Public figures, in the end, depend for their legacy on the unknown people whose lives they affected.

In South Africa 1969 I joined a delegation of Christian students from Wits University on a trip to the University of the North at Turfloop, a three hour drive north of Johannesburg. It was a so-called tribal college, the result of the apartheidisation of the Universities. We had planned a day of prayer and discussion about Christianity and Apartheid.

The day started with a service. During the first hymn the police burst in. Women screamed. We were all arrested, about 30 black theological students and eight white students. We were charged with a breach of the General Assemblies Act, which made illegal any gathering of the races for political discussion and for being on Bantu Trust Territory without a permit. At the age of 18 I was accused of being a political criminal.

We were escorted back to Johannesburg in a police convoy. On the way back we passed a forbidding looking building my companion, Jeannette Curtis, described as Pretoria Central. "Winnie Mandela is in there," she said, " and its her birthday" We sang Happy Birthday Winnie. I was too embarassed to ask her who Winnie Mandela was.
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