No!
This is the English language service
of Radio South Africa.
Here is the news, read by Magnus Randall.
Police raided Crossroads, the illegal township near Capetown,
early this morning,
after warning the squatters
to vacate the area
in the interest of public health.
A number of people were found without work permits,
and many are being sent
back to their respective homelands.
There was no resistance to the raid,
and many of the illegals
voluntarily presented themselves to the police.
The Springboks ended their...
I think you ought to have a look at him.
Give me his charts.
Were you listening to the radio?
If they'd caught him, we'd have heard.
Hi.
If the police have got Steve,
especially with the posters in the car,
you don't think that-- Is that mine, sister?
Uh-huh.
Wouldn't that be item one on the news?
No. If the people know they have him,
they have to be careful
about the way they treat him.
They think he's here.
I must get back.
Let's have some coffee, Tenjy.
If the police had taken him,
that lot would be the first to know.
I think he's hiding.
He was with Peter Jones,
and Peter has no pass problem.
If Steve was arrested,
Peter would have phoned me.
Pass the milk.
Finished, Mr. Woods?
Yes, thanks.
How'd you get these?
Ah, we have ways.
Do we dare print them?
For these, I'll risk it.
Ask Tony to come in.
I'll even give you a byline.
If they put me away,
yours'll be the first name on my lips.
What about Mr. Biko?
Shall I use his name in the story?
His picture was everywhere.
Do you think there was a meeting?
There must have been one recently.
Biko couldn't have been there,
but one of his people,
mad enough about black consciousness,
that's almost a certainty.
I've rejigged it a bit.
No. Leave him out of it.
I want the police blamed for that raid.
I'll take care of Biko in an editorial.
Yeah. Yeah, OK.
One bunch of lunatics saying white supremacy justifies anything,
what we need is some black nutcase
saying black supremacy's going to save the world.
I would like to know who's responsible for this.
May I ask you--
Dr. Ramphele.
I'll leave you.
I've read this paper long enough to know
you're not one of the worst,
so it's all the more baffling
that you would try to pass this vicious fiction off
as reasoned fact.
Uh, well, Doctor...
Ramphele.
I've stuck my neck out on this paper
to take a stand against white prejudice,
but if you think I'm going to go soft
on some sensationalist pushing black prejudice,
you've brought your complaint to the wrong man.
Black prejudice?
That's not what Steve's about at all.
Your Mr. Biko is building
a wall of black hatred in South Africa.
I will fight him
as long as I sit in this chair.
What you do in that chair
is put words in his mouth,
and you know he can't answer
because he's banned.
I believe I understand what Mr. Biko is about.
Well, you believe wrong.
And he can't come to you.
If you were the honest newsman you claim to be,
you ought to go and see him.
Look...
where are you from?
From South Africa...
but I was one of two
to be granted a scholarship
to natal medical school.
I'm a token of your white paternalistic concern
for the natives of this land.
Well, I'm glad we didn't waste our money.
I know you're not a fool, Mr. Woods,
but you are uninformed.
Steve Biko is one of the few people
who can still save South Africa.
He's in King William's Town right now.
That's his banning area.
Good morning.
Mr. Donald Woods?
Yes, I'm Donald Woods.
I'm Steve's wife. Please, come in.
He's expecting you.
Thank you.
Hmm.
We're glad you could come.
Father Russell got this for us.
You see, we're trying to make
a kind of community center
where black people can meet,
maybe have classes.
The new dyes have arrived at last.
Good. Tell Tsinki.
This way.
Who's this one?
Oh, he's just a little rascal like his father
and even more trouble.
You'll find him out there.
Steve Biko?
Are you Steve Biko?
I am.
I would have met you in the church,
but, as you know,
I can only be with one person at a time.
If a third person comes into the room,
even to bring coffee,
that breaks the ban...
And the system--
the police--
are just across the road.
But, of course, you would approve of my banning.
No. I think your ideas are dangerous,
but, no, I don't approve of banning.
A true liberal.
It's not a title I'm ashamed of,
though I know you regard it with some contempt.
I just think that a white liberal
who clings to all the advantages of his white world--
jobs,
housing,
education,
Mercedes--
is perhaps not the person best qualified
to tell blacks how they should react to apartheid.
I wonder what sort of liberal
you would make, Mr. Biko,
if you were the one
who had the job, the house, and the Mercedes,
and the whites lived in townships.
It's a charming idea.
It was good of you to come, Mr. Woods.
I wanted to meet you for a long time.
They follow you everywhere?
They think they do.
So, this is it?
Yes, this is it.
A clinic for black people,
staffed by black people,
run by a black doctor.
Was this her idea or yours?
Come on. Let me show you around.
It was a collective idea,
but we were lucky to have her.
And a white liberal doctor
doing the same thing
wouldn't serve your purpose.
When I was a student trying to qualify
for the jobs you people will let us have,
I suddenly realized
it wasn't just good jobs that were white.
The only history we read
was made by the white men,
written by the white men.
Televisions, cars, medicines,
all invented by the white men.
Even football.
Now, in a world like that,
it's not hard to believe
there's something inferior about being born black.
We grow most of our own food here
for the patients and some of the staff.
The church?
Oh, that was here long before us.
But I began to think this idea of inferiority
was an even bigger problem for us
than what the Afrikaners were doing to us.
A black man had to believe
he had as much capacity to be a doctor,
a leader, as a white man,
so we tried to set this place up.
My own mistake was to put
some of those ideas on paper.
The government banned you.
And the fighting liberal editor started attacking me.
I attacked you for being racist.
How old are you, Mr. Woods?
Forty-one, if that makes any difference.
Eh. A white South African,
41 years old,
a newspaperman.
Have you ever spent any time in a black township?
I've been to many--
No. Don't be embarrassed.
Except for the police,
I don't think one white South African in 10,000 has.
You see, we know how you live.
We cut your lawns, we cook your food,
clean your rubbish.
How would you like to see how we live,
the 90 percent of your fellow countrymen
who have to get off your white streets
at 6:00 at night?
Jane.
Yes, Mom?
Put the strawberries in the fridge.
Make sure Dad stays there
till I come down.
All right, dear.
What time did you get back?
I'd given up on you.
Half an hour ago. I've already had a swim.
Mommy! Mommy!
Hello, sweetheart.
Look what Alison gave me.
Isn't that nice.
And what did you give her?
Nothing.
You terrible girl.
Well?
You were right.
What was he like?
They've built a damn clinic up there.
Stop it!
Dillon!
Boys!
She's the doctor.
You should see it. People come from miles.
How did they raise the money?
There was some local money from the community,
church money from overseas,
and even mining companies threw a few pennies in.
South African mining companies?
