“I may be a shade of black, but I go gently as a man” (Fugard; 2000; 80)
“With reference to at least three plays by Athol Fugard... and with at least some reference to critical literature on Fugard’s work, discuss how he examines the way in which race expresses and is manifested through different territories of existence in South Africa. Pay attention to the manner in which the stage is used to dramatize these issues. In your answer you are encouraged to compare Fugard’s work with any other play from any other geographical region that you have read and / or watched recently, which has a bearing on issues raised in this module.” (UNISA, 2010: 17).
Fugard’s work and the theme of race are irrevocably intertwined, as such was the social, political landscape and territories in which he lived and about which he wrote. I have chosen to centre this discussion on three of his Port Elizabeth plays, ‘Master Harold’... and the Boys, Blood Knot and Boesman and Lena. Although placed in an entirely different geographical and historical setting, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice also explores prejudice and racism and therefore a comparison with it adds to the discussion of Fugard’s work; the common theme a testament to how racism has been entrenched throughout centuries.
In the March 2010 Times Live review of ‘Master Harold’...and the Boys, Zingi Mafeka writes:
Regardless of your race, as with most Fugard plays, it is the complexity of a character's humanity that we are asked to truly reckon with. It's as if Fugard were holding a mirror to our faces, daring us to stop and realise that, under the same circumstances, we, too, might act in as humanly flawed a manner as his characters. After all, this story tells of how he did the very same thing. (My italics, Mafeka; 2010).
This exposure of the audience to itself, indeed, to its innate human and therefore prejudicial character, reoccurs throughout Fugard’s work as a theme and is an important part of his exploration into race relations. In his lecture Insights about Oppression, Jacob Holdt of American Pictures states that “...the realization that everyone in our societies has been forced into operating within both oppressor and oppressed roles is still almost unknown and unfaced. Until we understand the deeper nature of oppression our struggle to end it will be in vain. We will continue looking for ‘the enemy out there’...” (Holdt; 2009). In his plays Fugard therefore makes the statement that almost anyone, given the chance, might take on the role of oppressor, especially if feeling oppressed. Holdt thus states that oppression is a result of individual distress, and that “when we see the disheartening appearance of human beings, who we assume are good and wholesome, acting in such oppressive, unwholesome ways it tends to destroy our morale...” (Holdt; 2009), as was so widespread in the world about which Fugard wrote; apartheid South Africa.
In ‘Master Harold’, Hally as a young and seemingly generally respectful (if somewhat patronising) white teenager yields to his supremacist upbringing under emotional distress. He says to Sam and Willie, “...my Dad [is] always going on about it as well. ‘You must teach the boys to show you more respect, my son’” (Fugard; 2000:44), making a joke about “a kaffir’s arse” (Fugard; 2000:44), shouting insults such as “Mind your own fucking business and shut up!” (Fugard; 2004: 42) and even spitting in Sam’s face. Although the ugliness of his words and actions are as a result of true distress, this turning on the wise and kindly black men who have been surrogate fathers to him alter the relationships he has with Sam and Willie in irreversible ways (evidenced by how they cannot go and fly another kite to ‘fix’ things). For Hally to speak to them in this way is only possible (or considered by the majority of whites as acceptable), because of his status as white. The sad outcome of the play is a result that Sam had been working to avoid by trying to teach Hally friendship and respect throughout his childhood, attempting to provide him with a positive male adult role-model despite his own comparative material disadvantages and colour-dictated social standing. As his anger ebbs into sorrow, he explains “I’ve also failed. A long time ago I promised myself I was going to try and do something, but you’ve just shown me...Master Harold...that I’ve failed.” (Fugard; 2000: 46). Ironically, Hally had in fact foreshadowed his turning on Sam and Willie earlier in the play by hypocritically complaining about the misconduct of others: “People can be real bastards.” While Sam is resigned that this is the way of the world, Hally fights against it, protesting, “It doesn’t have to be that way. There is something called progress, you know” (Fugard; 2000: 12), completely misunderstanding the need for progress and social reform in his own country.
