I want to conjure up an image of Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe
that is slightly out of focus in post-apartheid Southern Africa: we concentrate
usually on the man who gave us the Pan Africanist Congress in 1959, was
imprisoned in 1960 on Robben Island, a revolutionary whose vision, words,
humaneness is known.
I want to talk about Sobukwe’s valuing of the imagination,
the Sobukwe who took great pleasure in the nonobvious, who relished works of
the imagination.
But he also understood the value of the imagination when
unbounded, not limited to the pages of a novel or a performance on a stage.
That is what the iconic image of Sobukwe letting soil fall
through his fingers is: recourse to the metaphoric, the poetic, the symbolic,
when ordinary words were both unavailable and inadequate.