Srinivasa Sastri: he forged the destiny of Indian South Africans
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I got thinking the other day about which one person has had the most impact on the life of the Indian community in this country.
It is a subjective question as different individuals have had varying levels of influence in a myriad spheres of life, such as politics, education, religion, commerce, health, arts and culture, and social movements. Also, at different times and places.
Nonetheless, I applied my mind to the task at hand, and in so doing, I realised that I was venturing into virgin territory. I had never before come across the name of any one person who may be credited for contributing to the overall transformation of the community in immense measure. Some may say Mahatma Gandhi shaped the lives of Indians in South Africa the most.
While in this country he organised non-violent protests against unjust laws. His experiences in South Africa gave birth to his philosophy of satyagraha or passive political resistance, which he used in India's struggle for independence. But I am not convinced that Gandhiji's leadership placed Indians in South Africa on a trajectory of immense progress, success and development. His appeals and petitions proved ineffective and promises by the British to end racial bias were betrayed.
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Sastri College in Durban
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Others may say Nelson Mandela most influenced the life of Indians. His leadership in the anti-apartheid movement and his presidency in South Africa marked a significant shift towards racial equality and democratic governance. It is true that through Madiba's sacrifices and statesmanship, millions had the first opportunity to vote, to be treated equally under the law, and to walk freely without fear.
But again, I do not believe Mandela per se helped to empower Indians, open career doors that had hitherto been closed to them and pave the way for a brighter future. By the time he walked out of prison after 27 years on 11 February 1990, the majority of Indians were already living above the poverty line, with most belonging to the middle class in terms of income, education, occupation, and lifestyle. But Mandela certainly helped change the hearts, minds, and the daily lives of Blacks who constitute the majority race group.
There were many people who played no insignificant role in the nation's Freedom Struggle, several of them serving long terms of imprisonment on Robben Island. Among the scores can be counted the likes of Dr Yusuf Dadoo, Dr Monty Naicker, Ahmed Kathrada, Nana Sita, Indres Naidoo, Ismail and Fatima Meer and Billy Nair. While their activism certainly exposed the pain of racism, it did not move the needle to initiate a clearly discernible change in the Indian's lot in life.
Many spiritual leaders also played an important role in influencing values, providing guidance, and fostering cohesion in the Indian community, but again none on such a huge scale so as to create lasting change. In my book, the one person who played a seminal role in creating an opportunity that would steer Indians towards landing meaningful jobs, shaping their community life, fostering positive change, and inspiring hundreds of others who have left the most lasting legacies, has got to be Srinivasa Sastri who served as the Agent of the Indian Government in South Africa from June 1927 until January 1929.
The Right Honourable VS Srinivasa Sastri.
Image: Supplied
His bold and powerful vision for educational upliftment during a time of deep social inequality in South Africa saw him sow the seed and lay the groundwork for the establishment of Sastri College, the first high school for Indians, that helped elevate Indians socially and economically, so that they could thrive with dignity, purpose, and opportunity.
Inarguably, Sastri College empowered Indians. Sastri believed that education was the key to empowering the Indian community, many of whom were descendants of indentured labourers or girmitiyas facing systemic discrimination.He spearheaded a fundraising campaign, collecting £28 000 from the local Indian community to build what was to become the foremost educational institution for Indians. He negotiated with the Durban Corporation for the land.
He liaised with the architects. Sastri College which opened its doors in October 1929 quickly became a beacon of academic excellence and a symbol of resilience. It became the crucible that created leaders with core principles that guided action.Some background on Sastri is necessary. He was born on 22 September 1869 to his orthodox Brahmin parents in a village near Kumbakonam in South India. in 1887, he graduated from Pachaiyappa's College, Madras (now Chennai), with a first-class degree in English and Sanskrit.
He began his career as a schoolmaster, but his interest in public causes and his eloquence merged to bring him national fame and he became involved in Indian politics. He was sent by the Government of India to various countries in an effort to improve the position of Indians living there.Sastri was appointed as the Agent of the Indian Government to South Africa in June 1927. He led a delegation to a round table conference in Cape Town to address discrimination faced by Indians.
However, his approach in South Africa - as it also was during his political pursuits for India's freedom - was rooted in the belief that progress and equality could only be achieved within the existing governing framework rather than actively challenging it. So while his liberalism and diplomacy may have been seen as overly conciliatory by some - with him even being referred to as a "British colonial apologist" - there's no credible evidence that he was condescending. If anything, he was the kind of leader who listened more than he lectured.
