All language subtitles for In my Country (John Boorman) - 2004 - Eng

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Never, never

and never again shall it be

that this beautiful earth
will again experience

the oppression of one by another.

Cattle thieves.

Johan, where are they now?

Johan, can you hear me?

Uncle Boetie!
Uncle Boetie, are you there?

It's me, Inge. Pa's gone after them.

Ma can see them from the door.
She's says... What, Ma?

She says Pa's trying
to cut them off in the bakkie.

This is the new South Africa
you admire so much, Anna.

Throw him in the bakkie.

We always give them a warning,

but if they run away,
we have no choice. We have to shoot.

You didn't kill anyone, did you?

No.

Only got the one guy in the leg.

I hate them for forcing me
to point a gun at another human being

and pull the trigger, Anna.

I hate them for that.

You should let the police handle this.

They're not our police anymore, Edward.

It's not our country anymore.

It's open season on whites now.

Now, don't make us wait until next
Christmas before you visit again.

Don't worry. I'll bring the boys
back on my own next time.

Anna's gonna be away
covering the hearings.

Bloody nonsense.

You're a poet, Anna.
Why are you doing this?

Because I believe in it.

She does, with a passion.

You've spoken out enough
against your own people, Anna.

When are you going to stop taking
their side against us?

You should have nothing
to do with the hearings.

They are trying to break us,

blaming everything on the Afrikaner.

It's not about breaking people, Pa.
It's about finding out the truth.

I don't want to hear their lies.

Where's the Christmas spirit,
gone so soon?

Don't listen to them, Anna.

It is good that you do this.
I will testify myself.

Good, Anderson. Good.

Anderson,
it's not your business.

It's everybody's business.

Good-bye and merry Christmas.

Peace.

What, doesn't
your baby brother get a kiss?

Anna, don't leave like this.
Give Poppy a kiss.

- No.
- Hey.

Remember where you're from, Anna.

Have a nice trip.

They are my blood,
the marrow of my bones,

and this is my landscape.

This is what I'm made of.

I cannot escape it. I cannot deny it...

yet I must.

Put your seat belts on, please.

Hey.

- Hi.
- Hi.

I'm Dumisani Mkhalipi, SABC.

|'m your sound engineer
for the hearings.

Pleased to meet you, Dumisani.

Just call me Dumi.
Can I give you a hand?

- Yeah.
- Okay.

- Hey, morning, Dumi.
- Morning, Sis.

Amnesty applications
coming in thick and fast.

Oh...

- Anna, meet the boss.
- Oh, stop it, Dumi.

I hate the word “boss.”
It sounds so reactionary.

Felicia Rheinhardt, our editor.

How do you do, Anna?
So glad to have you on board.

You know, I had every intention
of swotting up on your poetry last night,

but I fell asleep halfway
through the first one.

Earth is the color of blood
Blood is the color of earth

No, you lost me there,
I'm afraid. So here's the deal.

Sound bites are 20 seconds.
Voice reports, 40 seconds.

That's all we've got to grab
the listeners by the balls.

We also have a contract
with public radio in America.

Not bad, hey?
So don't pull any punches.

Okay, okay. Local journalists
over here, foreign media over there.

- Anna Malan.
- There'll be a press conference

with the commissioners
at 4:30 upstairs in the Mandela Room.

You call this justice?

Allowing the perpetrators
to go free and denying victim's revenge?

Yes, I do. It is the justice
of peace and compassion.

The justice that desires
to bring people together,

not drive them apart.

Jack Marlon, Melbourne Herald Sun.

Reverend Mzondo,

since the Afrikaners were in control
of both the police and the army,

would it be true to say, sir, that they
are most to blame for the atrocities?

Apportionment of blame

is not the purpose of the commission, sir.

Langston Whitfield,
Washington Post.

Since only whites benefited
during the apartheid system,

shouldn't all whites be held accountable
for the crimes committed in its name?

We must not lose sight
of the fact, sir,

that whites were killed too.

Many black people have
also applied for amnesty.

Anna Malan, SABC Radio.

Haven't South Africans
specifically rejected Western justice

in favor of traditional African justice,

which is about reconciliation,
and not revenge?

How can there be reconciliation
when 90 percent of the country's wealth

is still in the hands
of the white minority?

We have a long, hard road ahead of us,

but who would have believed that South
Africa could have achieved what it has?

Adam Hartley, London Guardian.

Given that most of the victims
are black, does this mean, sir,

that black people have some special
capacity for forgiveness?

Or that white people have a special
capacity for getting away with murder.

Thank you so much, everybody, for coming,

but that's all we have time for now.

