In praise of Sibusiso Bengu, an old-school teacher who fed minds

Sibusiso Bengu, Nelson Mandela’s first education minister following the historic transition in 1994, died this week at 90. Although he came to national prominence as a politician — first as minister and then ambassador to Germany — he was, by training and inclination, a teacher and a leader, and made probably his most significant contribution — his enduring legacy — as founding headmaster of Dlangezwa High School, across the road from the University of Zululand at Ongoye near Empangeni. 

The passing of a personage affords obituarists and historians an opportunity not only to rummage through the minutiae of their life, praising their achievements, often reluctantly, and being unsparing in criticising their indiscretions; but it also allows us, with the benefit of hindsight, to put that life in its historical context. 

Despite its crucial role, the teaching profession has often drawn the short straw. Many prominent leaders — Albert Luthuli, Oliver Tambo, Robert Sobukwe, Selope Thema — started off as teachers, and it is often the profession that prepared them for a successful career in politics. And yet when their illustrious careers are recalled or celebrated, their role as teachers ends up as a mere footnote, if it is mentioned at all. Bengu’s career is likely to suffer the same fate. And we often forget that education is the anvil on which every successful society is forged. Show me a country with an effective education system, and I’ll show you a winning nation. Which is why one wants to weep when surveying the wreckage to which the ANC has reduced our education system.

Bengu’s role in the debacle is a matter of debate. Some argue that the carnage happened well after his departure. What is beyond dispute, however, is the sterling role he played in setting up and building Dlangezwa High School into one of the top-performing institutions in the country — one of the few islands of excellence at the time. Many of the students who passed through his hands have gone on to hold positions of influence — as doctors, engineers, judges, university professors and more. At the time the school was also one of very few black high schools in Natal headed by a black person and with an entirely black staff. Another was Ohlange High School, in Inanda outside Durban, which was established by John L Dube, founding president of the ANC. Most of the schools in the province at the time had white headmasters, who were mostly Afrikaners. 

Parents would break the wall to have their children admitted to Dlangezwa. Space was at a premium. There was a cosmopolitan feel about the student community. They came mainly from big urban centres such as Durban and Pietermaritzburg, and a large contingent came from the then Transvaal, especially the black townships around the Reef. And apart from the education, Dlangezwa, like many other such schools, offered its students, who often grew up in cocoons as a result of pass law restrictions, a peek into a wider world. 

Bengu had moulded it in his own image. Discipline, respect and cleanliness were bywords. Pupils would line up outside the main hall before morning assembly, and teachers would closely inspect whether they were properly attired — no tie askew; shirts nicely ironed and tucked in; blazers buttoned up; shoes gleaming; laces fastened. Pupils were rarely allowed outside the school premises, and if there was an emergency — like going to the doctor — they were expected to be in uniform and carrying a letter explaining why they were off campus. Doubtless, pupils hated such stringent regulations. But one couldn’t argue with the results, which were outstanding. 

Its excellent results — and the discipline — meant the school was always inundated with applications for admission and could cherry-pick the best students. The cycle of excellence therefore perpetuated itself. Academic achievement was obviously the touchstone, but there was also a loftier ambition to produce informed and responsible members of society. It meant keeping them abreast of what was happening around them, which was always a bit tricky. The 1970s were a particularly tumultuous period politically in the country. The lull — and the fear — that followed the banning of the ANC and the PAC in the 1960s, had finally been broken with the emergence of the black consciousness movement and the South African Students’ Organisation (Saso), which were mobilising students at campuses across the country. Tertiary institutions were consequently under constant surveillance by the dreaded “security” police.

There’s a need to reassess the role played by black teachers during apartheid. They’re often dismissed or ridiculed as pawns who fed the apartheid poison to black children. Such a view is lazy and ill-informed, if not malicious

The school tried to keep the students informed without dabbling in politics. For instance, every week two students would be tasked to compile news on current events from that week’s daily newspapers; and then on Fridays during morning assembly they would read the news, so to speak, to the entire student body. And every day before the evening study session, students would gather to listen to the news on the radio. Led by a teacher, they’d then discuss issues raised in the bulletin; the choice of words and phrases would be parsed or questioned and the usual propaganda debunked. Speakers of different political persuasions often came to address the students, and although it was a Lutheran-aligned school, Sunday evening was often set aside for services by other denominations. 

My enrolment at Dlangezwa was somewhat fortuitous. I arrived armed with a letter from my previous principal, Enos Mabuza, pleading my case. In fact, Bengu and Mabuza seemed to have been cut from the same cloth — both gentle, soft-spoken, polite but with an aura and authority that was unmistakable; and both outstanding educationists. Later in their careers, however, they must have realised that if the education system was to improve it would require the entire political edifice to crumble. They became reluctant politicians — Bengu joining his then longtime friend Mangosuthu Buthelezi in Inkatha, and Mabuza becoming chief minister of the then KaNgwane homeland. Their involvement in the homeland system somewhat blotted their copybooks. 

But both later fell out spectacularly with Buthelezi. When he was barracked by students at the University of Zululand, Buthelezi felt Bengu, who was dean of students, had not been sufficiently supportive. That was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. Mabuza, on the other hand, had the temerity to fly to Lusaka to meet the exiled ANC without notifying Buthelezi, who was leader of the Black Alliance, a collection of homeland leaders. During a sitting of the KwaZulu legislative assembly, Buthelezi made a show of burning a cheque Mabuza had donated to Inkatha for its legal battle to stop the incorporation of Ngwavuma into the then Swaziland by the South African government. 

But the two were never at home with or appreciated even by the new establishment. After one term as minister, Bengu was packed off to Bonn as South Africa’s envoy — a nice job if what you like is to sit around and kick your heels. Mabuza was passed over for premiership of Mpumalanga, a job almost tailor-made for him. He left for business. 

There’s a need to reassess the role played by black teachers during apartheid. They’re often dismissed or ridiculed as pawns who fed the apartheid poison to black children. Such a view is lazy and ill-informed, if not malicious. The majority worked very hard, atrociously underpaid and unappreciated, producing excellent results despite those untenable conditions. That’s a far cry from the current lot — the comrades moonlighting as teachers — who despite having everything going for them, have managed to run the education system into the ground.