Cry, the Beloved Country Power

As Kumalo travels by train, he comes to see a cross-section of different towns and cities in South Africa. He sees barren places and slums before he reaches Johannesburg. But in addition to being impressed by the different places in South Africa, he is also struck by the technologies that he sees. He appears to be thinking of the train to Johannesburg as "a white man's wonder." In what sense does this technology of transportation belong to the "white man"? What are some of the political implications of this assumption that it is primarily the "white man" who controls and understands the technology that unites the South African nation?

Kumalo often uses this word Tixo for God, which Paton explains in his glossary in this way:

I rejected the Zulu word for the Great Spirit as too long and difficult. This is the Xosa world. It is also difficult to pronounce, but may be pronounced "Teeko," the "o" being midway the "o" in "pot" and the "o" of "born." (Glossary)

Paton's choices here indicate his own power as an author. Paton identifies an audience here, since he assumes it will be an audience of people unfamiliar with both Zulu and Xosa, who won't want to be bothered with any words that are "too long and difficult." He wants to give us the feeling of something exotic and foreign-sounding that we won't find too challenging, so he chooses a word for God, Tixo, that he admits his character Kumalo would probably not use. What do you think of the choices Paton makes here? If you were writing a novel about a culture not your own, would you make similar word choices?

Obviously, Msimangu and Kumalo do not approve of this illegal alcohol trade among women in Johannesburg. But think about it: these "queens, the liquor sellers," finally have an opportunity to make some money on their own, and to live outside of these relatively traditional family structures that men like Kumalo assume they should adopt. Yes, what they are doing is technically illegal. But we can sympathize with the desire among these women to get a little power of their own, when they seem to have so little authority in other parts of Cry, the Beloved Country.

Msimangu's point that power corrupts and that sometimes, black leaders with power lose all self-control, doesn't seem to us to be limited according to race. Lots of white politicians who get a taste of power really go nuts. We've seen plenty of examples in recent history. People with power do crazy things sometimes, regardless of race, gender, or any other factor—it's human nature… or is it?

Why does it matter that Absalom has no idea why he has done the things that he has done? Can Absalom take any kind of responsibility for his life when he is so ignorant of the reasons for his own actions? Is Absalom anything more than a symptom of larger social problems? Does he truly have a character of his own?

Paton's use of this strategic capitalization, where it is "the People that make the Law," makes this passage seem to echo the Bible or a sacred text. Why do you think Paton chooses to emphasize these terms "Law," "People," and "Judge" in this manner? What do you think of the narrator's final statement that it is for "White People" to reform the "Law" because they are the ones who make it?

In fact, here is a cool historical fact: F.W. de Klerk, the last president of the old South African regime, was actually essential to the process of destroying apartheid, organizing elections for all of South Africa's citizens, white and black, and smoothing the transition to the first truly democratically elected president in South African history, Nelson Mandela. So Paton's vision that it would require cooperation among people of different races to end apartheid peacefully turned out to be totally true.

Here, the narrator portrays John Kumalo giving a speech about equal wages while white and black police officers look on. The white police officers all murmur to each other that Kumalo is dangerous. But the narrator does not try to tell us what the black policemen are thinking. The narrator only asks, "who knows if they think at all?" Are there other moments where the narrator does not seem to know what his characters are thinking? What are the limits of the narrator's power? Why does he step back from putting words in the mouths of these black police officers?

The judge seems to imagine himself as nothing more than the human arm of the Law. He can't make the laws or change them; all he can do is execute them. But is it possible for a judge to make decisions with absolutely no regard for his personal biases and opinions? Can judges be that objective? Why do you think Paton might be emphasizing that judges are not to blame when "the law and the society […] must be changed"?

As Kumalo trains the youngest Jarvis in Zulu, there is still a subtle acknowledgement of this boy's status because of his family and because of the color of his skin. So, Kumalo calls the boy inkosana, meaning "little master." It's a term of affectionate respect for the child of a chief or boss. But Kumalo does not call the little girl who comes to deliver the letter to him in chapter 2 anything of the kind. This conversation between Kumalo and the youngest Jarvis presents some interesting power dynamics, because it seems that the youngest Jarvis has a lot of power, even though Kumalo is so much older than he is.