Yes. Apparently someone important
heard him make a speech that impressed him.
Thanks, Evalin.
He is impressive.
Master?
Mm-hmm.
He hasn't talked you into black consciousness?
No, but I'm letting him take me
to a black township.
He's going to educate me.
He's banned. How could he?
I'm not sure.
You really think this is worth the risk?
The education of a white liberal?
If you get caught out of your banning area,
well, all he might have to do
is write a letter to his board of directors.
I don't want them to get you in a jail.
Tell David he promised to finish that table.
I won't get caught.
No tea till he does.
I need some money from the cash box.
No, you won't get caught
if some paid informer doesn't run to the police.
It's in the drawer.
Uh-huh.
We'll make a working man of you yet, Steve Biko.
How do you want to do this?
Ask Thabo to come over.
I'll turn on the desk light.
Mapela will occupy the system
for a couple of minutes.
I'll slip out.
Thabo will sit in my seat.
I'm glad I wasn't your mother.
You know, look. Look.
I was born in a tribal homeland, Transkai.
My dad had a store there.
I'm not half as uncomfortable as you think.
As a liberal, if you had your way,
you'd be riding buses, taxis, just like us.
You tell me my days of white privilege are numbered,
so I'm enjoying them while I can.
Run, son, run.
It's a miracle a child survives here at all.
Most of the women who have work permits
are domestic maids,
so they only get to see their kids
for a couple of hours on Sundays.
The place is full of drunks and thuggery,
people so desperate for anything,
they'll beat a kid bloody
if they thought he had five rand.
Was that kid you a few years ago?
Yeah.
Maybe more scared.
But if you do run fast enough,
if you do survive,
you grow up in these streets, these houses.
Your parents try, but in the end,
you only get the education
the white man will give you.
Then you go to the city to work or shop,
and you see their streets,
their cars, their houses,
and you begin to feel
there is something not quite right about yourself...
about your humanity.
Something to do with your blackness,
because no matter how dumb or smart a white child is,
he is born into that world.
But, you, the black child,
smart or dumb, you're born into this,
and smart or dumb,
you'll die in it.
I thought that most Shebeen queens were informers.
Yeah. They are.
If they weren't,
the police would close down this place.
But it's only some things they inform on.
Others they don't bother.
Anyway, we're OK here.
This one's wild about Steve.
You see, he has that way with women.
He's very articulate.
Where did he get his education?
He's never been inarticulate,
but his father died, and when he was 17,
he was taken into a mission school.
You know...
most of these guys,
they're living in a bed out there on their own.
No work permit, no residence permit.
A man and wife
who can't find work in the same white town
are not allowed to live together
in the same black township.
You split up black families
so that for thousands of husbands and wives,
to see each other once a year is lucky.
You keep saying you.
You're talking about the Afrikana government.
Don't blame all the whites for apartheid.
How many live-in maids do you have, Mr. Woods?
One. But she doesn't--
Don't pick on him. He's here to have fun.
Drink up. Cheers.
I'm not defending what's been done,
but he's the one who's against the liberals.
We're moving towards integration.
You want to give us
a slightly better education
so that we can get slightly better jobs.
At first maybe, but--
We don't want to be forced into your society.
I'm going to be me as I am.
You can beat me, jail me, or kill me,
but I won't be what you want me to be.
The best you want for us
is to be allowed to sit at your table.
Using your silver and your china.
And if we can learn to use it like you do,
then you will kindly let us stay.
We want to wipe the whole table clean.
It's an African table.
And we will sit at it in our own right.
You must remember,
before you arrived we had our own culture.
We had many villages...
small.
You know our language, Mr. Woods.
The word we use for nephew is ''my brother's son.''
Tenjy calls my wife,
not Aunt,
but ''mother's sister.''
We have no separate words
for members of the family.
All begin with ''brother'' and ''sister.''
We took care of each other.
We got a lot of things right
which your society never solved.
You did have tribal wars
in this land of yours?
What do you call World Wars I and II?
You use words very cleverly,
but there's something about it that scares me.
Of course there is, because in your world
anything white is normal,
the way the world should be.
And your real genius
is that for years you've managed
to convince most of us of that, too.
Just tell him to come in.
Ken, this is Tenjy Mtinsto
and Mapetla Mahapi
from King William's Town
where we recently met.
Yes, sir?
Come in.
I'm glad to say that yesterday
the board approved their appointments to the staff.
Brief them on our copy rules.
Take them upstairs to see Bob.
Come this way, please.
Tell him to give them
their assignments for tomorrow.
Thanks.
Teach them about our cameras.
I, uh, where, uh,
where are they going to work?
In the news room.
Does this Biko practice black magic as well?
I'm not sure,
but I think this is worth a try.
They'll cover the real black news,
things we've never reported.
Nothing illegal. It'll bring us new readers.
The white readership will be delighted.
And when they start ranting on about black consciousness...
Yeah, yeah. Just remember,
my blue pencil still determines
what goes in this paper.
Yes, of course it does.
Yah, boss.
Ken?
Yeah?
You like football, don't you?
And sure...
sure as hell...
he's paying people
to stir up trouble between us.
Because when we fight amongst ourselves,
he can say, ''See?
They're unfit to run their own lives.''
Then he can go on telling us where to live
and how to live.
He can pay us nothing
and pass his laws
without listening to one word we say.
And remember...
they killed over 400 black students last year.
We've got to stick together.
As one people, we have to make the white man know
that his free ride
on the back of black labor
is over, finished, enklar.
Now...
now we've got a surprise for you.
He's a little modest,
but you listen to what he has to say.
Mamelan.
This is the biggest illegal gathering
I've ever seen.
I've heard what the last speaker had to say...
and I agree.
We are going to change South Africa.
All we've got to decide
is the best way to do that.
And as angry as we have the right to be,
let us remember
that we are in this struggle
to kill the idea that one kind of man
is superior to another kind of man.
And killing that idea
is not dependent on the white man.
We must stop looking to him
to give us something.
We have to fill the black community
with our own pride.
We have to teach our children black history...
tell them about our black heroes...
our black culture.
So they don't face the white man
believing they are inferior.
Then... we'll stand up to him
any way he chooses.
Conflict if he likes,
but with an open hand, too.
To say that we can all
build a South Africa worth living in...
a South Africa for equals--
black or white.
A South Africa
as beautiful as this land is...
as beautiful as we are.
That's the one who made the speech.
Sit down.
You know I don't advocate violence, De Wet,
but don't make the mistake
of treating me without respect.
Don't tell me what to do, Kaffir.
Out of your banning area,
talking to a crowd.
You won't be a witness at that trial.
You'll be up there on the stand
with your friends,
inciting racial hatred.
On whose words, hmm?
