The West Indies rebel tours and the scourge of apartheid

Many felt the rebel tours by West Indies cricketers to South Africa during apartheid was a terribly wrong turn, but the passage of time has offered contemplation.

Photo by Alessandro Bogliari

Apartheid was evil. To the people of the Caribbean, cognizant of their own history of slavery and colonialism, it was a cruel and unjust system that needed to be dismantled as a matter of urgency. Names Like Nelson Mandela, Winnie Mandela, and Steve Biko were widely known, regularly extolled, and immortalized in song. The South African authorities regarded them as terrorists. As far as we were concerned they were the world’s greatest heroes.

Offered the opportunity, many in the West Indies would have taken up arms against the South African tyrants without a second thought. They were, after all, the most despicable sort and it was therefore the duty of every person to oppose them at every turn. Anyone providing them succour, or who appeared to be legitimizing their corrupt regime was, in effect, no different than the oppressors themselves and were to be treated as such.

The governments and people of the Caribbean were at one accord on this matter of Apartheid, and leaders like Forbes Burnham of Guyana and Michael Manley of Jamaica were especially vocal in their opposition of the South African regime. Indeed, so strident was the Guyanese government that it cancelled the Bourda Test of England’s 1980-81 tour because Robin Jackman, summoned to replace an injured Bob Willis, had played and coached in South Africa.

The Gleneagles agreement, named for the Scottish city in which it was signed by the Commonwealth of Nations, stated: “The Commonwealth heads of the state have accepted it as the urgent duty of each of their governments vigorously to combat the evil of apartheid by withholding any form of support for and by taking every practical step to discourage contact or competition between their nationals and sporting organizations, teams or sportsmen from South Africa or any other country where sports are organized on the basis of race, colour or ethnic origin.”

Most Caribbean leaders, themselves fans of the great game and their great team, felt those words were open to interpretation. As far as the Guyanese authorities were concerned, however, the agreement meant Jackman would not be welcomed in their country and no team having him as a member would be allowed to play. Cricket, after all, was just sport; the Apartheid struggle was as fundamental as life itself.

“The Caribbean is 90 % black,” wrote Manley in A History Of West Indies Cricket. “Accordingly, the anti-apartheid struggle is both principled and visceral. To the members of the black diaspora, the oppression that continues unabated in South Africa has become the symbol of more than a tyranny to be overthrown. Apartheid points like a dagger at the throat of black self-worth in every corner occupied by the descendants of Africa.”

That was the kind of atmosphere that framed the decision by 18 West Indian cricketers to accept an invitation by the South African cricket authorities to play in South Africa in the 1982-83.

The squad was led by Jamaican batting stylist, Lawrence Rowe and counted several other players with Test experience in its ranks. Some of the more notable players were Colin Croft and Sylvester Clarke, both fast bowlers from the very top tier; outstanding, if troubled wicketkeeper, David Murray; Alvin Kallicharran, who was similar in pedigree to Rowe; and all-rounders Collis King, Richard Austin, Bernard Julien, and Franklyn Stephenson. Others like Albert Padmore, Derick Parry, Everton Mattis, and Alvin Greenidge had already played Test cricket but had not exactly set the world alight.

Plans for the tour were made in some stealth. With Ali Bacher unable to set foot in the Caribbean, former West Indian fast bowler Gregory Armstrong acted as his chief liaison. Negotiations and plans were conducted in clandestine meetings, with deceit playing a major role in maintaining secrecy. Indeed, there were players who went as far as to deny their participation in the tour even while at the airport waiting to begin their trip.

Not everyone in the Caribbean resented the players for choosing to go. The authorities, for the most part, were rabidly against the tour, but a sizeable portion of the common people understood the player’s plight. Times were hard and there was the feeling that you could hardly fault a man for utilizing the best options he had to provide for himself and his family.

The organizers, of course, wanted the best players. Luring the likes of Holding, Richards, Lloyd, Garner, and Greenidge would have been of significant advantage to the South African authorities eager to put the best possible spin on sporting relations in the country. But many of the best players immediately dismissed any idea of visiting such a vile place, while others declined the offer after first giving it some thought.

Some were adamantly scornful when approached. Michael Holding, for instance, expressed the depth of his disdain in Whispering Death, his first memoir: “I was deeply hurt and felt a strong sense of betrayal and even anger. Here was the whole world uniting in opposition to a system that dehumanized black people specifically because they were black and a group of young black people were breaching that unity.”

Contacted by a British Sunday newspaper while on tour in Australia, the Jamaican fast bowler did not hold back, “These men are selling themselves. If they were offered enough money they would probably agree to wear chains. They would do anything for money.”

Richards was not as strident: “The decision not to play there hadn’t been too hard for me.” Ali Bacher, former South African batsman and chief organizer of the tour not only made the great batsman a huge offer, “well over US$500,000,” but also gave him some assurances. “I was told that everything would be cool and when I signed, others would follow. I made the decision there and then that it wasn’t for me. The money was not a consideration.”

