Apartheid and the Making of a Black Psychologist - N. Chabani Manganyi

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hundred African workers, who, as was the practice in the country at the time, were occupied in the lower ends of the production chain. Together with an amicable white colleague, who was my immediate senior, I looked after the day-to-day interests of these workers. Although my title was not that of a welfare officer, I dealt with a wide range of problems black workers experienced, including housing, acquiring loans to support schoolgoing children and overcoming the myriad restrictions imposed by the pass laws. My work was a precursor to what later became known as personnel work or human resource management.

      As well as finding my feet in an unfamiliar work situation I was learning to live as a bachelor in the black township of Atteridgeville, west of Pretoria. In addition, soon after my honours results were released I took immediate steps to register for a master’s degree in psychology at Unisa, which was located in the central business district of Pretoria. Professor F W Blignaut, one of the senior professors in the psychology department, was assigned as my supervisor. The degree was entirely research based. Once the research was completed, a dissertation in the form of a research report was submitted for formal examination.

      Blignaut was like a distant Afrikaner patriarch. Our consultations were held either at his university office, then in Pretorius Street in Pretoria, or in the study at his home, a country-style homestead a short distance away from Rosslyn, north of Pretoria. What subject had I decided to investigate? The research design was simple and straightforward, for I was going to compare a group of factory workers and a group of furniture salesmen. Working primarily from Abraham Maslow’s theory of the differentiated and hierarchical structure of human psychological needs (from basic to what he termed self-actualisation needs), I proposed the hypothesis that my research results would show that the two groups would differ significantly in confirmation of his theory. I expected the salesmen (more highly educated than the factory workers) to have need profiles that displayed higher-order self-actualisation needs as opposed to lower-order basic needs. In those days we used what were called non-parametric statistical tests of significance (the chi-square test) to test hypotheses and differences of the kind I was investigating.

      I planned to complete the degree in two years and worked hard to ensure that my plan was realised. Yet, the closer I came to the point where it seemed that most of the work had been completed, the more trivial difficulties seemed to arise. The solution I adopted at the time throws some light on where some of the difficulties had arisen. I requested an appointment with Professor A S Roux, the head of the psychology department. He was a sombre-looking man with spectacles that looked unwelcome over his eyes, nestled as they always were on the end of his nose. I knew that he had undertaken his doctoral studies in Holland and, to all intents and purposes, he appeared to deserve the air of self-confidence he displayed. In the course of our meeting I outlined the difficulties which had arisen in my work. I described how, over a number of months, we had failed to resolve questions about the statistical analysis of the research results. I went so far as to threaten that should I fail to receive relief from his office I would take the matter as far as the dean of the faculty.

      Fortunately for me Professor Roux was untouched by my display of youthful bravado. A short while after my visit to his office another senior psychology professor, highly regarded for his expertise in research methods and non-parametric statistics, was assigned to help complete my research report. A few months were all we needed to resolve the statistical questions and finalise the dissertation for submission and examination. I celebrate the fact that in the face of a substantial obstacle that almost brought my academic aspirations to an end I did not twiddle my thumbs in confusion and self-pity. I took a stand and my resolve paid off in more ways than one. In the quest for a judicious resolution of my troubles with Professor Blignaut I earned myself the respect of Professor Roux. I completed my MA in 1968 and, at the beginning of 1969, when I needed a supervisor for my doctoral studies, Professor Roux was ready to take me under his wing.

      The completion of my master’s degree at Unisa in 1968 coincided with important and unexpected changes in my life. However, on its own, the receipt of the degree could not have resulted in the changes that took place from 1969 onwards. What mattered most was that I had recently changed jobs following an offer I had received from the Ellerine brothers, Eric and Sidney. They owned a chain of furniture stores, appropriately given their family name, which targeted the urban African market in Johannesburg and adjacent areas.

      I accepted a position as employee relations officer at the head office in Germiston. In retrospect, it now appears as though the brothers Ellerine had prepared an acid test for me. Soon after my arrival I was given the task of investigating what the brothers considered to be a high turnover of black supervisory staff. I accepted the task with an open mind. It was not unreasonable to assume, as I did, that what my employers required from my inquiry was a finding which would help them resolve the problem.

      Through my inquiry I established that the primary reason African supervisors were leaving the company was racist attitudes and practices on the part of white store managers in the group. I reported back accordingly and it was a rude shock to discover that my feedback failed to generate the serious examination of workplace practices that I had anticipated. To my surprise, I was shown the nearest door and told to resign or face summary dismissal. It became clear that employers such as the Ellerine brothers had no room for independent-minded black people like me. It was time to take my jacket and leave.

      Knowing that the work I had carried out at the Ellerines’ request could not be faulted on the grounds of unbridled political zeal on my part saved me from undue anger and humiliation. Fortunately, I have never had reason to look back with any sense of regret, particularly since there is no way of knowing what the rest of my life would have become had I been allowed to keep my position.

      I acted quickly and decisively by playing what is commonly described as a wild card. Soon after the Ellerines debacle, I approached Professor Lewis Hurst, then head of psychiatry at the University of the Witwatersrand Medical School. My request was simple. I had decided to abandon the practice of psychology in commerce and industry and to pursue a career in clinical psychology. It was a cry for help which Professor Hurst must have found difficult to ignore. The minimum admission requirement for internship training was a master’s degree, which I had. However, the most difficult hurdle, and one that could not be easily overcome, was the colour of my skin. Professor Hurst and I were faced with apartheid laws, which sanctioned complete racial segregation between blacks and whites in all significant spheres of life in South Africa. I could not be admitted at Johannesburg’s Tara Hospital, an established psychiatric training hospital, since in the 1960s all health facilities were segregated on the basis of race.

      Professor Hurst approached Professor Robert Lipschitz, the head of neurosurgery at Baragwanath Hospital in Soweto, and in January 1969 I was admitted there as a clinical psychology intern in the Department of Neurosurgery and Neurology. This was an extraordinary decision – as far as I know it was the first time anyone had been placed in a neurosurgery department to serve an internship in clinical psychology, and nothing had prepared me for my role.

      To satisfy the standard certification requirements of the Medical and Dental Council I had to work under appropriate supervision at the hospital for one full year. Uncertain as I was about the move, I was heartened by my reception by the professional staff of the department, including the black ward sister and her nursing staff. Professor Lipschitz carried his large frame and professional authority as head of neurosurgery with self-assured dignity. Interestingly, he managed to be both charismatic and reserved. A tall, heavily built man, he appeared worthy of his huge Rolls-Royce, in which he almost always travelled alone.

      Gathered around him during the morning ward rounds was a team of outstanding professional men and women made up of speech therapists, occupational therapists, neurosurgeons, neurologists and registrars training to become neurosurgeons. Among them were senior specialists such as Dr Colin Froman, a lively and talented neurosurgeon who was one of the shining lights in those days. Looking back now, I remember how odd it was to be the only black person among the non-nursing professional staff of Ward 7.

      Upon arrival at Baragwanath I did not know what to expect. My situation was aggravated by the fact that there was no psychologist in the team to oversee my induction and allocation of responsibilities. In practice this

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