There are no white characters in Boesman and Lena, yet as privilege is all relative in a stratified society, apartheid remains. It is only with the introduction of the frail and elderly Outa that we can see the characters Boesman and Lena in relation to others, or, as is here, an ‘other’. Illustrating Holdt’s statement that the oppressor lives in the oppressed, Boesman attempts to inflict his own apartheid on the old man, just as he has done to Lena – preying on her femaleness and therefore, vulnerability – for years. Boesman’s first word on seeing the stranger come out of the darkness is “Kaffer!” (Fugard; 2000: 210). Albert Wertheim calls Outa the “...racial ‘other’, against whom Boesman and Lena can play out who they are.” (2000: 61). He remarks on how threatened Boesman feels as he spouts his own version of the age old racial cliché – ‘they lust after our woman and take over our neighbourhoods’ when Boesman says: “They like Hotnot meide” and “You’ll end up with a trip of old kaffers sitting here. Turn my place into a kaffer nes!” (Fugard; 2000: 213). Wertheim explains:
And in calling Lena “Hotnot”, Boesman uses the most abusive word for coloureds. Boesman, scarred by what whites have done to him and by his own dislocation in a race that is neither white nor black, has learned the lessons of the oppressor and uses them against both blacks and women. Lena for her part senses an affinity with Outa and refuses to abuse him as she, a non-white and a woman, has been abused (2000; 61).
Lena shows solidarity with the position of the black man, telling Outa, “Hotnot and a Kaffer got no time for apartheid on a night like this.” (Fugard; 2000: 223).
In the introductory notes to Blood Knot, Zachariah and Morris are described only as “dark-skinned” and “light-skinned”, respectively (Fugard; 2000: 52). Unlike ‘Master Harold’ there is no physical white character, and unlike Boesman and Lena, neither character is a woman (Zach’s pen pal, Ethel, is both female and white but never appears on stage). Yet the relentless tentacles of apartheid and racial territory manage not only to grapple their way into the brothers’ home, but also into their relationship. Undoubtedly as a result of having a lighter skin, Morris – who alludes to having spent time classified as a white person – is better educated (able to teach Zacharias words and quote poetry – Fugard; 2000: 57) and was their mother’s favourite (he was always given the only toys – Fugard; 2000: 83). When Zacharias refers to his employers at the beginning of the play, Morris reminds him “I’m on your side, they’re on theirs. I mean, I couldn’t be living here with you and not be on yours, could I Zach?” (Fugard; 2000; 56). Ostensibly also referring to Zach’s employers, his words seem to encompass all white people, and sound as though he is reminding himself of the choice he made to be on his brother’s ‘side’; to share his racial classification and living conditions (that is, to embrace the inhabitation of a darker racial territory as decreed by law and the economic results of those laws). Morris is hesitant to put on the fancy clothes that will complete his transformation into a white person, but when he does his manner changes and after Zach convinces him to act like a white man, shouts: “Hey, swartgat!” (Fugard; 2000: 106), whereupon Zach does not recognise him as his brother but rather as an abusive white man. The climatic racial role-play of the novel serves as a cathartic outlet for the brothers to vent to each other the frustrations of living in a stratified society. Zach becomes empowered and is able express himself until, interrupted by the alarm clock, he is “on the point of violence” (Fugard; 2000: 122). Another example of Zach, the more oppressed character, becoming the oppressor occurs when he nostalgically narrates his first sexual encounter – he raped Connie Ferreira after she called him a “black hotnot” (Fugard; 2000: 63).
One of the ways in “which race expresses and is manifested through different territories of existence in South Africa” (UNISA; 2010: 17) as examined by Fugard, is through the names and naming of individuals and groups. This includes patronising terms (such as calling grown men ‘boys’ or women ‘meids’), inaccurate descriptions designed to rob people of value (‘primitive’, ‘native’), and racial insults (‘kaffer’, ‘swartgat’, ‘hotnot’). According to Kabira and Masheti (who are referring to women, although the extract stands for all), the use of names or labels “often bestow status, or demean, patronize or generally shed light on inherent attitudes towards the person or persons addressed” (1997: 20). Athol Fugard uses these names or labels skilfully throughout his work to convey these ‘inherent attitudes’ and to show the audience how names are used in “...shaping attitudes towards characters in a text” (1997: 17). By naming a person or group on the basis of skin-colour, one forces them to inhabit a specific territory (in these cases economic, social, class), the boundaries of which are immovable until the emphasis of colour is removed.
