this cup to you, and vowing to bring more troubadour into my own life, more social justice into my own actions, and more hell raising into the belly of this beast we must, and will, slow down and eventually tame, if we are to survive as a species, and laugh to tell the tale.
Mitchel Cohen: My interviews with South African legendary poet and activist, Dennis Brutus, who died last week at 85, will air on Steal This Radio Tuesday night (tonight) at 9 pm (NY Time) and repeat on Friday at 11 a.m. (NY Time) on NYTalkRadio.net (listen live!). It will be podcast 24/7 after that, in a few weeks. You can hear this anywhere in the world over the internet at http://NYTalkRadio.net, not on regular radio.
Africa Action and Jubilee USA: Many Mourn the Loss of Artist & Activist Dennis Brutus.
World‑renowned political organizer and one of Africa's most celebrated poets, Dennis Brutus, died early on December 26 in Cape Town, in his sleep, aged 85... Jubilee USA Network and friends mourn the loss of a great friend, artist, and activist. We had the honor of working with Dennis for many years. In 2008, Dennis discussed his perspective for Jubilee on the role of the U.S. Treasury Secretary and what should top the agenda of the new Treasury Secretary. Below are highlights from Jubilee Network Council member Africa Action’s meaningful statement: Sunday, December 27, 2009 (Washington, DC) – Dennis Brutus, renowned South African poet, educator, and activist, died at age 85 early Saturday morning, December 26th. He is survived by his wife May, his sisters Helen and Dolly, eight children, nine grandchildren and four great‑grandchildren in Hong Kong, England, the USA and Cape Town. Dennis Brutus was born to South African parents in what is now Zimbabwe and was educated in South Africa. His outspoken activism against racism and apartheid during the 1950s and 1960s resulted in the banning of South Africa from the Olympics and his subsequent arrest in 1963. He was imprisoned for 18 months on Robben Island, serving time with Nelson Mandela, and then banned from his studies, his politics, and his teachings. Dennis left South Africa in 1966 for England, and subsequently taught at various institutions throughout the United States. In 1966 Dennis had just been released from the Robben Island prison in South Africa and went on tour in the U.S. for Africa Action's predecessor organization, the American Committee on Africa. The organization's executive director, Jennifer Davis, recalls that he used to wander around her apartment in the middle of the night, muttering poetry; her kids were fascinated by him. He later settled in the United States and spearheaded work on the international sports boycott. His poetry was banned in South Africa for years, though he himself was allowed to revisit the country beginning in 1990. Adding to his six other honorary doctorates, this year Denis was presented with the U.S. War Resisters League peace award in September, and two Doctor of Literature degrees bestowed at Rhodes and Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in April. He was also the first non‑African American to receive the Langston Hughes Award and the first Paul Robeson Award in 1989 for artistic excellence, political consciousness and integrity. In 2008, Denis was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award of the South African government Department of Arts and Culture. Denis spoke around the world on the current injustices of the international financial institutions and their policies in the Global South. jubileeusa.typepad.com
University of KwaZulu‑Natal Press: The University of KwaZulu‑Natal Press is proud to have been associated with, and to have published an edited collection of work by and on Dennis Brutus. We are saddened by and mourn his death, but we also celebrate a life that remained revolutionary right to the end.
‘… when I came to adulthood I challenged myself to Confrontation To admission and action’
These are the closing lines of a 2002 poem by Dennis Brutus. As we look back on his life and writing, let us too be challenged to confront, admit to and act on those struggles that we face us today.
Remembering Dennis Brutus Beloved poet and anti‑apartheid activist Dennis Brutus passed away on December 26, 2009. Here is one activist's recollections of Dennis which reflects his vibrant contributions to art and politics even into his 80s. Steve Bloom (Socialist Webzine) 4 January 2010
December 2009 ‑ Early in this decade, when he was a professor in the Black Studies Department at the University of Pittsburgh, Dennis Brutus and I were attending the same political conference in that city. We had never met. I approached him, somewhat hesitantly, to share a poem I had written referencing the struggle in South Africa. He read it immediately, and eagerly. Then, to my surprise, he began a conversation as if we were long‑time comrades and collaborators.
That, in my experience, was Dennis Brutus summed up: a man who had achieved greatness by any ordinary standard. But the esteem in which he was held by others seemed unimportant to him. He felt, and acted, like an ordinary human being simply doing what needs to be done. He treated others, even strangers, as if that were true as well.
Over the next few years, every time our paths crossed—mostly on his frequent visits to New York City—Dennis would ask me what poetry event was being organized that he might participate in. It was, in part, as a result of his urging that I organized the very first “Activist Poets’ Roundtable” at the US Social Forum in Atlanta in 2007. He also helped launch the Roundtable in New York City in March 2008, after the annual “Left Forum” where Dennis appeared on several panels.
It was at this time that I really got to know him well. He had injured his foot, somehow, on the eve of the Left Forum and was having difficulty walking. I spent that weekend driving him back and forth between his hotel and the conference site, also making sure he had the help he needed getting around at the conference itself (and in his hotel). Then, when his foot did not improve, he accepted an offer of a place to stay for a few days in Brooklyn, where he wouldn’t have to manage on his own.