Thanks, everybody.
See you at the first hearings in Transkei.

Excuse me, sir.

I-I just want to set the record straight.

I think maybe you don't understand
what we're trying to do here.

Oh, on the contrary, I think I do.

You're Afrikaans, right?

So?

It's not about blame. If's about...

We... We're trying to find the truth.

South Africans want peace,

and we're all making compromises.

And what compromises
have you whites made?

Blacks can sit
on your park benches now?

Langston!

Excuse me.

Listen, when this is all over,

we can't jump on a plane and go home.

- We have to live together.
- Yeah.

I can see why they want to keep this.

Welcome. Hi.

- Whoa, look at this place.
- Oh, yeah.

- Want a drink? Yeah?
- Jack Daniel's.

Jack Daniel's.

Are you the guy
from The Washington Post?

Yeah, man, that's me.

- Do Americans care about this?
- Well, they should.

Well, it's good that you're here.
Welcome.

Thank you.

I was in a hotel
for three weeks in Kigali.

I was in Burma, lost,
you understand.

Dumisani Mkhalipi.

My friends call me Dumi,
and my enemies too.

- Let me buy you a drink.
- Yes, please.

Hello. Anna.

Yeah, I've got a tape here.

I'm at the Rhodes Place Hotel,

and I'm having a drink
with Malcolm X.

Okay, bye-bye.

So, what do you do, man?

I'm a sound engineer
for Anna Malan.

- That's your partner.
- Yes.

- And how long you been with her?
- We just met today.

- Get the fuck out of here.
- And go away.

You a trip.

I'm not a criminal.

I was a devoted servant of the state,

and I call upon my superiors
to acknowledge that...

Now, there's the main reason
my editor sent me over here.

Even now,
just looking at him on TV

makes me want to shit my pants.

What I wouldn't give
to get in a room with him.

I can arrange it.

For real? That right?

Yep.

I have my contacts from before.

Hey, Anna. There's my partner.

It's our secret, bro.
It's between you and me.

Don't tell her.

I really have to go, Dumi.
Felicia wants...

Oh, forget about Felicia.

Sit down, chill out.

You know, what you need is a big whiskey.

- Anything for you, Langs?
- "m good.

Coming up.

So tell me...

what is African justice?

You just have to say, “I'm sorry”?

You mean the American journalist
hasn't heard of ubuntu?

Nope. Enlighten me.

Oh, why do you care what it means?

You've already made up your mind.

Don't make assumptions about me.

Don't you make assumptions about me.

Why did you ask if I was Afrikaans?

Because you don't sound Chinese.

Really?

Here we are.

- The tape.
- Oh, thanks, Dumi.

I really have to go.

See you on the bus tomorrow? Bye.

I guess this is mine now, huh?

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Anna.

Look what Langston has rented.

A 5 Series.

Isn't she a beauty?

What's the name
of that song they're singing?

- I's a hymn.
- Really?

Lizalis'idinga lako.
“Let Your Will Be Done.”

So, where was God
when they needed him?

He was on our side.

Look, two places there.

It's all right.

Blessed Lord,

may we snatch the victims
from the death of forgetfulness.

May we tell their history.

May we complete their ending.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Mrs. Virginia Tabata,
mother of Nyameko Tabata,

please tell your story.

After my son disappeared,

we were told there was
a policeman in Port Elizabeth

who had this thing in a bottle
on his desk.

When he was asked what it was...

he answered,

“It's a baboon's hand,

a bottled hand of a communist.”

I was told that before they killed my son,

they cut off his hands

so he could not be fingerprinted.

How do I say this?

Give me back my son's hand
so I have something to bury!

ANNA. In their Sunday best they come,

mothers and wives, searching
for a place to put their grief.

Truth has become a woman.

Everybody recognizes her,
and yet nobody knows her.

We will now hear the testimony
of Mrs. Albertina Sobandla.

Please go ahead, Mrs. Sobandla.

Hubert had been missing
for two weeks.

I was worried
because of his weak heart,

and he left his medicine behind
on the kitchen table.

I went to the police

and begged them to tell me
what had happened to him.

They wouldn't.

They laughed at me.

Sobandla wasn't charged
with anything?

The police could detain
people without charge.

- Those are your laws?
- Not my laws,

the laws of the country.

To this day...

I do not know what happened to him.

You must tell me.

Let me remind you, Sergeant Dreyer,

to get amnesty,
you must make a full confession

and prove that you were
politically motivated.

The decision was made
to get rid of Hubert Sobandla.

He was a... thorn in the flesh.

