“Have To” History: The Xhosa Cattle-Killing Movement (1856 – 1857)

Three Big Things:

1. The Xhosa were a South African people threatened by European encroachment beginning in the 17th century.

2. In 1856, a young Xhosa girl encountered two supernatural strangers who told her a time of renewal was coming but must be preceded by the slaughter of their existing cattle and crops.

3. The resulting Cattle-Killing Movement left the Xhosa destitute and divided against themselves. Over a century and a half later, they remain one of South Africa’s poorest demographics.

Background

Xhosa MapThe Xhosa were (and are) a major cultural group from the Eastern Cape. The land was fertile and there were plenty of fresh water sources for their cattle – which, as it turns out, were rather important to them. Like the Zulu, they were descended from the Bantu who centuries before had migrated from the northwest. Xhosa is still one of the most-spoken languages in Africa, and the native tongue of Nelson Mandela, Bishop Desmond Tutu, and the Black Panther.

The community unit was the “district,” made of extended family “homesteads.” Each district was led by a chief whose power was balanced by the expectation he would guide and protect the district. The chiefs answered to a Xhosa king, to whom they were usually related in some way, and whose power – like theirs – was contingent on perceptions of his success.

Manipulations of or by evil spirits were thought to be the source of all sorts of trouble by the Xhosa. Illness, poor crops, natural disasters – witchcraft was always a suspect. It didn’t have to be the immediate source; merely tolerating it, whatever its form, led to disasters. Fortunately, family ancestors properly honored acted as good spirits, offering guidance how to refute the evil. One of the most common ways was through sacrifice. A variety of animals were used, but by far the most sacred were cattle.

Cattle were everything to the Xhosa. They were sustenance – milk and meat – as well as a source of hides, tools, fuel, and fertilizer. They were also currency – the central unit of value understood by all. They indicated status and they purchased wives. Minor crimes could be forgiven for what we’d think of as a small “fine,” generally paid to the chief in the form of – you guessed it – cattle.

Conflict & Crises

Armed BoersSince the mid-17th century, the Xhosa, like the rest of Southern Africa, had been forced to accommodate European settlers on the Cape – first the Dutch, then the British. The Dutch Boers were especially problematic. Staunch Calvinists, they believed themselves quite literally chosen by God and rarely hesitated to transgress on Xhosa territory. In turn, the Xhosa raided Boer settlements for (what else?) cattle, and hostilities erupted regularly.

Since 1779, the Xhosa had been engaged in hostilities with the Boer and the British – sometimes united, sometimes separately. Historians divide this century into nine distinct wars, the eighth of which lasted from 1850 – 1853 and primarily involved the British. It was rooted in ugliness on both sides, but one interesting element was a Xhosa prophet who predicted the tribe would be completely unaffected by the colonists’ bullets. 

He was incorrect. It was the most devastating loss of the century for the Xhosa.

In 1854, “lungsickness” began spreading through the Xhosa cattle. It was brought from Europe by Boer ranchers looking to improve their herds with imported stock. The disease decimated Xhosa herds, leaving the community hungry, destitute, and looking for answers. What they were certain of was that their physical suffering reflected a commensurate spiritual corruption on the part of those responsible.

The Prophecy

Nongqawuse was a 15-year old Xhosa girl whose uncle, Mhlakaza, was a respected diviner and advisor to King Sarhili. In April 1856, Nongqawuse and a friend walked to the banks of the Gxarha River, near the Indian Ocean, to scare away birds who sometimes threatened family crops there. It was an area of indescribable natural beauty – the river, the ocean, farmland, bushes, and cliffs, making it something of an Eden in otherwise dark times for the Xhosa.

There, the girls met two strangers who claimed to be ancestor-spirits and proceeded to explain that the Xhosa dead would soon rise and a new era of supernatural prosperity would begin. They were to tell their people to abandon all forms of witchcraft, incest, and adultery, and begin preparing enclosures for the many new cattle about to appear and fields for the bountiful crops about to spring forth.

They would, of course, first have to destroy all existing crops and cattle to make way for this renewal. They were contaminated anyway – corrupted, both literally and spiritually. For things to become new, the old must pass away. So, let’s go kill those cows. All of them.