What's his name?
Captain De Wet,
you're not sending me
to a Pretoria court
on the evidence of a paid informer
in a cardboard box, are you?
Everyone knows those kind would say
whatever you wanted them to say.
You're a bit of poison, Biko,
and I'm going to see you're put away.
Not on that kind of testimony, you won't.
Don't.
Nee manne! No!
He has to appear
as a witness for the defense.
We don't want it
to look like anything happened to him.
You're lucky, Biko...
Lucky.
I just expect to be treated
like you expect to be treated.
You and your big-headed ideas.
If you're afraid of ideas,
you'd better quit now.
We'll never quit.
Come on!
What are you so afraid of?
Once you try, you'll see there's nothing to fear.
We're just as weak and human as you are.
We're going to catch you red-handed one day.
Then we'll see how human you are.
I quote,
''I believe that South Africa is a country
in which black and white should live together.''
Those are your words.
What does it mean?
It means that I, and those gentlemen in the dock,
believe that South Africa is a plural society,
with contributions to be made
by all segments of the community.
Mm-hmm.
Are you familiar
with the language in some of these documents
the accused have discussed with black groups?
Yes, since some of those documents
were drawn up by me.
The one ''noting with concern and disgust
the naked terrorism of the government''?
That is correct.
You say ''naked terrorism.''
Do you honestly think that is a valid statement?
Well, I think it is a far more valid statement
than the charges against these men here.
Really?
Yes, really.
I'm not talking about words.
I'm talking about the violence
in which people are baton-charged by police, beaten up.
I'm talking about police firing on unarmed people.
I'm talking about the indirect violence
you get through starvation in the townships.
I'm talking about the hopelessness,
the desolation of the transit camps.
That, all put together,
that constitutes more terrorism
than the words these men have spoken here,
but they stand charged.
And white society is not charged.
When you and others in black consciousness speak,
you say,
''Our true leaders have been banned
and imprisoned on Robben Island.''
Who are you referring to specifically?
Specifically, we referred to people like Mandela,
Sobukive,
to people like Govan Mbeki.
And is it not true
that the common factor with these people
is that they have advocated violence
against the South African government?
The common factor with these people
is that they have selflessly pushed forward
the struggle of the black man.
So your answer to this so-called naked terrorism
is to provoke violence in the black community?
No. Our movement seeks to avoid violence.
But your own words
call for direct confrontation!
That's right. We demand confrontation.
Isn't that a demand for violence?
You and I are in confrontation,
but I see no violence.
But nowhere in these documents
do you say that the white government
is doing anything good.
Well, it does so little good, my lord,
that it's not worth commenting on.
But surely that approach
inflames racial hatred and anti-whiteism.
My lord, blacks are not unaware
of the hardships they endure
or what the government is doing to them.
We want them to stop accepting these hardships...
to confront them.
People must not just give in to the hardships of life.
They must find a way--
even in this environment--
to...to develop hope.
Hope for themselves...
hope for this country...
Now I think that
is what black consciousness is all about.
Now without any reference to the white man,
to try and build up
a sense of our own...
humanity...
our legitimate place in the world.
En die telefron ook.
Gann, help hulle klaarmaak.
Dit sal die donders wys.
Yera dis warm.
Donald, go to Kruger.
He's always saying he'll fight police illegality.
We'll take him up on it.
Kruger? He'd probably give them a medal.
Now, Mampela, whatever his personal prejudices,
he won't condone this sort of thing publicly.
Oh, won't he? I'll bet you
he'll find an excuse for it.
You're positive it was Captain De Wet?
lgin usekile Captain De Wet?
Ndimbonile.
Where's Steve?
He went to the clinic
to draw off the security police.
He didn't want anyone seeing Dilima talking to you.
Donald, fly to Pretoria.
The local police will only laugh at you here.
Ah, Mr. Woods, you found your way.
Good morning, sir.
The minister of police,
and I walk right into your grounds.
Not a soul in sight.
Perhaps not in sight.
How do you do?
Come in. I'm just having a drink.
Will you join me?
Yes, thank you. What are you having?
I'm on a whiskey.
That'll be fine.
Thank you for seeing me at the weekend.
Ah, it's nothing, man.
I always like to help the press if I can.
What did you want to see me about?
Gesondheid.
Sit down.
Thank you. It's, um...
It's a matter concerning Steve Biko.
Biko!
My God, man, I know all about Steve Biko.
Minister, I don't understand why he's banned.
You need a black leader you can talk to.
Look, I don't need to tell you
this country has a special kind of problem.
Shit, man, do you think I like
banning and detaining people without trial?
I'm a lawyer. It goes against the grain.
Come...
come.
I want to show you something, Mr. Woods.
We Afrikaners came here in 1652--
200 years before there was
any such thing as a camera.
And yet look at this.
The trek across the wilderness...
the homesteading,
the concentration camps the English
put our wives and children in
during the Boer War,
the working of the land...
the building of the cities.
And any Afrikaner family
could show you the same thing.
We didn't colonize this country, Mr. Woods.
We built it.
Grandfather Johannes,
a formidable drinker.
Do you think
we're going to give that all up?
That's what Mr. Biko wants.
This is a black country, he says.
God, what's here was built
as much by Afrikaner toil
as ever it was by the blacks,
who came to us for work, remember.
We didn't force anyone to labor.
They had very little alternative
since you'd taken over most of the land.
And wouldn't you say their cheap labor
has aided the success of our economy?
I know what you're saying.
Don't think I don't understand their argument.
I do.
We know there has to be a way
to work together and live together.
We're trying to find one.
Maybe too slow to suit some of them,
but it's no use your Mr. Biko
filling them with false expectations.
We're not just going to roll over
and give all this away.
Listen...trust me.
Let's sit in the shade.
I know much more about Mr. Steve Biko than you do.
Is that what you wanted to see me about?
Well, no, actually. It's--
But if that's your recommendation,
if you think it's really worth it,
I'll certainly consider meeting him.
How's your drink?
I'm fine.
I really think you should.
You'll find him more moderate
and more intelligent than you believe.
But what I've really come about
is an incident that occurred
at a sort of community center
Biko was putting together.
The place was smashed up the other night.
Yeah, I know about that.
My police are investigating it.
Your police are the ones who did it.
What makes you say that?
An eyewitness saw a security police captain
and some of his men
smashing the place up.
Would he testify?
He's afraid to.
But I felt it would be more effective
if you took some action internally.
You've always stated
you were against any illegality by your officers.
My God, I am.
I appreciate your attitude, Mr. Woods.
I assure you, this is something I'll pursue.
I want no thugs in my department.
Don't be surprised.
We're not really the monsters
we're sometimes made out to be.
It's all right, Evalin.