We were instructed to make a plan.

Make a plan?

What did you understand
by those words?

Well, what we always understood
when orders came down to us:

eliminate.

Permanently remove from society,
“make a plan.”

It all meant the same thing.

Kill him. Nothing else.

Just, uh, murder Hubert Sobandla.

I had nothing personally against him, sir.

I was just following orders.

Whose orders?

We would just get told,
“You have to take the guy out.”

It was necessary.

To stab him 37 times?

Well, Hubert fought like a tiger.

How does a man with a heart condition
fight like a tiger?

Well, he was fighting for his life.

I wish to apologize to Mrs. Sobandla.

I am very sorry.

I've told the truth.

|'m asking for amnesty.

Dumi, so why is she crying,
and they're not?

It is not a surprise to us, Langston.

We did our crying years ago.

Severed hands and graphic accounts

of assassination by security police
marked testimony today

as the country faces
the brutal facts of apartheid.

The heartfelt cry of Albertina Sobandla

ushered in the Truth and
Reconciliation Commission hearings today.

Hey, you!

- Hi.
- Hello, Lizzie.

Ow! Stop it!

Anna.

Ow! Stop it!

- Stop following me around!
- Jonty hit me!

What happened?

My nose is bleeding.

Here, put it on your nose.
Hold tight.

Jonty!
Come down here this moment.

It's not fair.
He's following me everywhere!

Come here!

Yes. Hold on, please.

- It's for you.
- Oh, thanks. Yeah?

Hello, Anna.

Hi, Felicia.

Congratulations, doll.
We love the scream.

I tell you, it gave me goose bumps.

Well done, lovey. Bye.

Did you bring us presents?

Yes.

Stop.

Around.

So they sent me a black man.
Well, well.

You have a problem with that?

I've got nothing against blacks.

What do you want from me,
Mr. Whitfield?

What you did.

Who you did it to.

Who told you to do it.

No, let me tell you what
you really want.

You want to get into the mind of a man
who's done all these terrible things

to your brothers, yes?

You know what your bosses say.

You're a psychopath who murdered
and tortured for the fun of it.

It had nothing to do with them.

Do you think I'm a psychopath?

Look, Mr. De Jager...

they've thrown you to the wolves.

You're going down,

but wouldn't you like
to take them down with you?

Precisely.

So we have a common purpose.

Let us exploit each other,
Mr. Whitfield.

The commission has moved
to the tiny Transkei village of Qunu,

where local security police
conducted their reign of terror,

claiming that the local people
were harboring terrorists.

The children are having a day off

as the school is being used
for the hearings.

Morning.

I'm sorry, I don't speak Afrikaans.

- Have they started yet?
- No, not yet.

Need a light?

Thank you.

My pleasure.

Welcome, Mr. Zobufa.

Sergeant Schmidt, can you tell us

precisely how you applied electric shocks.

We used those little
portable generators, sir,

one horsepower.

You make the subject get undressed.

Everything off?

Yes, sir. They must be naked.

You attach wires to the subject,
then you pour water over them.

Water is a good conductor of electricity.

Mr. Zobufa, would you tell us
your story, please?

They tied my genital parts...

with wire.

He!

It was him!

Then he shocked me, all parts.

My body was turned
to be completely useless.

That week, the machine
took away from me...

He wants his manhood back.

I am not an electrician by trade, sir.

I did not know it would
do that to the subject.

And if you had?

I would have lost my pension
had I refused an order.

They rise up like the dead
on the Day of Reckoning,

voice after voice,

story after story.

How obediently we sat in that schoolhouse

and learned a lesson, a history lesson,

the hidden history of a shameful past.

Hey, Kenny, whoa.

Anna. The bus is leaving.

Anna.

You don't smoke.

You don't smoke.

I need a drink.

I know a place.

I got a car.

Wait till you see this dude
at the bottle shop.

He got so fat, he can't get
out of the door no more.

I'M serious.

He has to live in there,
and they send the food in there.

You okay? You?

No jack.

Great. Stuck in the bloody hemadulus.

- Stuck in the what?
- The hemadulus, the back of beyond.

The bloody middle of nowhere.

What do we do now, hey?

- "M going to call a tow truck.
- Ha-ha.

- Hey, as soon as I find a signal.
- Wait, wait. I'll find a jack.

Don't be bloody ridiculous, Dumi.

Say no more.
I'll be back with jack.

Wow.

It's really true what they say
about the African sky.

It's fucking big.

Ah, who would have thought.

Stuck in the...
What did you call it again?

Hemadaulus.

Stuck in the hemadulus
with an Afrikaner.