Nongqawuse & FriendThe homestead was understandably hesitant to embrace this revelation, so Mhlakaza returned with the girls to the site of the visitation. The strangers would only communicate through Nongqawuse (which perhaps should have been a red flag) but Mhlakaza was nonetheless convinced one of the spirits was, in fact, his deceased brother, and embraced the prophecy wholeheartedly. Mhlakaza sent word to the other chiefs, and soon the entire nation was talking. Even King Sarhili sent trusted family members to investigate; soon he, too, was officially a believer.

Reactions across the kingdom were mixed; some embraced it immediately, eager to bring about a newer, better world. Others rejected it entirely, declaring it foolish to destroy an already inadequate source of sustenance. Most were somewhere in between, not wanting to commit wholeheartedly to such extremism, but afraid to anger the ancestors or incur censure from the community. Perhaps not surprisingly, districts hit the hardest by lungsickness, or who’d recently lost land to white encroachment, tended to more readily embrace the call to radical action.

Muddy Waters & Collapse

In the twelve months preceding Nongqawuse’s revelation, there had been multiple prophecies involving a “black nation across the sea” who would soon be coming to the aid of the Xhosa. In preparation, their messengers declared, the Xhosa should destroy their fields and kill their cattle, then prepare for newer, better crops and livestock.                                                 

Sound familiar?

These prophecies referred to the Russians, then currently engaged in the Crimean War against the British and others, and who were thought to be both supernatural and black-skinned by much of South Africa. Nongqawuse’s vision, which implied the removal of Brits and Boers but never mentioned them directly, renewed interests in these prior predictions, bringing an explicitly anti-white tone to the discussion by association.

As the months dragged on without the dead rising or the cattle returning, adherents to Cattle-Killing began blaming non-believers for the failure of the prophecy, sometimes killing their cattle and destroying the crops clandestinely to help speed the renewal. Other Xhosa had sold their cattle in order to avoid looking like non-believers, but this, too, was betrayal, since appropriate sacrificial rituals were essential to the purification required.

The more evident it became that renewal was not forthcoming, the more committed and dogmatic the faithful became – a tragic pattern in these sorts of things. Even if the entire community had reversed course, however, it was too late for any real hope of recovery. They had simply destroyed too much of the foundational elements of their way of life – arable land and healthy cattle.

In February 1857, King Sarhili met with Nongqawuse and Mhalakaza at the site of the original vision, where they spoke privately for a long (but unspecified) amount of time. He then announced that the promised New World would begin in exactly eight days, with a blood-red sunrise and a massive storm, during which only the homes of true believers would remain standing and the colonizers would return to the sea. Finally, the dead would begin rising, the crops begin growing, and the new and improved cattle return.

Sarhili’s proclamation prompted a final week-long spasm of crop destruction and cattle-slaughter, until the eighth day arrived. It was a normal sunrise, and the weather was mild.

Aftermath

Xhosa Cattle-Killing

Reactions to Nongqawuse’s cattle-killing prophecy fragmented not only districts, but homesteads and families. In the resulting destitution, something in the neighborhood of 40,000 Xhosa died of starvation, illness, and related violence. The British-controlled Cape began offering assistance to Xhosa willing to move to the colony under special labor contracts. They had to agree to work anywhere in the colony for whatever amount of money was offered in order to receive food, medical care, or other relief. The Boer, on the other hand, had little use for such subtleties and simply continued enslaving or killing the Xhosa as circumstances allowed.

The Eastern Cape never fully recovered. Today, “Nongqawuse” is a byword – brought up whenever someone’s ideas are considered especially foolish or destructive. The destruction visited on the Xhosa by what they perceived as the white man’s God convinced many they should try to get on his good side instead. In 1850, there were almost no self-identified Christians among the Xhosa; a century later it was the area’s majority faith.