I'll get it.
Get back, Charlie.
Mr. Donald Woods?
I'm Donald Woods.
You made a complaint to the minister of police.
Yes.
That's right.
Come on, Charlie.
That's prompt.
I only saw him yesterday.
You had a witness to the crime?
That's right.
I explained to Mr. Kruger
that I couldn't name him.
You reported a crime.
And the law states you must name the witness.
You don't understand.
You must name the witness,
or you'll go to prison until you do.
That is the law.
I don't want to go back to Mr. Kruger
and report that two--
Report to whoever you like.
Our orders, Mr. Woods, come from the very top.
Kruger.
I didn't say Mr. Kruger.
I said from the top.
Next time, you'd better have a warrant.
The law's on our side.
Justice is on mine.
We'll see how we make out in court.
And tell Mr. Kruger
to come to my house for a whiskey.
Steve...
stay still.
Stay in the middle and we'll cover you.
It's OK.
It's OK, boys.
You're a dirty player, Biko.
I was taught by a Catholic priest.
What do you expect?
Are you alone?
Yeah.
Who told you I was here?
Your wife.
She didn't tell me where the police thought you were.
We planted a phone call
saying I was going to spend the afternoon
going over the books at the clinic.
Got my summons today.
They're actually going to prosecute.
Six months
for withholding the name of a witness.
They're trying to break up our friendship.
A few months in jail might be what you need
to prove your credibility
as a budding activist.
Yeah, well, I got my old law professor to defend me.
- He's the best there is. - Want one?
Yeah, thanks.
I'm not going to name Dilima, whatever happens,
but Kruger obviously means business.
They've always meant business against us.
Someday we'll be the damn system
in this country.
A lot of us will die for nothing
if our system turns into nothing
but black versions of theirs.
I could accept that.
A bent policeman is a bent policeman.
He breaks the same heads for the same reasons.
To substitute a black one for a white one...
it's not worth one child.
Never mind six months in jail
for Mr. Woods.
Are you sure this is the right house?
Ja, it is.
We have reason to believe you are in possession
of subversive documents.
We're ordered to search here.
Do you have a warrant?
Good.
Well, bring it to the window over there
and I'll read it.
Psst!
Put Mapetla's article with them.
OK.
Could you hold it up, please?
Fine.
Just turn the page, please.
Could you read a little faster?
It appears to be in order,
but you won't find such papers in my house.
We'll see.
All right. As soon as my wife is properly dressed,
I'll let you in.
In there.
Stoffle.
Let's go.
I told you you wouldn't find anything.
We'll be back.
I think we should rescue them now.
Datu.
Finally, the prosecution finished,
and the courtroom thought I was as good
as in jail.
Are you going to prison, Dad?
You'd like that, wouldn't you?
No, you see, then Uncle Harold
began his cross-examination.
He began by pointing out
that the wording of the charge itself
was not proper,
that the dates were inaccurate,
that the precedents they'd cited all applied
to totally different situations.
Quiet, Charlie!
We need to check your pass.
Just leave your door open.
Donald.
They're after Evalin.
It's the police.
They're after Evalin.
What are you doing?
Jane, go upstairs to Mary.
Charlie!
Donald!
Dad!
Why the hell are you here?
We want to see her passbook.
At this hour?
That's when they have their boyfriends in.
You're talking to a married woman, and I resent--
I'll find it.
We've asked this Bantu female to--
Woman!
Bastard.
She's a woman,
not a Bantu female.
We can question Bantu anytime.
There may be an illegal male in there.
You're on my property.
Yeah.
You think you're a big editor
who can get away with anything.
I think I'm a man
who's found two intruders in his back yard.
Master.
Come, Kobus.
We'll see about this.
Go on, piss off.
Are you all right?
Yes, master, thank you.
Tell Sipo to bring the children here
whenever you want to see them.
You're mad, Donald Woods.
I'm also shaking like a leaf.
Why didn't you get your own strawberry?
Because if I did,
you wouldn't be able to taste my chocolate.
I was just being considerate.
You have a little of mine.
I'll have a little of yours.
What's the matter?
Ken!
Ken, be careful!
They may just beat him up
to try and scare him off the paper,
but it's more pressure they're putting on.
I'm afraid they might try
and use him as an example--
God, Steve, what are you doing?
I want to know about Mapetla.
Coming into a white area?
This is my country. I go where I like.
He's heard about Mapetla.
Oh, yes.
Did you drive yourself here?
Peter's driving.
I put Harold Levy on it.
They told him nothing.
Sit down.
All being well,
I'm going to Capetown in a couple of days.
When I come through, I'll drop off something
about the arrest.
Maybe you'll publish it.
Capetown, Steve.
You must be out of your mind.
Well, it's...
it's a meeting of black students there.
An important one.
And before they take a stand,
I want them to hear what I have to say.
We'll print the news of Tenjy's arrest.
We'll put it on the front page.
What's up, boss?
Mapetla's dead.
They claim he hanged himself
in his cell.
We're going to remake the front page.
Donald Woods.
Hello, Donald.
A piece of news.
The day before Mapetla died,
the police showed another prisoner
a puppet of Mapetla hanging from a string.
Steve, I don't know what to say.
Just say that someday justice will be done.
And let's hope it will not be visited on the innocent.
You shouldn't go to Capetown.
It's too dangerous.
It's a dangerous country.
Keys and papers, hey.
I can't get the bloody thing open.
What you got in there?
Nothing.
Wat makeer?
I think they got something in here.
Out.
Papers.
What's your name, Kaffir?
It's there in the book.
Say it!
Say your name!
Bantu Steven Biko.
I think...
I think he should see a specialist.
Could he be shamming?
The extensor plantar reflex
indicates a possible lesion on the brain.
Could he be shamming?
You can't sham a reflex, sir.
And the lumbar puncture that Dr. Hersch took
revealed an excess of red blood cells
in the spinal fluid.
Well, that also points to...
Well, it's a possible sign
of serious brain damage.
Has he eaten, Sergeant?
Gone to the toilet?
No, not today.
He must be seen by a specialist.
We'll take him to the police hospital in Pretoria.
But that's 700 miles.
He might escape from the hospital here.
I want him in a police hospital.
Maak oop.
Go by way of Soweto.
And when you take breaks,
one man stays with Biko all the time.
Goodbye.
So Biko's death leaves me cold.
He died after a hunger strike.
Mr. Chairman?
Mr. Chairman...
I commend the minister for being so democratic
that he gives prisoners
the democratic right to starve themselves.
I suppose one feels sorry for any death.
I suppose I would feel sorry
about my own death.
How did you get permission?
I didn't. It would tip them off
and they might move him.
I checked the law.
I don't think they'll dare stop us.
