We Are Fighting the World. Gary Kynoch

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СКАЧАТЬ State informal settlement resident explains: ‘Sometimes the police come here and deport us to Lesotho. At Christmas in 1997 they came and I was one of those deported. They dropped us at Ficksburg bridge and we crossed and then came back. A taxi took us here the same day” (TC). CN takes advantage of lax border controls to avoid the inconvenience of deportation: “I renew my temporary permit every month because I go home [to Lesotho] almost every month. If I do not go home, I give my passport to a taxi driver I know to renew it.”

      Lesotho is considered neutral territory by Marashea, and instances of conflict between rival groups have been rare. “We don’t fight in Lesotho. It only happens here [South Africa] where Marashea belongs. If I went to Thabong [Free State Township] now they would kill me, but if we meet in Lesotho, nothing will happen” (CN). The Marashea’s original purpose was to protect migrant Basotho, so the gangs filled a need that did not exist in Lesotho. Much of the internecine fighting in the mining areas was caused by competition over territory and markets. There are no mines in Lesotho and little if any money to be made, so the Marashea have operated exclusively in South Africa. Many veterans echoed TT’s claim that “Borashea was a thing of South Africa; there was no need for such a group in Lesotho.” For many years now Marashea groups have returned to Lesotho for funerals, feasts, and meetings. The Malunga Hotel on the outskirts of Maseru was a popular meeting place for the Russians.

      Other than occasional skirmishes between rival groups on holiday or at a funeral, Marashea are active in Lesotho only in the sense that they can be hired to intimidate people and resolve disputes. Interested parties travel to South Africa and contract men to do this type of work for them. “The Marashea are doing nothing [in Lesotho], but if I want to attack someone in Lesotho I can go to South Africa and hire Marashea who will come back and kill him. There are no Marashea in Lesotho but you can invite them if there is a problem” (SM). A detective in the Royal Lesotho Mounted Police confirmed that Marashea are sometimes hired for the purposes of intimidation and assassination. According to him, Marashea are most visible at their funerals, where they invariably display and discharge illegal firearms. The police choose to overlook these activities rather than confront large groups of well-armed Marashea (Detective M, Maseru, 20 April 1998). Although some prominent veterans who retire to Lesotho maintain contact with their former groups, act as mediators and advisors, and still consider themselves Marashea, the bulk of retired members seem to share KI’s assessment of their status: “Those who live in Lesotho after leaving Marashea are no longer regarded as Marashea. Like in my case, I don’t regard myself as Lerashea. . . . my being Lerashea ended when I left South Africa.”

      JOINING THE MARASHEA

      Like virtually every aspect of Borashea, the process of joining the group was profoundly gendered. Men chose to join and, although there were no elaborate induction ceremonies, were usually informed of the responsibilities and expectations that accompanied group membership. SO’s account of joining Matsieng in 1972 is typical of the process: “When I joined I was surrounded by all the members and the morena told me all the rules. He asked me whether I was ready to fight any rival and I said yes. Will you kill anyone who tries to kill you, he asked. When you are arrested you must not inform on others, he told me. You must keep all our information secret from the police. They said, this is what we need you to do. And they told me not to tell the other miners our secrets. Even in Lesotho you were not supposed to tell anything concerning Marashea.”

      There were no qualifications for membership other than the ability to speak Sesotho. Men simply presented themselves to the group, expressed their desire to join, agreed to abide by the rules, and paid an initial fee. Different groups constantly sought new members as there was strength, both military and financial, in numbers. Most often, potential members were introduced to the group by established Marashea who were “homeboys,” workmates, or relatives. BM joined in 1968 after he was invited by fellow mineworkers: “When I started working on the mine I found men in my compound room who stayed outside the mine compound on weekends. . . . There were five Marashea in my room and this influenced me to follow them on weekends. I asked them, what was this Marashea? They explained to me and I became interested.”

      Some male Marashea were introduced to the group through family connections, often an uncle or a cousin. I am also aware of several instances of brothers belonging to the same group and sons following fathers into the Marashea. However, there has never been an established pattern of generational succession in the Marashea. Indeed, some informants report that groups discouraged close relatives from joining because of the dangerous lives led by Marashea. “People from the same family were not allowed to join. That was done so that when my brother dies I would support his family and also to prevent the death of two people in the same family” (DG).¹⁶ Most veterans we spoke with, male and female, regard Borashea as a harsh life and hope for something better for their children. I have not learned of any parents encouraging their children to become Marashea, and several informants indicated that they had forbidden their children to join. However, some young men became Marashea against their fathers’ wishes. As DB replied when asked whether it was common for the sons or brothers of Marashea to join the group, “It happened because when you are here, your son goes to the mines somewhere and one day you see him holding molamu [fighting stick] and there is nothing you can do.” Certainly sons did not succeed fathers as leaders, and there was no core of family at the heart of the organization as with the Cape Town area “mafia” gangs.¹⁷

      The most common reasons cited by male informants for becoming Marashea were physical security and access to women.¹⁸ Urban locations could be dangerous environments, especially for migrants, and group membership provided a measure of safety. In the 1940s and 1950s the Mpondo in particular are remembered for preying on Basotho: “I joined Marashea to protect Basotho who were ill-treated by Mapondo. Some were even killed in the bush when they walked from one mine to another. The Mapondo gathered at the railway stations to rob and kill Basotho” (MK). WL echoes these sentiments: “Mapondo used to beat us. Therefore I joined in order to be safe. I started enjoying life when I became a member.” Additionally, Basotho from southern Lesotho were sometimes targeted for intimidation and assault by Matsekha groups, as were northerners by Matsieng. Consequently, men joined their homeboys for protection. Joining a fighting association for safety is not without irony. However, even though collective violence was a staple of life in the Marashea, members judged that group security was preferable to the vulnerability of isolation.

      Male veterans acknowledge that the gangs led harsh and often brutal lives. Most were arrested and all saw comrades die. However, male respondents reminisced fondly about the access to women that their status as Marashea afforded. Nonmembers had to pay to enjoy the company of women under Russian control. Former miner TL remembers:

      If one of the miners who was not a member had maybe a woman outside, say a girlfriend or so, the Marashea would say that since that person is not a member he should pay something like a protection fee . . . because they are protecting all women outside. So these guys had to pay such fees, and if they didn’t pay, they take the woman away and she’s not going to be yours anymore. It was not like there were some negotiations, they would do what they wanted to do because they were a large group and they could force people into whatever idea they wanted.¹⁹

      Russians were frequently given a woman and had free access to unattached women affiliated with the group. GK reports that his life improved significantly once he joined the Marashea. “What made me join was my love for women. I found that I was spending a lot of money to pay for women and this made me join in order to get them for free and without intimidation. I lived a happy life as Lerashea because I got what I always wanted.” “Mako” Thabane, a Matsieng commander in the 1950s and 1960s, declared, “There were many women to be had as Lerashea. There is no other reason why I became Lerashea except it meant entertainment” (Molefi Thabane, 15 June 1987, Bonner transcript). Others were motivated by an attachment to a particular woman. “I joined Marashea because the woman I loved lived in a squatter camp next to the mine and I was not free to see that woman unless I paid a fee to the Marashea. I joined because as a member it was easy for me to live with her” (KB). CN, who worked СКАЧАТЬ