It’s easy to paint the Cattle-Killing Movement as self-destructive, but that over-simplifies the dynamics and the desperation of those involved. Many mainstream belief systems promote narratives in which sacrifice and apparent foolishness lead to spiritual (and sometimes temporal) victory. Jesus had an opportunity to establish an earthly kingdom but chose death on a cross in exchange for something longer-term. Gandhi protested British imperialism with a Salt March, at the end of which he and his followers were severely beaten – but which changed British policy. Obi Wan fell before Darth Vader, warning him that “if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine”; he came back as a hologram who could no longer be blamed for subsequent plots.

The whole nature of faith is that you don’t actually know that what you’re doing will work. The “God-Worshippers” were taking part in the Taiping Rebellion at almost the same time the Xhosa were killing their cattle. The “Ghost Dance” Movement of the Plains Amerindians and the Boxer Rebellion were a half-century later. Even today there are evangelicals thrilled at their perception that President Donald Trump is hastening the end of the world through his foreign policy choices, believing that imminent destruction for the rest of us means a new and better plane of existence for them, the chosen few.

Right or wrong, radical faith like that of the cattle-killing Xhosa was an act of defiance and hope when less-extreme measures had proven inadequate. That it didn’t work – at least by our mortal standards – makes it no less true.

“Tank Man”

Some of you remember this guy. This moment.

Tank Man (During)

It was June 1989. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) had been in power for forty years, following decades of civil war against the Kuomintang (KMT), or Nationalist Party. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) was declared in 1949 with Mao Zedong as its unquestioned first-among-equals; he ran the nation in ways both brutal and strange.

The KMT, led by Mao’s nemesis Chiang Kai-Shek, retreated to Taiwan, where they established Alt-China, or China Classic, and remained (in the eyes of the west) the officially recognized government until 1971. Despite being virulently anti-Communist, the KMT weren’t exactly “good guys” in this tale. Taiwan was under martial law for nearly forty years, led by a government in perpetual paranoia over potential spies or Commie sympathizers. In 1971, the United Nations finally said “screw it” and gave their seat to the PRC.

Little Red BookWithin a few short years, China Major – the big, red part we all know and love today – went from a “Cultural Revolution” in which anyone insufficiently excited about Chairman Mao’s “Little Red Book” was assaulted, humiliated, or simply made to vanish, to welcoming President Nixon and celebrating the “thawing” of relations with the west. For the next few decades the U.S. and China took turns pretending to care about basic human rights, while China purchased a bunch of America’s debt – eventually rendering the whole “shared values” thing moot because neither could afford for the other to fall no matter what else they did.

China craved economic growth and global legitimacy, seeking the ideal mix of market forces and “Chinese Socialism.” They loosened their grip on the little people, hoping they’d behave on their own if they knew what was good for them. China even wrote itself a new constitution, adopted in 1982. It’s super-socialist, to be sure, but also rather ambitious in terms of protecting personal liberties.

In 1989 a popular politician by the name of Hu Yaobang died (he was 73 and had a heart attack – nothing nefarious). Hu was rebellious and relatively progressive, popular with idealists and college students – the Bernie Sanders of his day. Students and others took to the streets to mourn his passing and to speak out against those still alive and in power – and then against corruption, and against the party’s mistreatment of Hu while he was alive, and whatever else came to mind along the way.

That was late April.

The protests ebbed and flowed, and government response was inconsistent. Sometimes they cracked down and other times seemed open to discussions. Protestors were unpredictable as well. It’s complicated enough to be clear what you’re against; far trickier to consistently project what you’re for. There were hunger strikes, rallies, some violence, and lots of yelling.

Always with the yelling, those protestors.

By June 4th, the government had had enough. After several strong editorials warning the masses to wrap it up and get on with their carefully managed lives, troops were sent in to disperse the crowds. They rounded up some, but other times simply fired into the crowds. This wasn’t a situation where tensions built and someone’s moment of panic sparked a massacre; this was methodical military action carried out according to the wishes of their superiors.

Tanks then rolled into Tiananmen Square. Protestors who refused to move or who simply couldn’t get out of the way were rolled over – several reports say multiple times, so their remains could be literally hosed into the sewers rather than taken away and buried. Clearly China was sending a message about just how seriously all of this new “freedom” was to be taken – and they were willing to sacrifice their own citizens and a certain amount of reputation in the eyes of the world in order to do it.