This is a special case.
There's been no inquest yet.
There's no possibility--
Not special at all.
The law is quite clear.
Next of kin have a right
to see the deceased.
Now, Mr. Biko's death has caused enough uproar
in the press already.
If you'd like to create
another front page issue,
I'll be happy to comply.
Steve...
What have they done to you?
We must hurry, Ntsiki,
before he notifies the police.
Don't let them frighten you, Mr. Woods.
All right.
From every angle.
His whole body.
You and Wendy will come
to the funeral, won't you?
Well...
would his other friends...
Would we be welcome?
Yes, Donald.
You and Wendy are our brother and sister.
We are here to mourn
one of the great men of Africa...
Amandla!
I loved Steve Biko,
but I hate the system that killed him.
- Pasina! - Pasina!
Even today, the day of Steve Biko's funeral,
in their white arrogance,
they have turned back thousands
who sought to come
simply to pay their respects to him.
But we are here!
I hate the system.
But I welcome all South Africans
who join with us today
in mourning the man who gave us faith
in the kind of country South Africa could be.
The kind of country South Africa will be
when all men are judged as human beings,
as equal members of God's family.
And towards this day...
when the isolation that creates hostility
becomes the closeness that permits
friendship and love,
let us all join in the song of Africa
that Steve Biko cherished as we do.
Do you understand the words?
Yeah, it's...
God bless Africa, raise up her name,
hear our prayers, and bless us.
Amandla!
The fact is that
Biko had gone on a hunger strike.
We tried to feed him by intravenous drip
with a tube in his arm.
I don't know about these things.
I'm not a doctor.
That was the minister of police
Mr. J.T. Kruger...
Yes, hello.
Is that you, Donald?
All right, you traitor,
you black-loving bitch.
We know you're alone. We're coming to get you.
Mom...
I can't sleep.
Was that Dad?
No.
More threats.
Police?
They're the only ones we know are doing it.
When Daddy returns from Johannesburg,
we should put a tape recorder on the telephone
and print what they say in the paper.
There'd have to be a lot of blanks and dashes.
Well, I'm going downstairs to make some coffee.
No, don't go!
Yeah, until 9:00.
Mom.
What is it?
Mom, shall we call--
You just stay up here.
Believe me, 30 years in the police force,
and you know one when you see one.
Tell Donald--
Here's another one.
All from a.32.
One of us will stay here.
I'll prove my ex-colleagues did this.
What good will that do?
None. But it'll make me feel better that they know we know.
Look, Mom, one went right through your window.
Dead right, me old mate.
They're mad enough about the speeches you're making here.
Read the Afrikaans press in Capetown.
You start stirring up trouble overseas,
they'll come down on you like a ton of bricks.
You know my opinion-- It's madness.
And even if they do let you out,
they'll arrest you the minute you get back.
I would have, Don.
Look,
we'll force them into an inquest.
They can't arrest me there.
A U.S. lecture tour will stir up pressure
they can't ignore.
If you were a lawyer
getting support for the law, that's one thing.
But you're going to talk about Biko,
and they won't stop at niceties.
Look...
Kruger lied.
If we expose it,
they'll have to admit how Steve really died.
I'm going.
If you'll stay with Wendy and the kids,
I'm not worried.
In fact, the more publicity I get,
the safer I'll be.
Phone you when I get there.
Donald Woods?
That's right.
We're from security.
Come with us, please.
This is the final call
for passengers traveling on British Airways.
Don't worry. You won't be on the flight.
But my cases are--
We've taken them off.
You, Donald James Woods,
are declared a banned person
in terms of the internal security act.
Henceforth, for a period of five years,
you are forbidden to associate
with more than one person at a time
or be in a room
with more than one person at a time,
except for the members of your immediate family.
You are forbidden to write anything,
whether privately or for publication.
You are forbidden to enter any printing
or publishing premises of any kind.
You are restricted for that five years
to the magisterial district of East London.
Kruger's really gone crazy.
You reckon you know what happened
to Steve Biko, eh?
I saw his body.
And those pictures you've confiscated--
Fourteen sets have already been released
to the world press.
Arresting and banning me is a stupid thing to do.
Now your minister of police
has guaranteed a world spotlight on the Biko inquest.
I have two small children, Mr. Woods,
and I think about the future.
So tell me, what would you do?
I have children, too.
But the days of a few whites
running a black country are over.
It's going to change.
In partnership or bloodshed.
For your white children and mine,
I hope it's in partnership.
Huh, with the likes of Biko?
God, I hope with the likes of Biko.
I would have met you in the church,
but I can only be with one person at a time.
And the system-- the police--
are just across the road.
You're playing with fire.
You know the house is bugged.
One slip of the tongue,
a surprise raid and then--
What you've written about Steve is treason.
If I get caught smuggling it out,
we both get what Nelson Mandela got
or what, you know,
what happened to Steve,
and no one would ever know.
You think I've done it for nothing.
I think you should destroy
what you've written now
or get yourself out of South Africa
with that manuscript.
Not just for, well... for their sakes, too.
Leave here...
permanently.
In actual fact...
one or the other.
What do you mean, we got to leave?
Bruce contacted a publisher in England.
They want my book.
Father Kani is right.
When it comes out,
the government will see it as treason.
We can't stay.
I don't believe this.
Because you want a book published,
you're going to rip the kids
from their schools...
their grandparents, their whole life.
Don't you even bother
to find out what I'd like to do?
We may hate the bastards that run this country,
but this is still our home.
Do you want me to just accept Steve's death,
what this government's doing,
is going to go on doing?
What do you want?
You forced the inquest. You're banned.
Are you so grand
you can change them alone?
I won't sit home bound and gagged
for five years and do nothing!
Where do we go?
We've got five children.
We couldn't take a penny out of here.
I know you.
You're willing to tear our lives apart
just to see ''Donald Woods'' on a book cover.
And you're using Steve's death as an excuse.
Bloody hell.
Jane, can I go in again?
Mary, go and get dry.
Could we talk about this?
I'm sorry I was so cruel.
No, you were right.
I want a book published.
I do.
But if Steve...
if Steve died for nothing...
if we let them just bury his name--
Who do you think you are, God?
No, but there's just no other writer
who knows Steve's story like I do.
It's just a fact.
There are seven of us.
Donald, you're 43 years old.
What will one book do?
Do you think they're going to let us walk out?
We could get killed even trying to escape
or thrown into prison
and still you wouldn't get your book printed.
The kids will be worried about us.
I'm not God...
but we know what this country's like now,
and we can't accept it,
and we can't wait for God
to come and change it.
We have to do what we can,
and this book is what I can do.
Morning.
Thanks.
It's for us!
Mommy, Daddy, it's a present.