This skilful use of naming is a tool used throughout ‘Master Harold’, illustrating relationships and interactions that would have otherwise been imperceptible. Immediately demonstrating the focus of naming throughout the play is the use of the term ‘boys’ in the title. Although not outwardly hostile, the use of the juvenile term for grown men is one of the many ways in which supremacist South African culture sought to undermine non-whites, banishing them to an inferior class with words as well as actions and literally belittling – by classing adult people as children. Furthermore and paradoxically, the term is in this case used by a teenage boy, who Willie describes as: “Long trousers now, but he’s still little boy” (Fugard; 2000: 46) to address grown men. Hally also uses other terms for Sam and Willie, such as “How’s it chaps?” (Fugard; 2000: 7) and without seeing the irony, tells Willie to “Act your bloody age” (Fugard; 2000: 10). He also says to Sam, “Don’t try to be clever, Sam. it doesn’t suit you” (Fugard; 2000: 27), even going so far as to smack Willie on the buttocks and calling the men children. Later he tells a joke using the insult “kaffir” (Fugard; 2000: 44), which is clearly designed to hurt the men.
Naming is used throughout Boesman and Lena, where racial insults are scattered through the play, employed by both Boesman and Lena to refer both to themselves and others. White people are labelled as Whiteman, Asian people as Chinaman and “Hotnot” and “Kaffer” are used for coloured and black people respectively. Fugard uses Boesman and Lena; however, to illustrate that the effect of naming depends on intention behind the term. Both Boesman and Lena refer to Outa as a “kaffer” (although Lena coins him Outa as well), yet she bears him no ill-will, banishing apartheid from the two of them (as quoted above) and sharing her water, bread and blanket with him. Boesman sees Outa however, as being inferior to him and tries to use language to reinforce this (for example, not translating his utterances or conversing with him in Xhosa, even though he understands the language).
Naming and classifying language is primarily directed at Zachariah as the “dark-skinned” brother (Fugard; 2000: 52) in Blood Knot. In Scene One he describes the rape mentioned previously as having been a result of being called a “black hotnot” by “the bitch” (Fugard; 2000: 63) yet infers that this was mere pretext because she had “tits like fruit” (Fugard; 2000: 63). After Zach is treated badly at work (he is told “Go to the gate or go to hell...Boy”, Fugard; 2000: 74), he and Morris discuss prejudice, injustice and inhumanity. However, when he finds out that his pen pal is in fact a white woman, he happily proclaims the heart-breaking: “And this white woman has written to me, a hot-not, a swartgat. This woman thinks I’m a white man. That I like!” (Fugard; 2000: 77), proving that entrenched government propaganda not only persuaded white people to view non-whites as inferior, but that many non-whites came to believe it themselves. The introduction of Ethel into Morris and Zach’s lives causes several moral dilemmas, their potential consequences comprehended more fully by Morris than by Zach. This leads into their role play, as Morris acts as the white man for which he is able to pass by wearing the clothes they have bought with their savings. Not only are the brothers able to vent their frustrations with each other as members of different races, but throughout this role play the brothers are also able to express their feelings about their mother, who “made life unbearable”, calling her “Kaffermeid”, “Ou hoer”, “Luisgat” and “Swartgat” (Fugard; 2000: 118).
Despite skin colour being a prominent theme, race is not only examined as a product of skin colour but as the indefinable quality which comes from being given material and social privileges and respect, and being able to take these for granted. Morris succinctly encapsulates this by saying, “It’s that white something inside you, that special meaning and manner of whiteness” (Fugard; 2000: 203). Wertheim explains that “Fugard makes us aware that different races have different and identifying postures and body languages. As an astute director, Fugard recognises that... on the stage of life in the South Africa he knows, races enact their disparate roles, projecting who they are, what they can and cannot become, through the language of their physical stance and movement” (my italics, 2000: 60-61).
Sam and Willie are remarkably self-possessed despite the patronizing and humiliating treatment they routinely undergo. This may be as a result of their hobby outside of work, ballroom dancing, which Sam calls an art (Fugard; 2000: 31). As Sam and Willie describe the dignity and beauty of the event, Hally becomes more interested, but still views it as part of the “culture of a primitive black society... the war-dance has been replaced by the waltz” (Fugard; 2000: 34). Poignantly, the play ends with Sam and Willie practicing their dancing together, after Willie sacrifices his transport fare to play a tune on the jukebox. This shows the channelling of their hurt and devastation into movement and an expression that they can perform with the dignity and grace that non-white people were so often denied; albeit the requirement that they have to compete in non-white competitions.