For others, however, the money was the major, probably even the single, consideration. Richards was the best batsman in the world by a mile. He would play for the West Indies for as long as he wished - so long as he could stand upright - and was not short of offers to ply his trade in first-class cricket the world over.

Many of those who chose to go were not as fortunate. There was one colleague, who, according to Rowe “had about five children, no house, no car, no job”. Nobody else was offered the gigantic sum Richards was offered. But the US$100,000 that Holding said was the most reliable figure he heard, was considerably tempting for men who were without steady income.

Rowe revealed that he was reticent when first approached, and actually told the organizers he wouldn’t make the trip. He was, at the time, captain of the Jamaican team, had hopes of regaining his Test spot and was not in desperate financial straits. The elegant right-hander was also one of the most popular persons in Jamaican society. He had a lot to lose. By choosing to go on the trip the players were, in effect, turning their backs on West Indies cricket. The life ban, which was the punishment dished out, was not a total surprise.

But the organizers came back to Rowe. The refusal of many of the major players to join meant the squad lacked star players and so his participation became even more vital to the feasibility of the enterprise. He considered his more deprived colleagues and felt some responsibility for him and for others in similar circumstances. His refusal to go could have had the effect of denying them the opportunity to better their lives.

Rowe also cited other reasons for making the trip. He claims to have had an interest in viewing South African society up close, and mentioned the visit of tennis player Arthur Ashe as example.

“Arthur Ashe,” remarked famous USA sports broadcaster Bob Costas, “was the most conscientious man I have met in sports.” Known as much for his commitment to social causes as for his ability as a tennis great, Ashe visited South Africa in 1973, much to the dismay of many opponents of Apartheid.

The following comes from www.arthurashe.org, the website of the Arthur Ashe Learning Center: “To expose the fallacies of Apartheid and serve as a beacon of hope, Arthur Ashe traveled to South Africa in 1973 to break the color barrier that existed there in tennis. He served as an example of genuine sportsmanship: compelling the stadium to be integrated when he competed, showing the subjugated populations that a black man could compete with the white man and using his popularity as a platform for awareness against the government’s discriminatory practices.”

Rowe was quick to add that he was not comparing himself to Ashe, but his concerns were similar to those of the great man.

Despite a few unsavoury incidents, like Croft being ordered to the back of a train, Rowe feels the rebels made a difference. “Black kids and white kids were on the grounds playing together. White kids ran out to touch us.”

He proffered a quote from Nelson Mandela, “Sports has the power to change the world. It has the power to inspire. It has the power to unite people in a way that little else does, it speaks to youths in a language they understand. Sports can create hope where there was only despair. It is more powerful than government in breaking down racial barriers. It laughs in the face of all types of discrimination.” Those wise words exactly reflected how Rowe felt.

It turns out that the rebels lost the 50-overs games 2-4 that first 1982-83 season, while the two five-day games were shared 1-1. The next season was better for the rebels, as they won the limited overs games 4-2 and the four-game “Test” series 2-1.

The South Africans got a taste of the power and hostility of West Indian fast bowling, especially during a few scary spells from Sylvester Clarke. They were able to view the elegance and artistry of Rowe and Kallicharran, and the might of Collis King. They weren’t the best team the West Indies could offer, but they played at a high standard just the same.

In the meantime, the West Indies cricket juggernaut just kept rolling on. The side was so strong in those days, so many exceptional players kept coming through, that the Team seemed hardly affected by the loss of some high-class players. The team withstood the blow and it was over a decade before it suffered a series loss.

A number of the rebels had a hard time blending into society when they returned to the Caribbean. They were now outcasts who had a hard time coping with being ostracized.

Of the entire group, only Mosely managed selection to the Test side after the ban was vacated in 1989. Making his debut aged 32 against the visiting Englishmen in 1989-90, he bowled with some fire. He did, unwittingly, make a huge contribution to his side’s cause by fracturing Graham Gooch’s finger during the third Test of a hard-fought series, ruling him out of the remaining two, which the West Indies won to take the series.

Rowe, now comfortably settled in Florida, established, along with his wife Audrey, The Lawrence Rowe Foundation. Sometimes they organize what is dubbed a “Weekend Of Legends,” usually a formal dinner and a game featuring a number of former greats and some current players. Proceeds from these events go toward assisting former West Indies players.

Many of us in the West Indies felt the South African venture was a terribly wrong turn. But forty-odd years is a long time to hang on to any resentment of these men. Moreover, we all need to be more appreciative of human motivations and human failings. The rebels did what they believed was in their best interest. We all don’t have to agree, but there need not be any lingering animosity.

“So, knowing how it all turned out, would you have still decided to tour South Africa if you were somehow transported back to that time?” Rowe did not address the question directly. “You have to live with the consequences of your decisions,” he replied.