Can we open it?
If it's addressed to you.
What's all this noise?
It's got a picture of Steve.
What is it, T-shirt?
Here, Mary.
I bet it fits.
Wendy...
is there a return address on there?
No, Dad.
He's becoming a legend.
Aah! Aah!
Mommy! Daddy!
What is it?
Get it off her!
My eyes!
Call Dr. James.
Yes.
Quick.
It's OK.
Mom, my hands are itching.
Aah!
It's all right. It's all right.
What is it?
Some kind of burn. I don't know.
Get it off. Get it off.
My hands are burning.
Duncan, go upstairs and rinse them!
lzandla baleka bhuti.
You heard what Evalina said. Now go!
Aah!
That was Don on the phone.
He says he has proof beyond doubt
that the security police sent those T-shirts.
How could they do this to her?
I think that book should be published.
Bruce!
God, you scared me.
I was expecting you the other way.
If I go there,
they'll know where I am
and who I'm with.
They didn't see me.
You ought to report them for neglect of duty.
You're cheerful. You've got good news?
Yeah. It's out of date,
but we doctored that.
It wouldn't get you out of Jo'burg.
In the sticks, it ought to work
as identification.
''Father David C. Curren.''
Irishman.
How did you get it?
Father Kani lifted it.
He said he felt sure Father Curren would agree,
but for safety's sake,
he'd explain to him later.
''Black hair.''
If the light wasn't too good,
I suppose it could work.
You sure those buggers aren't behind us?
Yeah. It's all right.
Good.
This looks like a logical place to get lost.
Let's look at the map.
Flying you to Botswana is out.
But we have to.
We can't get a plane
with the amount of fuel needed
without tipping our hand.
We're going to take you out
via Lesotho instead.
We think New Year's Eve is the best time.
Everybody's drunk.
You turn yourself into Father Curren
and get up here,
north of Queenstown.
Kani will meet you
and drive you toward St. Theresa's Mission.
That's a bunch of nuns on Lesotho's border.
Two priests-- It's perfect.
Once you're there,
the border's only a river.
You can wade across it.
I'm a priest wading across the border?
You do it at night,
and once you're across,
I'll be here to drive you to Maseru
before the police know what's going on.
From there, you can fly out to Botswana.
The airline is run by a Canadian
with an Aussie
and two New Zealanders as pilots.
If I get out,
I'll regret giving you your biggest scoop.
I've had bigger scoops on an ice-cream cone.
Why do I have to go so far north
before I meet Father Kani?
Arms are arriving on roads near the border.
Don't worry about them.
Any car registered out of district
is automatically checked.
He's going there to get a local car.
He's a hell of a bloke, Kani.
For a black guy to do this...
I know the risk he's taking.
How do I get past Queenstown?
It's a long way.
You hitchhike, Father Curren.
You bloody hitchhike.
That way, if you do get caught,
you won't take Wendy and Kani down with you.
By 5:00, New Year's Eve,
all the white police will be off for parties.
You hitchhike to the rendezvous point.
It should be easy
if you don't leave too late.
What if someone phones me,
and I'm not there?
The plan's--
In actual fact,
New Year's Eve you've gone to bed quite drunk.
Nobody will question that.
The next morning, Wendy drives off to the beach,
only she really goes to her parents in Umtata.
If you make it,
you phone her the minute you are in Lesotho--
10:00 or whatever time you've arranged.
She takes the children north to the border
before they have time to pick her up.
If you don't make it,
and there's no phone call,
she turns right around
and goes straight back home.
So that she can't be accused
of being a party to it.
If I make it,
they're going to suspect your involvement.
Oh, probably.
But as a man of the cloth,
it's proof they'll be missing.
In my case,
I think they'll want it.
Can we stay up tonight?
Why don't you ask Mom?
Mary, come on!
Can we stay up on New Year's Eve?
We'll get undressed first.
Just wait and see.
Let's all get in the car first.
In you go, Charlie.
Get in?
Duncan, your ice cream's melting.
Charlie, don't lick me.
If you do get ready,
I've rented a film and some cartoons,
and you can watch till midnight.
Is Dad going to watch with us?
I thought you'd like to ask Alan and Greg.
So Dad will have to skip it.
You know his thoughts on your movie choices.
Daddy doesn't know what good movies are.
Yeah.
We're home.
We have ice cream.
Take off your jacket.
I saw Alice and Larry at the beach.
I must phone him.
Maybe he'd come over
and play chess with me next week.
Did you, uh, pick up the projector?
Damn. The kids wanted ice cream,
so I came home the other way.
We even talked about it.
I'll have to pick it up later.
Stupid.
Happy New Year.
Donald?
God, they're so predictable.
Gavin, it's my turn.
No, it's not.
Come on, Duncan.
Ahem.
No, no, no, Duncan.
I keep telling you all.
Now watch-- watch this, Gavin, Mary.
You bend the back low on the table,
your hand flat.
If they see you and say one word...
I can't do that.
Where's Evalin? Is she in her room?
No. I sent her over the road
to get hamburger buns.
She wasn't too pleased.
Well, if I've got to pick up that damned projector
I might as well do it now.
Any chance of a lift to King William's Town?
I'm just dropping him.
Thanks.
No goodbyes, Father Curren. Off you go.
And take care of yourself.
Thank you for the ride, Mrs. Woods.
Wendy...
don't forget to pick up the projector.
The what?
The projector.
Oh, my God.
Thank God you reminded me.
I had completely forgotten.
I'll see you soon, eh?
The military, the police,
yes, of course, I take risks...
all the time.
But that's only unusual
if you think we're a land at peace.
You see, in a war, people take great risks
as a part of life.
Well...
we're at war.
You need a ride?
Dankie, Meneer.
Maar hoever gaan jy?
Ampter tot King William's Town.
This side of King William's Town is fine.
I'm going towards Queenstown.
Oh, don't mind him.
He just makes noise.
He doesn't do nothing.
I tell you, Father,
it's very hard to see you in those dark clothes.
I couldn't tell what you are at first.
I should stand under a light next time.
Maybe you could let me off in Stutterheim.
As long as you ride with me through King William's Town.
Those white kids will be drunk tonight.
Maybe they give me trouble, but with a white father...
Certainly when it's not New Year's Eve, it's a fine town.
I've met some good people from King William's Town.
Yes, so have I.
The findings of the court are as follows.
One-- that the deceased, Bantu Steven Biko,
a black man, aged 30,
died on September 12th,
and the cause of death was brain injury,
which led to renal failure and other complications.
Two-- that on the available evidence,
the death cannot be attributed to any act
or omission amounting to a criminal offense
on the part of any person.
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
Hey, hey, I'm a priest.
