Katherine Withers: Those were the days, my friend: A literary
history of Rhodesian discourse in colonial times and beyond.
A number of recent studies have explored various
constructions of ‘whiteness’ in Zimbabwe, especially the lingering and modified
forms of pre-Independence ‘Rhodesian’ identity. I was raised myself on some of
those constructions: arrogant in its very modesty, mythically self-sufficient,
self-deceivingly racist. Studies by McDermott Hughes, Rory Pilosoff, Andrew
Hartnack and others have tended to focus on the farming community. While an
important segment of white society – thrust into the limelight by the post-2000
land reform process – that is only one slice of a broader community that was numerically
more urban, artisanal and administrative, and more internally rifted, than Ian
Smith-stimulated legends of the archetypal ‘Rhodesian’ imply. Moreover, such
conceptions of Rhodesian-ism evolved subtly over the century or so of white
occupancy. Imperial ideals of the 1890s, while lingering long beyond their
natural demise, are markedly different from the decidedly anti-British sentiments
of the Smith period, and different again from the new sense of belonging residual
white residents after 1980 were obliged to forge – or tried to fend off.
We should not be surprised to find that, on close
examination, even so apparently coherent a community as ‘white Rhodesian’ –
like many other ethno-social entities which come to be defined more by a public
stereotype than by the more complex reality on the ground – proves to be somewhat fractured
and mobile. Still, stereotypes emerge for a reason, and some always find
societal comfort and belonging in conforming to that stereotype, providing a
centre of gravity for belonging, however fissiparous it might get around the
edges. It was not all, or not only, clinging to the 'lifestyle' of the suburban tea-gathering depicted on this book's cover.
So how do actors within such a community actually express their values and sense of
belonging? What might constitute a so-called 'Rhodesian discourse'? There are any number of ways, of course: through physical objects and places,
aesthetics of architecture and landscaping, and through more cultural artefacts
like paintings, novels, memoirs, more or less self-serving histories, and
songs. We older folk remember the words and melody of the war-time song that
Ian Smith’s son-in-law Clem Tholet sang about fighting through thick and thin
and keeping the enemy north of the Zambezi.
Katherine Withers’ study of this unfolding sense of identity
concentrates on the literary end of such discursive productions. Her title Those were the days, my friend come from
another song, not Rhodesian particularly, but which I remember being popular in
the late 60s and ‘70s. It captures the nostalgia that still suffuses segments
of ex-‘Rhodies’, especially those that populate some online sites. But Withers' title is laden with irony: the study is far from being a retrospective defence
or justification for white rule or supremacism. Nor is it a conventionally
left-wing assault on an immoral regime. Withers, being English-born and a
trained historian, has the capacity to take a level-headed view of the
phenomenon, while being resident in Zimbabwe long enough to have an insider’s
understanding.
The back-cover blurb reads:
1890 was not the beginning of white settlement in the land
between the two great rivers, the Limpopo and the Zambezi, but it was a
defining moment, as the Pioneer Column sent by businessmand politician, Cecil
John Rhodes, made its way north from Bechuanaland to Matabeleland. Why did they
and their many successors come to the country they called ‘Rhodesia’? What were
their attitudes to the land where they settled and its indigenous people? What
were the consequences of their perceptions?
Against compact chapters of historical context, then, Withers
explores how selected literary works exemplified and amplified overlapping,
sometimes conflicting, and evolving senses of Rhodesian identity. These works
include memoirs such as those of Ian Smith, Ken Flower and Doris Lessing,
Illuminating insights arise from unusual comparisons, such as Terence Ranger’s
historical study Bulawayo Burning
with Yvonne Vera’s Butterfly Burning.
The crucial themes of
Rhodesian-Zimbabwean history – the mythology of the ‘Pioneers’, the land
question, the traumas of the war, the ambivalent position of the churches in wartime – are
touched on. The examples are selective but provocative, showing ways of integrating
historical evidentiality with the less tangible operations of emotion and
sentiment that is the stuff of literature – and therefore also the engine of
history. Each chapter could, and should, spawn further in-depth studies of this
kind. It’s a wide-ranging, lucid, and sometimes unsettling read.
The book is distributed from East London. Contact
Bridget Egan, <bridgetegan@cybersmart.co.za>.
Also available on Amazon Kindle.
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