The official death toll was 200 – 300. The Red Cross estimated 2,700. Recent memos between British and U.S. officials suggest an alarmingly specific 10,454 – dead at the hands of their own government.

China did its best to implement damage control with the international press. Reporters tell stories of their equipment being seized, their hotel rooms trashed, and their well-being threatened over the words and images they were determined to send back to their respective outlets. But It turns out that pesky liberal media can be quite heroic sometimes, no matter what flavor of corrupt, arrogant power is trying to shut them down this time.

That is why – against all odds – we have this footage from June 5th:

Who is he?

We don’t really know, although there are theories and conflicting reports. He may have been a 19-year old student named Wang Weilin, or he may not have been. He was definitely pulled away – but were they government agents, or sympathetic protestors trying to protect him? He may have been imprisoned, tortured, or killed, or he may have simply faded into obscurity and gone on with his life. We’ll probably never know.

Here’s what we do know. He had absolutely no reason to think those tanks were going to stop.

They hadn’t, the day before. As he stood there defiantly he could hear the gunshots and screams of other protestors paying for their defiance. It’s not clear where he came from or how he ended up alone in Tiananmen Square, facing off with destruction, but 20 years after “Tank Man” became an international symbol of… something, this photograph, taken from a different location several minutes before its more famous counterpart, was unearthed:

Tank Man (Before)

He’d decided.

He’d seen them coming, and he’d decided.

It looks like he was on his way back from the grocery store or something, doesn’t it? One of the 20th century’s most iconic rebels seems to be wielding… fresh citrus and minty dental floss!

I’m particularly impressed that he had the gumption to climb up on the tank and – it seems – yell down to the men inside it.

I’m probably projecting a bit – idealizing the event – but the more I watch it, the more convinced I am that he was refusing to limit the interaction to human vs. machine. I think he’s up there insisting that inside the machine are other men. Other Chinese. Other citizens. Other humans. I think he’s demanding they own up to their role, that they confront him, or answer to him, on behalf of the people.

Like I said, projecting.

He didn’t stop the tanks. We can’t reasonably connect his actions to the saving of any lives. At best, he slowed down one segment of a long, complex series of horrors for about five minutes.

Tank Man LegosNothing changed in China’s policies, tactics, or narrative. The Tiananmen Square Massacre is scrubbed from all internet searches and prohibited in all texts. If “Tank Man” lived past his asymmetrical showdown, it’s supremely unlikely he had any idea that his actions had been viewed or discussed by anyone not there that day. Even if he’s alive and well today somewhere in China, odds are he has no idea that he’s an iconic photograph or world history talking point.

Whatever his fate, he leaves us with a rather disquieting question…

Did it matter?

Did his efforts accomplish anything? Was his defiance worth the risk? Did he have the slightest impact, that day or the years to come? Did he alter or improve his society, his government, or his world?

Sure, he’s in the history books, but so is Chester Arthur (in the appendix, at least). So are entire paragraphs explaining the distinctions between feudalism and manorialism. So are Anastasia’s sisters. I love history, but I doubt my world changed one way or the other because Olga Romanova showed up for picture day.

So… did “Tank Man” matter?

I’ve never stood in front of a tank, or willingly put myself in any danger more substantial than voicing my opinion of an outfit my wife was trying on. I’d never be “Tank Man.” Simply put, I lack the courage.

He makes my challenges seem so silly and small. He makes my struggles seem so… safe.

We teach. We listen. We blog. We share. We love and we sacrifice, we rework and retry. We stand here with our little bags and our inflated gumption and we demand that the bad things stop. We insist that humanity come out, own up, and take over, knowing that it usually doesn’t. We often lose. We often fail. And when we do stumble into a win, there’s no one snapping contraband photos.

Like “Tank Man,” I’m not sure we’re changing anything. It’s very unlikely anyone’s even watching – or that if they are, that they understand what we’re trying to do, or why it matters.