Get away from this truck.
Get off.
Get off, you stupid bastard.
I'll break your goddamn neck.
I'll have to say some penance for that outburst.
Oh, yes, sir, you're going to.
But you got me through King William's Town,
so I think God must be with us.
Oh, look at those red balloons!
Mind them bubbles, Evalina.
You're having champagne?
Look at that lady.
Twelve seconds to go.
Mum, can Daddy come sit in the other room?
No. He's upstairs asleep
where you should be in 15 minutes.
- Seven... - Seven...
- six... - six...
- five... - five...
- four... - four...
- three... - three...
- two... - two...
- one... - one...
Happy New Year!
- Cheers. - Cheers.
There you are.
Happy New Year, Evalina.
Happy New Year.
In you go, Father.
But why? I was just--
The locals told us you were going to Queenstown.
We're covering that road.
If we don't run into trouble,
you'll get there in two hours.
Well, great. Bless you.
You're going to the mission?
That's right.
If it's not an emergency,
I'd spend the night in Queenstown.
I'm sure I can find a lift there.
You might find some black terrorists, too.
Here? In the Eastern Cape?
Of course.
Charlie, be quiet.
Shh.
Get in.
Move over, Father, will you?
Still want to go past Queenstown?
But why do you use a phrase
like ''black is beautiful''?
Because black is commonly associated with negatives--
the black market,
the black sheep of the family,
anything which is supposed to be bad.
Then why do you use the word?
Why call yourselves black?
I mean, you people are more brown than black.
Why do you call yourselves white?
You people are more pink than white.
Precisely.
Ufunuk' blika ap' mfundis?
This is fine.
Nkoskakuku undincedile.
I expected you three hours ago.
Hurry up. Get in, man.
It will be light soon.
In actual fact, it does change you.
What's changed me is getting here.
When I wasn't shit-scared,
I was waiting to be.
Well, come on.
When do you have to make the call?
10:00. If I'm late, she'll go back.
You'll get ten years in jail if you're seen,
so get out.
Hayibo! I didn't come--
OK. There's Lesotho. I'll get across.
Go before we're seen.
Easy! Don't get me nervous.
Shit! The bag's split.
In actual fact,
it's turned out to be a balls-up, hasn't it?
You've done all right.
There must be some way across. Just go.
When you get desperate,
go to one of us. Use Steve's name.
Amandla!
If there is no more rain,
there'll be places to cross tonight.
I can't wait till tonight.
I've got to go now.
How far is the Telle Bridge?
Likude. Nine, ten miles.
You cannot cross there.
I have a false passport. Maybe I can.
Is there someone we trust who's got a car?
I trust me.
And I have a car.
You...
Master Editor Donald Woods...
escaping.
Ama-bhula azakunya!
The boers will shit themselves.
You're going to make it.
The boers will shit themselves.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Kruger will shit himself.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Vorster will shit himself.
Ha ha ha ha!
Botha will shit himself.
Ha ha ha!
Well, I got you here.
Where's the border?
It's down there.
This will help.
Thanks.
You must not lose one page.
Someday, when things have changed, I'll come back.
We'll have a beer together.
I'll wait for you.
It's locked.
Yes.
It should be open.
It's 7:00.
Well, not quite.
Jesus.
Oh. Sorry, Father.
Oh, that's all right.
What are you doing on foot, Father?
Well, a friend brought me here,
and another's picking me up across the river.
I'm going to Maseru for 10:00 mass.
You'll be lucky.
The rain's ruined the roads there very bad.
Put your bag in the cab.
I'll give you a ride across.
Thank you.
It's very kind of you.
I'm Father Wo-- Curren.
My name's Moses.
Moses.
Yes, of course, it would be, wouldn't it?
Say goodbye to Evalin.
But why?
To be polite.
Bye, Evalina.
Be good.
If that dog stays away from me today,
I may make a cake for you.
Thanks.
Gavin.
I've told you--
Why can't we take Charlie?
Because I say so.
Come on, boy.
So long, Evalina.
Bye-bye.
Like the Americans say,
''Have a nice day.''
Hlamba.
Get out.
If I do make a cake,
I'll put marzipan on it
so you won't eat any of it.
You OK, Mum?
Yes, fine.
What sandwiches have we got?
Cheese and tomato.
Bye-bye, Evalina.
Bye-bye.
See you when we get back.
Evalina.
I can't find my bat.
You looked behind the television?
No.
Give Evalin a kiss
and tell Dillon to open the garage door.
Don't get sunburned.
Yes, Evalina.
Come, Charlie.
Charlie's staying here.
Tell Dillon to open the garage door.
Charlie, sit. Sit.
Dillon, you got to open the garage door!
The master's still sleeping.
He had too much to drink last night.
If there are any calls,
just take the number.
And he's not to be disturbed.
Evalin, don't be cross with me about Charlie.
He's just such a nuisance on the beach.
I can't read or do anything.
He's always gone before.
Well, I'd just like a day without him,
that's all.
I'm sure he'll be good.
Won't you, Charlie?
Goodbye, Evalin.
See you later.
Let me have it!
Come on!
Give it here. It's not yours.
Let me have it!
Come on!
Give it here!
No!
Give it here!
Die muder en kinders het die huis per motor...
Take the father here first, sir.
Hey, we are both in a hurry.
You're always in a hurry, Moses.
Fill in this form.
It takes a letter four days
to get from Queenstown to Maseru.
You got to spend so much time
sitting outside your gate.
The telex is working again, Jan.
Good.
According to Fenton,
there's more rain heading our way.
We've got to check our instructions, Moses.
The security police might be looking
for a certain Lesotho postal inspector.
That's what takes the mail so long.
Your security police got to read half of it first.
We know what's going on.
We know.
Father.
You're a brave man to drive with him.
Is this your bag, Father?
Yes.
It-- lt's just some clothes,
shaving things, and a Bible.
Yes, I thought I felt a book of some kind.
Bless you.
Hello, Moses.
Ja reg.
Hey, Moses! Moses!
Stop!
I won't be long.
There's been some trouble with the roads.
Here's a message for you.
Donald, the important thing
is not to accept their restrictions.
That's why those kids in Soweto
refusing to be taught in Afrikaans
are taking chains off their minds
that no one can ever put back.
I made it.
I learned it as a boy.
Daddy's been traveling all night.
But why are we going to Granny's, Mommy?
I haven't got my pajamas.
They're in the boat.
If he crosses safely,
he'll phone us there,
and we'll join him and fly to England.
What will happen to Charlie?
I've left a note for Evalin.
She'll take him to the Bricelands.
But what will happen to Evalina?
I don't know.
Daddy left her all the money he could find.
Niks nie?
Nee man.
