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Blame me on history
Blame me on history is the autobiography of William Bloke Modisane. He was one of a team of black writers of the 1950s who created Drum magazine and who also became an actor and playwright. His story was originally published in 1963, but was banned in South Africa during the 'struggle' years. He lived in Sophiatown, Johannesburg until 1958 when the township was bulldozed flat by government order. Consequently, Modisane decided that the time had come to leave the country and settled in West Germany. But he always felt very much an exile. His evocative writing transports the reader back in time to experience the life and shebeen culture that existed at that time in Johannesburg and particularly in Sophiatown. As one of the first urban black intellectuals Modisane became host to such people as Dame Sybil Thorndike and Adlai Stevenson, as well as to many South African whites who wanted to know and understand the culture of shantytown life and the problems of the urban blacks living there. Blame Me on History takes us back to those days and gives us some insight into the vitality and the vibrant energy that was Sophiatown.
311 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
March 10, 2021
Its always hard for me to read books like this. Being educated on the truth can be painful. This is worth a read for anyone who wants to understand why an entire race seemingly behavings a certain way
November 21, 2021
Bloke Modisane is a beautiful writer.
February 6, 2022
A great book
June 9, 2014
Bloke Modisane’s Blame Me On History is a memoir of a man born and raised in Sophiatown, South Africa. When he was 13, he saw his given name, William Modisane, inscribed mistakenly on his father’s coffin. His father had been murdered — bludgeoned to death by a neighbor with a brick and a vile temper. The men argued over some petty grievance. Thinking things had settled down, Joseph Modisane walked away. The next day, a kindly neighbor called the son to identify his father’s body. It was unrecognizable.
This is one of many searing stories recalled and dissected in this book. Anyone who has considered the oppression of Africans under apartheid rule in South Africa needs to read the tale of life in the townships as told by someone who lived it. Modisane's little sister died of “malnutrition.” In other words, she starved to death. He himself became a journalist. Ultimately, he made his way out of South Africa. His self-imposed exile was painful, but it was refuge from the oppressive minority rule that made his life a hell back home.
As a child, he grew inured to the sight of dead bodies on the street. He suffered the loss of countless friends, stabbed to death, or felled by the bullets of “hooligan policemen.” He watched his beloved Sophiatown razed by authorities who sent in bulldozers to “clean things up” by leveling homes and storefronts. He learned to accept humiliating postures, to address white people as “baas,” to be called “boy,” and to play all the ingratiating and demeaning games required in a society that sanctions racial hatred for the sake of white supremacy.
His stories drive home the horrors of apartheid. One can read Athol Fugard and Nadine Gordimer and many other celebrity writers who joined the anti-apartheid cause. But reading the words of a black South African puts things in bleak and razor-sharp perspective. The lives of Blacks under apartheid was closer to slavery than I imagined.
Modisane punctuates a litany of unjust laws with the refrain: “This is the law.”
• I cannot sell my labour to the highest bidder.
• I cannot live in the residential area of my choice.
• I may be detained for over sixty days without a charge brought up against me.
• I cannot worship in the church of my choice.
• I cannot mix or consort, in a peaceful manner or for a peaceful common purpose with the friends of my choice.
• I cannot object to all these restrictive laws, cannot cite the Declaration of the Rights of Man, that ‘all men are created equal, they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.'
This is the law.
Why did it take so long for the world to notice this injustice? Modisane explains:
"When everybody has blamed it on somebody else—and the more charitable have blamed it on history—the police would feel justified to launch the reprisal raids; hundreds of Africans would be rounded up on infringements of the Pass regulations and other minor technicalities. Of course the papers will explain that the raids are a new and vigorous police drive against illegal firearms and illicit brews; just routine raids aimed at protecting the Africans against the tsotsis [gangsters].
The routine raids are routine only in their consistency of vengeance and brutality, but the hooliganism of the police is something which never gets into the newspapers; except for the very enthusiastic and unfortunate police constable who occasionally finds himself in court facing an assault charge brought against him by an African."
This is one of many searing stories recalled and dissected in this book. Anyone who has considered the oppression of Africans under apartheid rule in South Africa needs to read the tale of life in the townships as told by someone who lived it. Modisane's little sister died of “malnutrition.” In other words, she starved to death. He himself became a journalist. Ultimately, he made his way out of South Africa. His self-imposed exile was painful, but it was refuge from the oppressive minority rule that made his life a hell back home.
