Lincoln Haven
- Details
- Written March 2021
It was difficult dealing with this in the midst of communal jealousies and the temptations which face us all. It was also a steep learning curve of being able to facilitate Salvation Army administration with its blend of centralised specialist expertise and decentralised integration of these at divisional level and local level. An important part of that integration was the annual meeting with executive officers, one aspect of which is for the leader to review past achievements (and failures) and to spell out hopes for the year ahead. They were not always the easiest of meetings, but they did give all the opportunity to express themselves. We met in modest, but comfortable settings.
If a cyclone had, to a large extent, defined our years in India, then it was the implementation of democracy for our years in South Africa, and that in a country facing increasing HIV, rising levels of crime with the legacy of huge differences between the haves and the have-nots that were largely racially defined. Once again the meeting with executive officers was an important annual event.
I was not entirely comfortable with the location chosen in our first years. We live with the natural tendency to want things to be better, but we needed to live according to our means. Somewhere less expensive would suit us, I felt. 'We used to meet at Lincoln Haven,' said one of my colleagues. 'Try that.' We had a look at this Presbyterian-owned conference centre in the hills of KwaZuluNatal. We liked it; it may not have had a five star rating, but the atmosphere seemed right. The following two years we met there.
By now the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was in full swing. I'd met, listened to and even challenged its chairman, Desmond Tutu, as he addressed the South African Council of Churches. He was gracious enough to acknowledge my contribution, questioning the need to resort to traditional ritual cleansing as part of the process. 'You have a point,' he said, 'I'll keep it in mind.' I left that meeting with an even clearer understanding of what we needed to do. Further consultation was necessary, but a pattern was starting to take shape. It had to start with personal commitment. Only then could I make a call for others to join us in the process of reconciliation. I had sensed in some to whom I had listened in our early years back in South Africa a deep pain caused by the apartheid past, in others guilt. Others felt it was best just to forget about the past. I felt we needed to start by addressing these issues in top leadership. Where better to start than in the meeting with executive officers? It would be Lincoln Haven.
Apart from the usual business agenda, a day would be set aside as a retreat. We invited former road-walking champion turned Methodist minister, Athol Jennings, to facilitate the day. He was on staff of the Vuleka Trust, a Zulu word meaning awakening. They aim to be 'a world awakened to a new way of living'. That's what I was hoping for me and for South Africa. The day introduced us to the sometimes painful experience of self-examination, encouraging a process that helps a person who feels they are a victim to become a survivor and then a wounded healer. Some colleagues were willing to 'open up', speaking of many experiences, ranging from domestic abuse to the impact of apartheid. But one challenged me over the coffee break. 'Why do we have to waste time on this?' he asked. 'We need to get on with planning for the future.'
We left Lincoln Haven recognising that there was more work to be done, but eventually reached a point where we felt the need to document a submission to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. We wanted to say that we regarded our denominational silence over apartheid as implying a tacit acceptance of this. Ecumenical Relations Secretary, Brian Tuck drafted the letter. We were back at Lincoln Haven for the executives to consider it in small groups and then in plenary session. The conference requested just one inclusion - that the submission was made with deep respect for our predecessors.
I was the first signatory, but all present endorsed the letter. I sensed the depth of emotion. Unrehearsed and on the spur of the moment, I asked Margaret to pop into the kitchen. She returned with a loaf of bread which I proceeded to break, sharing it with all present. There were tears; there were hugs. As I come to think of it, perhaps this was the kind of ritual cleansing Desmond Tutu had in mind.
Salvation Army history records aspects of the process; dissertations have been written about it. This was by no means the end of the story. The legacy of our pasts does not disappear quickly or easily. The factors that victimise or make us feel victims return all too easily. We may not be able to return to a Lincoln Haven, but the disciplines of lent: reflection and finding fresh direction can help. Meanwhile the plight of India's Dalits remains, climate change accelerates and cyclones continue; racism, HIV and crime have not disappeared. And there's even more to contend with these days. Besides, at the heart of it all are human attitudes and behaviour; these are still the essence of it all.
March 2021