Even in the dark, from far off, Boesman knows that Outa is not a white man. After Lena suggests the possibility, he says to her, “When did you see a whiteman sitting like that!” (Fugard; 2000: 209). Clearly Outa possesses little of the dignity and self-respect that comes from the belief in one’s superiority and from the respect that is automatically demanded instead of earned, or the health and ease of movement that speaks of having basic needs met – good food and comfortable dwellings. Boesman is painfully aware of the manufactured superiority of “the whiteman” (Fugard; 2000: 228) as is evident during the recounting of the bulldozing of the Korsten location that the couple have walked from. He demonstrates to Lena how to talk to a whiteman so that he feels sorry for one, “You must make the words crawl to him, with your tongue between their back legs. Then when the baas looks at you, wag it just a little...” (Fugard; 2000: 226) and Lena speaks of how he ran “around shouting and laughing at our own people” (Fugard; 2000: 227), even helping to “drag what was left of the pondoks” (Fugard; 2000: 229). It is evident from Boesman’s rejoinders to Lena’s account that he craves acceptance from white people and is grateful for the cigarette stompie he is thrown, even going as far as to say “Whiteman was doing us a favour...He wasn’t just burning pondoks. They alone can’t stink like that or burn like that” (Fugard; 2000: 229) referring to the scorn he has for the situation of his people, and for those people themselves.
Race as more than a colour, as the created or engrained essence of a person, is most fully explored in Blood Knot. Morris’s experience allows him to realise that “There’s more to wearing a white man’s skin than just putting on a hat. You’ve seen white men before without hats but they’re still white men, aren’t they?” (Fugard; 2000: 103) and that the clothes “...don’t maketh the white man.” (Fugard; 2000: 203). Morris, having had more experience in a racially stratified South Africa than Zach, knows that pigment-wise he is able to pass as a white man: “...I seen them that’s darker than me” (Fugard; 2000: 103). He attempts to explain to Zach that despite their skin colour, “they had that something I’m telling you about...that’s what I got to pin down here” (my italics, Fugard; 2000: 103) and in the face of Zach’s confusion, elucidates “White living man! Like...looking at things...they look at things differently. Haven’t you seen their eyes when they look at you?...it’s even in their way of walking” (Fugard; 2000: 104). As brothers who have remarkably different shades of skin, Zach and Morris are, as Mel Gussow writes in his review of the 1985 Yale Repertory Theatre production, “forced into inevitable roles as antagonists. Together, they try to bridge the abyss...the brothers cling to hope” (Gussow; 1985), remarkably overcoming the chasm forced between them. Morris’s laboured explanations to Zach are Fugard’s dexterous teachings to his audience, us. Race, in apartheid South Africa, goes beyond merely the colour that was deemed the primary stratifying demarcation, but became ingrained in peoples’ consciousness, their posture and way of movement, their manner of speaking and looking.
One of the ways in which Fugard succeeds in making the lopsidedness of South African society appear so clearly to audiences is the adroit use of irony throughout his plays. As Wertheim states when referring to the ultimate irony of ‘Master Harold’, “the irony of course, is that South African racism elevates the teenage boy to the role of master as it likewise reduces the two grown men to boys” (2000: 136) and “Hally, in short, fails to see the irony of his relationship with Sam and Willie” (2000: 142). This becomes more and more apparent throughout the play, as Fugard uses Hally’s youth and naivety to bring the sad ironies of South African culture home to his audience, perhaps culminating in Hally’s presumptuous “Don’t get sentimental, Sam. You’ve never been a slave, you know. And anyway we freed your ancestors here in South Africa long before the Americans” (my italics, Fugard: 2000: 16). In saying this he completely misunderstands the slave status of non-white South Africans as well as unwittingly identifies with his historic white compatriots in the casual inclusive pronoun, ‘we’. Another irony in ‘Master Harold’ shows Sam, as Hally’s healthier father-figure, protesting against Hally’s disrespect for his father and consequently receiving abuse from him.
“Freedom’s a long walk” (Fugard; 2000: 230), says Boesman, ignoring the irony that his and Lena’s constant walking has brought no freedom, nor was it likely that it would as long as the apartheid regime stood. Uncannily similar to the title of Nelson Mandela’s autobiography, Boesman here utters a truth, albeit one that would not be fulfilled for him. Compared to the more blatant irony of ‘Master Harold’, the paradoxes in Boesman and Lena are more general. This includes the way in which Boesman helps white men to bulldoze shacks (including their own) in Korsten, and the way in which he inflicts the racism to which he has been subjected on Outa. Even though the possessions Boesman and Lena own are negligible, Boesman’s attitude towards Outa and the fears he has are reminiscent of many white people’s prejudicial fears during apartheid; “‘they’ll’ take over” or “‘they’ll’ take everything we have” were often refrains which can unfortunately still be heard today. Outa’s death is in itself an irony, proving Boesman’s fears to be ungrounded and prompting guilt and confessions to Lena.