He and I spent a lot of time together during those few days, in particular waiting for medical attention at the Kings County Hospital emergency room. And he told me stories about his life in the struggle against Apartheid. I will never forget the chuckle in his voice as he talked about the time he was shot in the back while attempting to escape from the police. He could laugh, too, about the absurdity of breaking rocks at Robben Island prison, the lengths to which the Apartheid regime had gone to suppress dissent. And yet it was all for naught (the source, I assume, of his mirth). The regime could not survive, no matter what brutal measures it resorted to. The people of South Africa were too strong.
During this entire time, as his foot at first got worse then gradually began to feel better, the biggest concern he expressed to me was that he shouldn’t become too much of a burden.
In that same month we drove together to Washington, DC, for the first “Split This Rock” poetry festival. Dennis found it impossible to attend such an event without making it an opportunity for a little political organizing. He decided, on the way down, that we should use the festival as the occasion for a declaration of poets calling for peace and social justice in the world. And so an “Appeal to Poets, Writers, and All Creative Artists” from the festival, for actions in March 2009 which would “Speak Art to Power,” was born. In the end it was signed by a majority of those in attendance at the festival.
The overwhelming majority of young activists in the struggle for a better world believe that they are committed for life. Very few, however, actually fulfill this promise which they make to themselves. How many who were Dennis Brutus’s comrades in the anti‑Apartheid struggle, for example, ended up compromising their commitment to human liberation once the overthrow of Apartheid was achieved and power transferred into their hands? Dennis, however, remained committed to the poor and oppressed of South Africa and of the world until his final days. He was constitutionally incapable of doing otherwise.
It has always struck me as one of the sad ironies of our existence that we can never, truly, count anyone in the ranks of the very special few who fulfill their youthful pledge—to themselves and to their own humanity—until they are no longer with us. Dennis fulfilled his pledge. He is no longer with us. The world will miss him.
I will miss him, too.
http://socialistwebzine.blogspot.com/2010/01/remembering‑dennis‑brutus.html
A near literal run‑in with a hero of battle against apartheid Mike Seate (Pittsburgh Tribune‑Review) 5 January 2010
Just before the year ended, one of my heroes passed away. South African political activist Dennis Brutus, 85, died Dec. 26 in Cape Town. He lived the sort of life they make movies about.
Brutus spent 16 months incarcerated with Nelson Mandela at the infamous Robben Island prison after surviving a gunshot wound while fleeing authorities. While in prison, he learned that the International Olympic Committee agreed in 1964 with his campaign to ban South Africa from the Tokyo games because of apartheid.
With his trilling, studious voice, his long, white beard and fiery conviction, Brutus garnered enough international pressure to keep South Africa from Olympic competition until 1992. By then, he had emigrated to a temporary home in Pittsburgh.
I learned about Brutus on an episode of CBS' 60 Minutes in the 1980s. He was teaching at the University of Pittsburgh while fighting the U.S. government's attempt to extradite him to South Africa because he lacked proper residence documents.
A federal judge allowed Brutus to remain because he faced political persecution in South Africa.
I always hoped I'd run into Brutus — and eventually, I did.
About the time he was busy teaching in Pitt's Black Studies Department and organizing worldwide anti‑apartheid protests, I was a bouncer at a rough‑and‑tumble North Oakland bar called Chief's Cafe on North Craig Street.
The gig didn't pay much, and what little cash I earned went to maintain a rusty, smoke‑spewing Harley‑Davidson, which must have been manufactured during a week when the quality control supervisor was on a bender.
The thing spewed more oil than the Exxon Valdez and was so prone to mechanical failure, I began riding around with a copy of Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast under the seat so I'd have something to read when the bike inevitably broke down.
On a typical night, I'd take a half‑hour break and ride around Oakland for a few miles, welcoming a chance to escape the noise and cigarette smoke. Well, that and to look for co‑eds to impress. I spotted one — what she looked like is lost to the years — and instantly started twisting the rickety throttle in hopes the decibel level and cloud of smoke from my half‑bald rear tire would impress her.
It did, I think, until gravity and physics took over, launching me and the motorcycle into a wild, sideways skid straight down the middle of Craig Street. When I managed to glance up from my death‑grip on the handlebars, I spotted a man standing directly in my path, his long white hair blowing in the breeze.
It was Brutus, a man who had survived the worst that a violent, fascist government could throw his way, only to face death at the hands of a reckless, show‑off kid on a greasy motorcycle.
Lucky for me — and history, for that matter — I regained control of the motorcycle a few feet short of denying the world one of its great political freedom fighters. Years later as a journalist, I interviewed Brutus and told him about our near‑fatal meeting. I apologized for my stupidity.
Brutus, a gentleman, managed to laugh at the memory. I'm sure it wasn't one he soon forgot. www.pittsburghlive.com
Epistle for Dennis Brutus Prince Shapiro
March on soldier progression can not be kaput forever and a day your never‑aged spirit shall be extolled
if parting ways means ascension go on perhaps bigotry tumbles down from the blue above go on glow like all conscientious stars up in the firmament
if exodus orders descending graveward chauvinism in the deep below evil roots of capitalist bushes it fertilizes go on plunge cavernously and squeeze this insularity out out like a hot magma tourist attraction eruption to free the poor from capiterrorism horrors
if resettlement constitutes lingering at legroom confinement in the grubby air that asphyxiates us to paucity go on be an incensation of full consciousness it’s a mandate comrade ‑ ‑ ‑ obey it long drawn up has been the memorandum go on from your dust mound liberators shall emerge from your ashes echoes of more fire shall be heard more fire until capitalism dies more fire until turncoats repent more fire until ubuntu take‑a‑stand more fire until……until…… the end
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