Unlike “Tank Man,” the odds that I’ll be crushed by a military vehicle for my efforts are very, very slim. I may wonder if my state retirement is being properly invested, but while Indiana doesn’t love public education any more than Oklahoma does, they’re not out to end my life and torture my family to drive the point home.

So that’s a plus.

Still, I keep wondering –  the soldiers in those tanks, the politicians making those decisions, the protestors lingering near the square, or the millions who’ve stared at that picture since… were they in some way changed by his wild, desperate efforts? Is there any way he could have imagined, or that any of us can know, whether any of what we’re doing so much as nudges the world in the direction we so desperately need it to go?

The whole thought process can be rather crippling.

And yet, it seems I’m still talking about “Tank Man” thirty years later. He makes me want to risk more and care harder.

So… I suppose I have my answer.

Tank Man Nobody

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Waiting To Follow The Worms

There’ve been some interesting political rallies so far this year…

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I came of age listening to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” I even saw that weirdo movie version with Bob Geldof – the guy who would later put together Band-Aid and Live-Aid, and who we can safely blame for every musical cause célèbre since.

Neither the album nor the film were flawless, but I find them nonetheless poignant for what they tried to say, and to do. No one can accuse Pink or Geldof of lacking ambition, or shooting too low. 

That’s the thing about taking big risks when something’s on your mind – you can’t really know in advance how it’s going to go. There’s a fine line between clever and… awkward.

Baldwin QuoteI’ve always admired the marchers and other protesters of the Civil Rights movement. Most of us do, I guess – it’s pretty much U.S. History canon. Calmly pressing forward, singing songs of faith; riding those buses, knowing the mobs were waiting; or sitting patiently at the counter while angry white folks taunted and abused them.

They carried such dignity and confidence, at least in retrospect. 

I’m no expert on the Arab Spring, but who doesn’t love seeing oppressive regimes overthrown by the humble masses? Democracy didn’t exactly triumph everywhere, but Egypt seems… stable. Syria? Not so much.

The Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia. The Prague Spring. Various Vietnam War protests in the U.S. – especially those involving flowers in rifle barrels. And of course, more recently, #BlackLivesMatter.

It was this last series of demonstrations which started me wondering seriously for the first time whether I’m personally capable of something so audacious, should circumstances require. 

I’m not sure.

I’d like to say yes. I want to be that person. Not a leader, not a spokes-anything, but an ally adding my tired old demographic to the mix. 

I worry I’d do something foolish – say the wrong thing, bungle a moment. I’d never want to be an embarrassment to such a powerful movement. I also don’t like looking or feeling stupid, so there’s that.

11 Steps to FascismTo date, however, I haven’t been in a position to consciously make that choice. I just keep going to work, writing my little blog, tweeting my little tweets, and hoping in a few years I’ll feel kinda silly for overreacting to the events of the day.

But what if I were in that sort of situation? Would I even know for sure? At what point do you lock arms, set faces, and say “enough”?

I mean, Trump won’t really be elected President, will he? That’s crazy… but then, so was the suggestion he’d be taken seriously even as a candidate for more than a few weeks. 

Even if he is elected, it’s not like the President can just start issuing Executive Orders to circumvent the Legislative Branch, or appeal directly to the people to do horrible things in the name of the very ideals they’re subverting… can he?

I’m being unreasonable, surely. My usual cynical, impulsive self – just darker? 

The problem, even setting aside Trump the individual, is that his tactics are working. He isn’t the first to build his power on ignorance and venom; he certainly won’t be the last – especially now. Tyrannical and childish is officially a winning strategy

Merica! 

Baby AmericaCongress isn’t exactly known for being a bastion of reasoned legislative prudence, or a force for equity and calm. I take little comfort in the percentage of reactionary bastards who can barely see past the next electoral cycle or the likelihood they’ll “check and balance” anything meaningfully.

It’s even worse at the state level. Where national office-holders tend to be narcissistic and exploitative, many local folks genuinely believe themselves. Even when they don’t, they can see what’s working for those who do – and Christian charity towards all God’s children ain’t it. 