In 1926, whilst the National Party of Prime Minister JBM Hertzog busied itself with plans to repatriate Indians, it became clear that while Indians were reaching out to western standards, they were hampered by the lack of secondary schooling. Colleges and universities were closed to Indians; no technical or industrial education was provided for them; and no teacher training college was available to them.
Sastri was quick to recognise that If the Indian has to be uplifted, then the conditions of their education must be improved. Respected as the 'silver-tongued orator', Sastri made a case for higher education to be opened to Indians, whenever he addressed gatherings throughout South Africa. 'If you educate a people, you provide them with the best means of looking after themselves. Illiteracy is in every conceivable way a real menace.
The continued existence of an illiterate, uneducated people, living cheaply on the very margin of existence, and possibly sinking even below that level, is a thing you cannot contemplate with equanimity,' he said, whilst resolving to work to ensure a secondary school was built.Thus, Sastri College became the first Indian high school and played a pivotal role in producing generations of professionals - teachers, doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers, businessmen and even sportsmen - who helped uplift the Indian community during apartheid and beyond.
Sastri College produced from the ranks of children of Indian workers and merchants a new generation which was not prepared to accept the docility which white liberals were expecting of Indians. Besides being a high school, Sastri College also housed a teacher training college. These teachers helped educate thousands of Indians who made the leap from menial labour to more fulfilling, better-paying work.
Sastri College also housed commercial classes after normal school hours and these developed into the ML Sultan Technical College. In addition, since 1936 Sastri College was used for university education of African, Coloured and Indian students under the then Natal University which prohibited blacks from attending Howard College.
Thus, historically, Sastri College provided secondary education, technical education, teacher training and university education when Indians had no other technical college or tertiary education in the whole of then Natal. Mandela said: 'Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.' Long before him, Srinivasa Sastri had ignited an education revolution, shaping what will be remembered for generations.
Yogin Devan
Image: File
Yogin Devan is a media consultant and social commentator. Share your comments with him on: yogind@meropa.co.za
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
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Vilashini Cooppan with her mother dressed in a sari Image: Supplied Professor Vilashini Cooppan is the granddaughter of Dr Somasundaram Cooppan, who was among the first three students to matriculate from Sastri College in 1930. He was a British Council Scholar at the University of London's Institute of Education and completed a PhD in Education at UCT in 1949. Somasundaram taught at Sastri College, Springfield Training College, the Presidency College in Triplicane, Madras, and Macquarie University in Australia. He subsequently joined the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa and was based in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. His son Ramachandra, Professor Vilashini Cooppan's father, also matriculated from Sastri College and studied medicine at the University of Natal, before doing a Fellowship in Diabetes in the United States and joining the Joslin Diabetes Center in Boston, and being appointed Clinical Professor of Medicine at Harvard Medical School. Below is an extract of a lecture delivered by Professor Vilashini Cooppan at the 1860 Heritage Centre last Sunday. WE IN SOUTH Africa are the descendants and inheritors of the Indian diaspora. To inherit is to be given a gift, indeed many gifts: the riches of culture, history, tradition, memory, family, community, love. To be inheritors is also to be time-travellers, to live simultaneously in the present (here and now); in the past (the places and people we came from), and in the future (the unfolding of what we are becoming, people both old and new). Diasporic becoming happens over and over again. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Next Stay Close ✕ First, leaving the homeland, and second, creating new homes, new ways, new lives, that bind a community in multiple ways, within itself, to its new land and that land's people and histories, and also to the memory of the homeland. We here are Indian by ethnicity, like one and a half billion people on the planet. We are South Africans, part of this country's ethnic and racial mix, sharing the land and the nation, our rights and our futures with black Africans, with so-called coloureds, with whites, both English and Afrikaner, and with new migrants from elsewhere in Africa and Asia. And finally, we are South African Indians, a thin, unique piece, torn from the Indian diaspora's round roti. Professor Vilashini Cooppan Image: Supplied The word "diaspora" means the scattering of peoples like seeds, roots, airborne, and falling to the earth to germinate in new soils. Here in South Africa, we are situated at the continent's tip, where at Cape Point the Atlantic Ocean meets the Indian Ocean, those two great world-systems of centuries, for the Indian Ocean world, millennia, of trade. Well before Western imperialism, the Indian Ocean World was a zone of circulation. Noun. 1. Movement to and fro or around something, especially that of fluid in a closed system … similar: flow, motion, movement, course, passage. The noun circulation invites verbs: flowing in a closed circle or circuit, like blood in the body or sap through a sugar cane plant or goods in an economy built on them; encircling, as a border might if the unity it contained was also porosity; pouring, as in something that exceeds the containers that would catch it, like holds that spill forth and things that come in waves - ships, slaves and indentured labourers, migrants, cultures, histories, memories. Stacks and sacks of pearls, cowrie shells, cloves, cinnamon, sugar, tea, opium, rice, cloth; bulk goods and luxury objects, the stuff of the Indian Ocean world, the material history of so many peoples, including our South African Indians of the diaspora. Dr Somasundaram Cooppan Image: Supplied In our house in Wellesley sits a round brass pot. It has been there for as long as I can remember. It belonged to Amma and Amma's mother before her, and maybe even to Pati's Amma. At some point, perhaps 150 years ago, that pot crossed the Kala Pani, the black waters off the eastern coast of India, along with the other goods, the chappals, the saris and dhotis, the small bags of spices, the rice and okra and eggplant seeds, the brass velkas or prayer lamps and the flash of a bangle's gold carrying all the family wealth. There is memory in objects, a dense layering of time so that the dust of the past and the solidity of the present share a single plane. Today, the gold around my neck is my Amma's pendant, bought in Mombasa on a long-ago visit, and my mother's wedding jewellery chain. I also wear my Amma's sari, which she inherited from her own mother. I wore it the day I graduated from Yale with a bachelor's degree. My father ironed it the morning before my Ph.D. graduation from Stanford. And a month ago I wore it again, for my son Rohan's BA and MA graduation from the University of Chicago. In this sari, I carry the memories of our family's history, the paths of culture and education that led our grandfather's father's father to the work of teaching in the sugar cane days, and our grandfather, Papa, to study in Cape Town, then in England, to become the first non-white person in South Africa to earn a Ph.D. Someday, I will wear this sari when my nephews and niece graduate from college, if I live long enough, and when my own grandchildren graduate from college. I have worn this sari one other time, in 2015, to give a lecture in Thirunvanathapuram at a conference at the Kerala Women's College on the senses and the emotions. I remember landing in the monsoon-wet morning at Trivandrum airport, checking into the hotel, crossing the room's cold white marble tiles aglow with moonlight to open the tall dark cupboards with their slight smell of wet wood into which air heavy with rain has seeped. Showering off the 24 hours of travel and, without really thinking, rubbing in the hotel's neem body lotion and then dusting my body with the hotel's sandalwood talcum powder. And then it hit me. This is Amma's smell rising from her lace blouses, sweetly lingering in the munthani of her sari. We would smell it when she cuddled us as babies, children and girls, and adults. I entered the conference room still thinking of Amma, the Mysore talc's white glow on the brown of my skin (did it really, as I'd read somewhere, contain stray bits of ground glass?). Diamonds on skin, moonlight on marble tiles, hints of gold thread lighting up the saris I hung in the cupboards. I have no saris that are not a little bit fancy. In my diasporic Indianness, saris are for graduations and weddings and births and deaths, for prayers and rituals and ceremonies and parties. And whenever I wear a sari, I remember how much I loved to watch two women tie them, my mother and her sister, both of them so graceful as they moved, wearing the sari as effortlessly as a second skin. I love especially an old sari, one whose pleats fall with the luscious heft of fine old silk, its wearing a recompense for long languishing in a kist or cupboard. I remember the never-worn-ness of so many of the saris that my mother carried in her steel trousseau trunk from South Africa to Australia to Canada to the United States. The saris I would unfold and admire as a young girl in the afternoon quiet preceding a teatime without visitors, the saris that, in her diasporic loneliness far from home, my mother slowly gave away. Aunties, please don't get rid of those old saris; they are our history, our memory, ourselves and our ancestors, and our future generations. That day in Thiruvananthapuram was the first time I wore a sari to give a paper. Today is the second. Then and now, I wonder what happens when I use a sari for thinking. What Salman Rushdie once called 'the migrant's eye view' is, for all its many tragedies, for all the desperate losses and deprivations and dangers that cause people to leave their homelands, in the end still also a hopeful eye. Because the migrant's story tells us that in the end, no wall is strong enough to stop cultures from changing, from absorbing differences, from reinventing themselves, from becoming bigger. We are the children of the movements of many diasporas, of slavery and colonialism and indenture and apartheid, so many histories run in our veins, mix in our blood, along with those new families and cultures we have added. Vilashini Cooppan is Professor of Literature and Critical Race and Ethnic Studies at the University of California at Santa Cruz. ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media. THE POST