Irony has been widely used in apartheid literature, as it lends itself to the argument against arbitrary rulings, such as race. The concept of Blood Knot is ironic in itself, for it is entirely arbitrary that brothers be given different levels of human rights merely because their skin appears different; the title signifying their actual and ultimate bond of blood and brotherhood. Zach lacks the education of his brother but he understands the arbitrary nature of colour, saying “I may be a shade of black, but I go gently as a man” (Fugard; 2000: 80) and even more movingly, tells his mother in a dream, “Some things are only skin deep, because I got [the butterfly], here in my hands, I got beauty...too...haven’t I?” (Fugard; 2000: 109). He however, fails to see the irony in his oppression of his sexual conquest, Connie Ferreira, whose race is not specified but can be assumed white.
Fugard’s writing is itself emotive, but the stage adds another element to the feeling and drama resonating from these plays. Theatre adds to literary experience by providing experiential aspects that cannot be obtained merely from the written word. These include non-verbal emotion (that is, tone of voice, gestures), visual emphasis (for example, the youth of Hally or the contrast of colour between Zach and Morris can be seen instead of merely described) and regional authenticity (that is, accents and colloquial terms can be described accurately without losing the meaning for those not familiar with them). In ‘Master Harold’, tone of voice and gestures of either deference or disregard add drama and show a fuller context to the play’s relationships; illustrating the ironic bond and connections between Hally, Sam and Willie. Pronunciation of words and different accents illustrate educational differences and add regional realism. The audience is able to visualise the very literal gap between Sam and Willie’s clothes and possessions and that of Hally’s, as well as the central concept around which the play is based: the rapport between the young, white teenager and the two older, black men.
The accents and colloquial terms littered throughout Boesman and Lena are definitely better when heard than read from the book; especially for audiences not familiar with Boesman and Lena’s South African dialect. Unfamiliar words are given context in performance so that the meaning of the play is nevertheless understood. The poverty and Spartan living conditions of the couple are emphasised far more when seen than read, as is the contrast between them and Outa (in colour, health, presence of mind and spirit).
The stage undoubtedly dramatises the racial issues of Blood Knot, as it allows the audience to visualise the contrast between the two brothers – contrast of looks, education, manner et cetera. It also maximises the effect of its scenes, particularly the role-play sequence in which the physical theatre of the brothers’ exchange is almost as important as the verbal communication. A stage performance of the play adds intensity to the emotions and exchanges of the brothers which is exaggerated by their cramped living conditions.
Although written in the late 1500s, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice definitely has “a bearing on issues raised in this module” (UNISA; 2010: 17) and specifically on the Fugard plays that are here explored. By virtue of his religion and culture, Shylock and his compatriots suffer the prejudice of those around them, saying to Antonio, “You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,/And spit upon my Jewish gabardine” (Shakespeare; 1982: 193). This is very much reminiscent of how the much younger Hally disrespectfully spits on Sam.
There are some striking parallels between Shylock’s situation and that of Fugard’s characters. Firstly, that of racism against a complete group of people having been historically entrenched. Both anti-Semitism and racism against non-white people has been recorded since ancient times, meaning that it is deeply cemented in societies and world-views. Treated as second-rate citizens, both Shylock and Fugard’s non-white characters protest in some way against their oppression, even though many of them have been led to believe their status as inferior. Shylock famously protests “Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions...? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?” (Shakespeare; 1982: 201) reminding his perpetrators of his humanity, and therefore, his similarity to them. This can be likened to Lena reminding Boesman that Outa, as a black person, has feelings; that is, is human. Referring to black people, she says, “They got feelings too. Not so, Outa?” (Fugard, 2000: 212). Despite hardship, Lena believes that she deserves more than her impoverished life with the violent Boesman, telling him “Something’s going to happen...and then I’m gone. Goodbye darling, I’ve had enough” (Fugard; 2000: 245). Recounting his shopping experience, Zach tells Morris how he managed to get served: “’I’m the black sort [of gentleman]’, I said” (Fugard; 2000: 102) and recognising his intrinsic innocence, the arbitrariness of his colour and his equality with other men, “I may be a shade of black, but I go gently as a man” (Fugard; 2000: 80).