Charlie, come on.
Hey. Hey.
Bless you, my son.
Wake up, you sleepy Aussie bastard.
Jesus Christ.
I'd given you up.
What happened?
It's all right, Moses.
Good luck, Father.
Hope you make it.
Shit. It's 8:30.
Yeah. Let's move.
It took me two hours coming down yesterday.
I really pushed this thing.
Now, where is that child's doll?
She'll never sleep tonight
if she doesn't find it, will she?
We're never going to make it.
We can't get stopped by the police.
Something very wrong here, Charlie.
It's 9:15.
I haven't gone this far
just to turn around and go back.
For God's sake, move them out of the way!
Please! Move them.
Come on! Soo! Soo! Soo!
Excuse me, sir.
Which is nearer, the British or American embassy?
We are a commonwealth country, Father.
It's the American embassy and the British high commission.
But which is nearer?
The British high commission is there on the right.
Thank you. Thanks!
Excuse me. I have to see the high commissioner immediately.
My name is Donald Woods.
I'm editor of the Daily Dispatch in South Africa.
There's a Father Donald Woods--
No, no, no. I'm not a father.
An editor to see the high commissioner.
Yes, sir.
The high commissioner is in London,
but the acting high commissioner will see you.
Thank you.
I had no idea you were a priest.
I'm not,
but I desperately need your phone.
Please.
We understood you were banned.
I was.
Is there a code?
No, no. Dial direct.
Would you care for a cup of tea?
Ha ha ha.
I've come to ask your government
for political asylum.
Our pleasure.
Hello?
Oh, Donald.
Yeah. That was good timing.
She's just arrived.
She's just pulled into the driveway, dear.
Wendy.
Donald, you haven't quarreled, have you, dear?
She's got all the children.
No. You better not say anything.
She's just coming.
Oh, darling!
Hi, Granny.
Dear!
It's Donald.
Isn't that a coincidence?
Well, go on, Mom.
Answer it.
Hello, Donald?
Wendy, I'm...
I'm where I expected to be.
Come as quick as you can.
He's there.
Hello, Donald?
Yes.
Shall we still make for the Telle Bridge crossing?
Yes. From where you are, you should have good roads.
But just hurry, before...
Just hurry.
We're on our way.
I love you.
I'm a priest. You can't speak like that.
Just hurry.
All you kids go to the toilet.
Have you got biscuits, fruit?
Regina, come along quick.
I don't know what's happening, but help's needed.
I'll drive you, dear.
Thanks.
You'll have to overfly South African territory.
They demand all planes land in South Africa
before going on.
They can't stay here.
They'd never be safe
from the South African police.
Look.
We had hoped to fly to Botswana.
The sooner the better.
Two-and-a-half hours flying?
Would they force a landing?
They have no shortage of military planes.
Anyway, my wife and children
will be at the Telle Bridge in two hours.
We should meet--
In this rain? lmpossible.
They'll have to stay in a hotel overnight.
We'll have them met at Telle Bridge.
Yiess? Wat gaan hier ann?
I can't see.
I'm just taking the children over
for a little holiday.
They all under 18?
Yes.
You can put their names on your form.
You picked good weather for a holiday.
They say the weather changes
every half hour.
By the time we cross, it might be fine.
That's for sure.
You've got my birthday wrong.
Never mind.
You haven't put down your husband's name.
James.
Middle initial?
D.
Have a good holiday.
Thank you.
Come on, boys.
I wish they'd get the bloody signal straight.
They're trying to tell us something.
Got it.
Wonderful.
Don't leave anything in the car.
Here. I found this.
I wasn't prepared for rain.
Take this. It's not much.
You can't arrive in England with no money.
Oh, Mum.
We must hurry.
Write to us, my darling.
Bye, Mum.
Be careful, my dear.
We love you.
Goodbye, Grandpa.
See you soon, Granny.
It suits you, Janey.
Look after yourself, Granny.
God bless you.
Mummy, it's running down my neck.
Are you all right?
Yes, I'm fine.
Is that too heavy?
I'll manage.
Mummy...
Bruce!
- Daddy! - Daddy!
Hello!
Daddy!
I thought you'd never get here.
Daddy, are we going in the plane?
Welcome to exile.
I've got to go phone in that scoop now.
Make you a hero.
I'll pay you later.
Ha! What with?
An Australian news report has stated
that the banned editor of the Daily Dispatch,
Donald Woods, has escaped into Lesotho
by swimming the flooded Telle River by night.
His family had preceded him,
crossing into Maseru, the Lesotho capital...
This is a moment you'll want to remember.
So look happy!
Now get out of here.
Mr. Woods.
Donald.
Make sure my bag's safe.
Mr. Woods!
South Africa's told the Lesotho government
they refuse transit for the plane.
They'll force it down
if you fly anyway.
I think they're bluffing.
With the media attention, they'd look very bad.
They don't care about the press.
They've shown that.
Have we got a chance?
With clouds,
Ritchie's a clever pilot.
I'd say a chance,
but the longer you wait,
the longer they can plan something.
If Ritchie goes, we'll go.
Oh, shit.
Trouble.
Good afternoon.
Mrs. Woods, Mr. Woods...
we arranged to get United Nations passports for you.
The prime minister has decided I should accompany you.
We must get aboard at once.
Good luck.
Bye-bye, Bruce. Take care.
Send us a postcard!
We hope these passports and my being here
might make the South Africans hesitate,
but we're not sure.
It's the best we can offer.
Strapped in?
A friend of Steve Biko's
is a friend of ours.
How long before we're--
How long before we're over South African territory?
About 30 seconds.
I won't be going where they expect,
but they'll expect that, too.
Roger, hang on.
They've picked up the flight.
They're demanding to know who's aboard.
McElrea thinks we must give some answer.
Tell them one Lesotho official
and seven holders of United Nations passports.
Mac...
Have you heard the news?
Yes. Remember you're on the telephone.
I know. But tell me,
what are your sources telling you?
The schoolchildren in Soweto are on strike...
Hmm.
Citing something called black consciousness.
They have refused to study Afrikaans,
refused to be trained
simply as servants to the system.
The name Biko...
has been uttered here and there.
Beginning of the end, Donald.
Change the way people think,
and things will never be the same.
What's the government's reaction?
Tense. Troops have been sent in
to restore order.
Hell.
They're kids.
They may shout a bit, break a few windows,
but...
Now stop!
Stop right there!
This is an illegal gathering.
I'm giving you three minutes to disperse.
Go home!
I'm warning you!
Sergeant.
Get ready to fire!
I'm warning you.
I'm warning you!
Sergeant!
Fire!
But you, the black child,
smart or dumb,
you are born into this,
and smart or dumb...
you'll die in it.