Even if Trump falls short, he’s broken new modern ground in old-fashioned scapegoating, fear-mongering, and demonizing by demographic. Facts don’t matter, American ideals don’t matter, and $#@% the Bill of Rights.

And we love it and want more. If Trump doesn’t make it, the next guy just goes harder and higher, and does. Until…?

I’m being ridiculous, right? 

I’m told that more often than I’d care to admit – that I may have a point about this or that, but I take it too far. The hyperbole becomes absurdity.

This is one of those times, I hope?

Otherwise, what happens when we start rounding up Muslims, or Gays, or Mexicans, or Reporters? I’m in Oklahoma – the only thing likely to stop us from leading that charge is our proximity to Texas and how happy they’ll be to take point on this one. 

What do I do then?

Tank ManSee, when the unthinkable occurs – in 1930s Germany, in 1960s Alabama, in 1980s Beijing – everyone has to make a choice. If you’re not waving your little flag at the tank, you might as well be driving it.

Silence is not neutrality. Inaction supports the oppressor, and plays for Team Power Structure. You’re in the dugout; at least be honest enough to wear the logo on your cap. 

That’s what sucks about teaching history – you can’t escape certain enduring realities.

You can’t sit by while people in your party, who go to your church, and who speak on your behalf for a living, are categorizing or isolating real live human beings under a thin guise of good intentions and claim you didn’t know or it wasn’t you

You can’t simply remind those of us losing our $#@% that the silent majority “isn’t like that” and negate culpability. The ‘majority’ part is cancelled out by the ‘silent’ part. It’s like having on imaginary clothes – it doesn’t really matter how nice they are, because no one else can see them. 

OK, wait – this is crazy talk, right? An embarrassment to myself and the blog to even be thinking this way? Maybe this is one of those “type-it-and-get-it-out-of-my-system-but-OMG-don’t-post-it” moments? 

I mean, I’m supposed to be building a brand here. There could be merchandise down the road. A self-published treatise on edu-truth. It’s nearly time to unveil the new logo – and I’ve ordered clever magnets! 

Magnet DraftI should stick to vouchers or learning styles or arguing with Alfie Kohn – that stuff’s great for my analytics. A wild rant about irrational parents or some crazy legi wanting to kill AP History? Those were good times.

I almost wish Barresi were back; she made it TOO easy.

I’m afraid I won’t know when it’s time. That I’ll feel stupid showing up carrying a sign, or chanting, or… something. 

Oh god, I hate chants. I really do. Especially anything involving “2, 4, 6, 8…” or forced wordplay. I don’t think I could chant for the best cause in the world.

I’m afraid because I’m pretty sure I’ll say the wrong says and choose the wrong chooses and end up looking like those maroons on the news. You can edit blog posts for hours before posting – days, if necessary – but real life isn’t so gracious. 

I’m not particularly afraid of being attacked, or arrested, or mocked – although history tells me it becomes much harder to be suave and collected once the bad things are actually happening. So, yeah – I’ll probably embarrass myself. 

That’s no excuse not to try, of course. Lock those arms. Set those faces. (For the record, I’m still going for ‘suave and collected’ if I can manage it. But if not…)

What I can’t bear is the idea of going down in history as a small, anonymous part of a generation that let it happen again. Who stood by, distracted and willfully dazed, as the evil things occurred around and through us.

Denial PeopleWhat I can’t bear is some kid a half-century from now raising his virtual hand during Self-Directed Multi-Studies and asking his robo-teacher if people back now ever really believed our own lofty ideals – noble words enshrined on such fragile parchment. 

Why didn’t they do something? Say something? Protect someone? Refuse that command? Deny power easy access? 

Why didn’t they keep their eyes open, no matter how uncomfortable?

Did they not know back then what happens when you give power to our darkest, most ill-informed urges? Was their comfort so valuable and their safety so precious that they just tried to pretend it was all OK… again?

I’m overreacting, right?

I hope so. Otherwise I’ll eventually try something reckless, and badly timed – and not at all suave. I wish I could do it as well as the folks in history books. But I’ll make my sign, and ready my personal affairs, and spit truth at power as they haul my fat @$$ away. 

How can I live with myself otherwise? How can you?

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