As a child, he grew inured to the sight of dead bodies on the street. He suffered the loss of countless friends, stabbed to death, or felled by the bullets of “hooligan policemen.” He watched his beloved Sophiatown razed by authorities who sent in bulldozers to “clean things up” by leveling homes and storefronts. He learned to accept humiliating postures, to address white people as “baas,” to be called “boy,” and to play all the ingratiating and demeaning games required in a society that sanctions racial hatred for the sake of white supremacy.
His stories drive home the horrors of apartheid. One can read Athol Fugard and Nadine Gordimer and many other celebrity writers who joined the anti-apartheid cause. But reading the words of a black South African puts things in bleak and razor-sharp perspective. The lives of Blacks under apartheid was closer to slavery than I imagined.
Modisane punctuates a litany of unjust laws with the refrain: “This is the law.”
• I cannot sell my labour to the highest bidder.
• I cannot live in the residential area of my choice.
• I may be detained for over sixty days without a charge brought up against me.
• I cannot worship in the church of my choice.
• I cannot mix or consort, in a peaceful manner or for a peaceful common purpose with the friends of my choice.
• I cannot object to all these restrictive laws, cannot cite the Declaration of the Rights of Man, that ‘all men are created equal, they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.'
This is the law.
Why did it take so long for the world to notice this injustice? Modisane explains:
"When everybody has blamed it on somebody else—and the more charitable have blamed it on history—the police would feel justified to launch the reprisal raids; hundreds of Africans would be rounded up on infringements of the Pass regulations and other minor technicalities. Of course the papers will explain that the raids are a new and vigorous police drive against illegal firearms and illicit brews; just routine raids aimed at protecting the Africans against the tsotsis [gangsters].
The routine raids are routine only in their consistency of vengeance and brutality, but the hooliganism of the police is something which never gets into the newspapers; except for the very enthusiastic and unfortunate police constable who occasionally finds himself in court facing an assault charge brought against him by an African."
October 7, 2017
Even though I’ve read numerous books on apartheid and had many discussions with friends who lived under apartheid, none of that background affected me like Blame Me History. What struck me the hardest was the commonalities between South Africa’s system and the slavery system in the United States. The systemic oppression that was driven by brutal racism existed in both. It’s a hard and difficult read, but well worth it in learning first hand about the effects and impacts on the people on both sides.
July 1, 2007
This is a book whose greatness is judged, not from within the text itself, but by the real life response(s) of the reader(s). It's not possible to read a firsthand account of aparteid and race segregation, call it great, and remain neutral toward the race issues in your own community. In my take, it's a book to confront the reader, a summons to decision. Bloke Modisane does have a strong sense of the aesthic though. His self-narration is lucid, highly reflective, and poetically stimulating. This isn't a simple historical retelling. It's a passionate Cry through the medium of performative history. And as such, it is intense. The author's thoughts alone on his cognitive and emotional struggles with hate and violence are worth having to read through an account of some destroyed South African village (SophiaTown) that you'll never hear of again.
My only potential caution/criticism of "Blame Me on History" is that, like most traditional Black narratives, Bloke is not concerned with chronological sequence. For white (And Vietnamese, like me) readers this can make the chapter breaks a little confusing.
My only potential caution/criticism of "Blame Me on History" is that, like most traditional Black narratives, Bloke is not concerned with chronological sequence. For white (And Vietnamese, like me) readers this can make the chapter breaks a little confusing.
November 4, 2012
This book was written by a black journalist/playright active in South Africa during the early years of Apartheid. From the title one imagines that there will be a combination of wit, sad humour, self-deprecation,
tragedy and resentment. One would be correct.
If you're interested in that period, also read 'A Good Looking Corpse' (Mike Nicol), 'Naught For My Comfort' (Father Trevor Huddleston); 'The Life of Can Themba'(Can Themba).
tragedy and resentment. One would be correct.
If you're interested in that period, also read 'A Good Looking Corpse' (Mike Nicol), 'Naught For My Comfort' (Father Trevor Huddleston); 'The Life of Can Themba'(Can Themba).
July 5, 2011
Modisane tells a simultaneously humorous and tragic story of being black in Sophiatown during apartheid's upswing.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews