Centre for Humanities Research

eds.) Apartheid Israel: The Politics of an Analogy (Chicago: Haymarket, 2015) When I was invited to write about the documentary film I created with Mark J. Kaplan, The Village Under The Forest (2013), I was going to explore what it means to be implicated in state atrocity and historical catastrophe in apartheid South Africa and Israel/Palestine. I wanted to write about psychic landscapes of complicity and how these unfold in our film from a non-Israeli Jewish South African perspective. In light of Israel's 2014 genocidal onslaught against Palestinian civilians in Gaza, however, to write about

Memory politics are often regarded as the “soft” issues contested in the aftermath of political and social upheaval. Yet critical public debates on memory, justice, impunity and reconciliation in South Africa prompted by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) process suggest otherwise. I offer a partial review of some of the key themes and critical debates on justice, reconciliation and memory in the 1990s, followed by a discussion of the spatial practices of the Direct Action Centre for Peace and Memory (DACPM) whose multilayered social pedagogy and activist repertoire of the transitional period challenged the terms of the political transition and the scope of the TRC. The debates on the TRC and the practices of the DACPM constitute but a glimpse into the significance of memory-work for now forgotten terrains of civil activist intervention, contestation and practice.

16 I am not sure that I share this assessment since many scholars have emphasised the interconnection of memory to place in the topographical remaking of Israel's landscape involving legal, cartographic, architectural, and discursive erasures. See, for example, Meron Benvenisti, Sacred Landscape: The Buried History of the Holy Land since 1948, trans. Maxine Kaufman-Lacusta (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Nadia

HEIDI GRUNEBAUM On returning to my grandmother's land (notes for a film) At the end of the small hours, the rising wind of the past, of broken faith, of an undefined duty slipping away … and those other small hours, the early morning of Europe … I say my name in English. My grandmother's pronunciation evades my tongue. As does the name of my father. I leave this land, its languages spoken, written, silenced; this English, my stepmother tongue, to return to my grandmother's land, to the languages that scorned her, the laws that stripped her of citizenship, which said she was a louse, a virus. I return. To begin working on a new film that I imagine as a scattering of meditations addressed to her. An Emirates flight to Frankfurt. From Dubai I watch The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society about the power of books, of reading as a way to escape the German Occupation of the island. Books are dangerous; ideas cunning. They leak and spread and overtake. A bit like viruses and lice. But not. I have a copy of Tom Segev's book, 1949 The First Israelis in the seat pouch in front of me. It's dedicated to his mother who fled National Socialism in Germany to prewar Palestine. A different implication. I am tied to there too. His dedication, "In memory of my mother. She came to Palestine as a refugee from Nazi Germany, but just like many of the first Israelis never learned Hebrew properly and could not read this book until it came out in English". The messiness of history. Decembers in Frankfurt are less treacherous than in Berlin. The Main river is grim and fast flowing. Leaves departed from the ancient birches and elms swirl in mini eddies that erupt furiously and without warning. I look onto Leverkuser Strasse from inside UM's cosy apartment in Hoechst. Her kitchen. A medicine space. She speaks about the political moment. Antisemitism and anti-migrant racism have seeped into the mainstream. Many aspects of the left's critique of neoliberalism have converged with insurgent right populism. The film could be an important intervention. I am not sure what the film is. What it will be. Which experiences and reflections it will bring together. I know and I do not know what I am doing here, what I am looking for.

This thesis traces the making of a social world of the musicking Cape through sound, which it calls sonic anticipation. Sonic anticipation is threaded through a Cape-based musicking milieu called goema in the Nineteenth century, and through the regional jazzing culture that emerged in Cape Town in the latter part of the Twentieth century. A key concern is to read the sonic archive of Cape music without folding into a representational discourse of (apartheid) group identity or of a Cape exceptionalism. First, the thesis explores goema's emergence as folk music. In a central example, sonic anticipation is discernible in the intensities of a song called Daar Kom die Alibama [translated as ‘There Comes the Alibama’]. This song enabled goema to secure a status as racialised folk memory. Later in the Twentieth century, the song set the scene for a rearticulation that laid claim to the city as a response to the 'anxious urbanity' of race formation. This shift from the Nineteent...

This thesis considers aspects of jazz and dance band performance in Cape Town between the 1930s and the 1960s, with special reference to the post-1945 period. It examines ways in which local dance and jazz musicians and audiences responded to political, social and cultural change in this period by considering key institutional constraints, the impact of broader political, social and cultural change, and local responses to this change. primary data was collected from oral biographical material, archives, official printed sources, and newspaper reports. Dance band and jazz musicians in this period faced two major institutional barriers. Firstly, in forming an integral part of postwar secondary industrialisation in South Africa, a few dominant record companies helped to establish an industry with racially and ethnically delimited markets by the 1960s in the Western Cape and other regions. Secondly, the degree of access to the musical profession enjoyed by musicians was subject to political constraints. Where they had few prescriptive advantages earlier in the century, by the 1960s, White musicians in Cape Town had secured privileged access to work opportunities. Black musicians, on the other hand, gradually had to create their own work opportunities as key openings in the profession became closed off to them. Furthermore, since the 1930s, broader social and political changes had an impact on musical performance in a number of ABSTRACT thes considers aspects of jazz and dance band performance in Cape Town between the 1930s and the 19605, with special reference to the post-1945 period. It examines ways in which local and jazz mus and audiences responded to political, social and cultural change in this period by key institutional impact of broader political, social and cultural change, and local to this change. Pr was col from oral biographical material, archives, official printed sources, and newspaper Dance band and jazz musicians in this period faced two major institutional barriers. Firstly. in forming an integral part of postwar secondary industrialisation in South Afr , a few dominant record companies helped to establish an industry with racially and ethnically delimited markets by the 1960s in the Western Cape other regions. Secondly, the degree of access to the musical profession enjoyed by musicians was subject to political constraints. Where they had few ive advantages earlier in the century 1 by the 1960s 1 White musicians in Cape Town had secured privileged access to work opportunities. gradually had to Black musicians, on other hand, their own work opportunities as key openings in the profession became closed off to them. Furthermore, since the 1930s, broader social and political had an impact on musical performance in a number of 12A critique of Bank's use of the concept of familial 'stability' asserts that "Cape slave historians ••. too easily assume an identity of physical and social space." See P. Van Der Spuy, 'Slave women and the family in Cape Town after the abolition of the slave trade', Paper presented at the Cape

An electronic version of this book is freely available, thanks to the support of libraries working with Knowledge Unlatched. KU is a collaborative initiative designed to make high quality books Open Access for the public good. The Open Access ISBN for this book is 978-1-77614-038-1. More information about the initiative and links to the Open Access version can be found at www.knowledgeunlatched.org.

Texturing Difference: Indigeneity, Tactility, and the Text of "black consciousness philosophy" intervenes into contemporary debates around the postcolonial critique of apartheid through offering a new sense of an 'undisclosed event' in the broader text of black consciousness philosophy. In approaching this broader text, I stitch together works that are considered to be more overtly political, such as the Freedom Charter and the interventions of Steve Biko and Frantz Fanon, with a number of more literary interventions by Mongane Wally Serote, Jeremy Cronin, Aimé Césaire, J.M. Coetzee, and Ousmane Sembène, and read this weave into the problem of what comes after apartheid. The literary as it emerges in this project offers a sense of reading that tracks well with Deleuze and Guattari's sense of the rhizomatic, and that is brought to bear on the more overtly political works that are generally taken as constituting its measure. It is precisely this act of reading that stages what is at stake in literature and its pedagogy as I inscribe it here: the literary emerges as essential to the attempt to not merely transcribe the lived experience of the black man but to think what it would be to inscribe such experience into the realm of community as such-what I have termed the community of the touch. Unfolding through four key moves that deal with the concepts of community, indigeneity, tactility, and life, as these are reworked and opened up in the touches that take place at the edge of the text of black consciousness philosophy, I argue that it calls for the practice of singularity as the living of a life-a life that does not expel, or vomit, the lived experience of the black man.

In the Constance Farrington translation of this well-known passage, invention appears elsewhere: 'The human condition, plans for mankind and collaboration between men in those tasks which increase the sum total of humanity are new problems, which demand true inventions…we must invent and we must make discoveries. ' Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, translated by Constance Farrington (London: Penguin, 2001), 252, 253. Which is to say that both Philcox and Farrington translate invention into this concluding passage, but in different places. 2 Both The Idea of the University in Africa lecture series and the 2016 Winter School received funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the National Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences. The Centre for Humanities Research at the University of the Western Cape duly acknowledges this generous support, which led to the production of this special issue. Ross Truscott is a Next Generation Scholar at the Centre for Humanities Research, a position funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. Maurits van Bever Donker is Research Manager at the at the Centre for Humanities Research. 3 The Winter School, now in its seventh year, is a collaborative pedagogical project held between the CHR,