Perhaps the biggest similarity that both Fugard’s and Shakespeare’s characters share is their fallibility; their imperfections that do not make them villains, but merely human. In my 2009 essay on Shakespearean comedy, I wrote about The Merchant of Venice: “its brilliance perhaps lies in Shakespeare’s ability to create a character that is neither fundamentally evil nor good, but who has faults that make him human and a tender side that the audience finds surprising – during the course of one scene he is turned from the position of villain to victim.” (Laurence; 2009: 7). This is true too for the characters that we find in Fugard’s plays. Although Hally treats Sam and Willie badly, he elicits some pity from the audience who tend not to view him as a villain but as a misguided and devastating consequence of his time. Boesman submits Lena to both verbal and physical abuse but he too draws his share of pity and cannot be completely painted as villainous.
However, due to the difference in time and geographical region, context does mean that The Merchant of Venice differs quite significantly in some aspects from ‘Master Harold’, Boesman and Lena and Blood Knot. Firstly, apartheid South Africa was segregated on the basis of race as defined by colour, whereas Shylock although white, is outcast because of religion and culture; that is, race defined by characteristics not related to the colour of one’s skin. Although Shylock faces real injustice from others in the play, his wealth and living conditions remain unchanged; materially, he is better off than his adversaries. This contrasts starkly with the characters in Fugard’s plays. Stratified South Africa was designed to keep non-whites economically as well as socially oppressed to which Fugard’s writings bear testament. As Hally fondly remembers the afternoons that he spent in Sam and Willie’s room he completely fails to apprehend the injustice of their austere and cramped conditions. His description is nevertheless sobering: “A gray little room with a cold cement floor...bed propped up on bricks because on leg is broken...wobbly little table” (Fugard; 2000: 21) and it is testament to the kindness that Sam and Willie paid him that it was the happiest place of his childhood, and where he spent most of his time. The poverty of Boesman and Lena is also as a direct result of apartheid, aggravated by the regular bulldozing of communities of pondoks, which forces them to move on to other places. “Whiteman says Voetsek...Blame the whiteman. Bulldozer!” (Fugard; 2000: 194). Unlike the laws restricting the rights of South African non-whites, the racism against Shylock and other Jews of that period were encouraged, but not legalised. Lastly, a fundamental difference between Fugard’s plays and The Merchant of Venice is that the latter is characterised as a comedy. Although Fugard includes comedic moments, such as Sam and Willie practising ballroom dancing together, and Morris’s humorous trying-on of the dress suit, not one of the three Fugard plays examined here is a comedy. However, even as a comedy, The Merchant of Venice includes sober moments. In the 2009 essay quoted above is also written: “The Merchant of Venice is cleverly witty, but its humour however, has an edge – racism and intolerance are strung throughout the play together with the more paltry issues of family, business and again, love transcending gender.” (Laurence; 2009: 6). Both Fugard’s plays and The Merchant of Venice illustrate how futile prejudice is and attempt to underline the ‘sameness’ of humanity, rather than the ‘otherness’ that is used to stratify groups of people.
‘Master Harold’, Boesman and Lena and Blood Knot are explored in this discussion to examine the way in which race is “manifested through different territories of existence in South Africa” (UNISA; 2010: 17). Fugard’s accurate but by no means comprehensive depiction of race relations relies on his illustration of the relationship between oppressor and oppressed, the significance of names as classing a group into and maintaining a territory, race as more than a colour but an essence, “that something” (Fugard; 2000: 103), and the irony of racial injustice. Although these plays make for affecting reading, they derive intensity and visual emphasis from the dramatisation of the stage where the tone, emotion, contrast and characterisation of people and relationships are augmented and actualised.
Sources Consulted
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Kabira, W and Masheti, M. 1997. ABC of Gender Analysis. Forum for African Women Educationalists: Nairobi.
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www.american-pictures.com/english/racism/oppression.htm. Insights about Oppression. Jacob Holdt. Accessed: 02/06/2010
www.timeslive.co.za/sundaytimes/article376613.ece/Eerily-relevant-Master-Harold--years--on. Eerily relevant Master Harold, years on. Zingi Mafeka. Accessed: 01/06/2010