You know, you never finished telling me
about African justice.

What exactly does “ubuntu” mean?

It means we're all connected.

What hurts you hurts me.

What affects you affects me,
affects everyone.

If Africans want to praise someone,
they say “unbuntu.”

It means
they think the person is generous

and compassionate.

It's all about compassion and forgiveness.

Quite foreign to an American, I'm sure.

- That's African-American.
- "m not talking about skin.

Well, I am.

See, skin is everything.

It's all about skin.

Skin is what draws the line
in the sand.

As an Afrikaner, you should know that
better than anyone else.

Don't make assumptions about me.

Don't start with
the assumption shit again.

- Look, I'll stop if you'll stop, okay?
- Fine.

Hey! Dumi's back.

|'m back.

- Keep the change.
- Ubuntu.

Yo nana... Nuba nu...

Uno. Unbuntu.

Unbuntu. Yeah, unbuntu.

Yes, but you have to say it
with feeling like that.

Unbuntu.
You have to mean it.

Thanks, man.
Unbuntu.

- Yeah.
- No, no, no, no, no.

- That's going to take a few days.
- Cheers.

Mmm.

It's ironic,
you teaching me about Africa.

Why not? I'm African.

No, no, no, no, no.
Not in my book.

And definitely not
in any Tarzan movies I ever saw.

I belong to this continent.

How do you
belong to a continent?

I would die for it.

Mmm. Mm-hm.

Well, I guess I don't
belong anywhere, then.

See, if you're black in America,

every day of your life,

you're made to feel
like you don't belong.

In fact, they keep trying
to send us back here.

Why would I die
for a country where |'m not welcome?

Because it's the only one you have,
and you think one day

things will be different
for your children.

You got kids?

Uh, yes, three boys.

Me too. Mine's nine.

He is soccer crazy.

I try to make it
to all the matches,

but, you know, travel,
and, you know...

The little ones always miss you.

Yeah.

- Dumi!
- YO!

Let's roll.

Uh-oh. Oh, no. No!

Yo!

Uh-oh.

Langston!

Oh, no, no, no!

Oh, damn! Damn!

I locked the keys in the car!

Oh, no! Damn!

Oh, man...

Oh, man,
locked the keys in the car.

What's she doing?

Hey! The Ritz.

Just see
if they got a coat hanger.

I-I can break in the car.

DUMI;
Give me some more!

- Is he dead?
- Yeah.

Dead drunk.

Did you tell that woman
I was married to Oprah?

There.
I've made some room for you.

Shut up, Dumi.

Dumi.

Does this place qualify
as the hemadulus?

Mmm...
Not strictly speaking.

To qualify as a true hemadulus,

there can't be anything else around.

So there's varying degrees
of hemadulus”?

Yeah, it's all very subtle.

Shall we have a cigarette?

Yeah, all right.

No, we don't smoke officially.

I know, but it's something to do.

Okay.

Maybe we shouldn't.

Yeah, maybe we shouldn't.

What's so funny?

Oh, I was just thinking.

A black man sleeping
with a white woman in South Africa.

A few years ago,
I could have gotten life in prison

for doing something like that.

What about a white woman
sleeping with two black men?

What would you have gotten?

Possibly a lot of satisfaction.

Good night, Langston.

Good night, Anna.

Why do you think apartheid was necessary?

Just simple mathematics.

Four million of us,
13 million of them.

When you're under
constant attack from terrorists,

the normal rules no longer apply.

You have to do what you have to do.

- Including torture.
- Correct. To get information.

That's why we started
the training facility

for askares out there
in the hemadulus.

Do you know what an askare is?

Uh, yes, I do.

When you captured a guerrilla...

Terrorist.

You beat the shit out of them
until they betrayed their comrades.

- Then they had nowhere else to go.
- Yeah, they'd change sides,

and they made the best killers for us.

Why?

They'd sell their souls.

Betrayal. When you despise yourself,

it makes it much easier to despise others.
You must know that.

Imagine, Langston. Imagine if your people
hadn't been taken across the sea.

Imagine if you'd stayed in Africa.

What would you have become?

A terrorist?

Or an askare?

Tortured to death by you, probably.

Or me tortured to death by you?

And why not?

Like my mate, Eddie Fishier,

captured by the ANC in Namibia.
When they were finished with him,

you couldn't tell if he were
a boy or a girl...

and Eddie was a big guy.

I don't hold it against them, not at all.

All's fair in love and war.

Five to six.

They had pulled out his tongue.

He was mutilated.

The only way I could tell it was my son

was by the feet.

I know my son's feet.

His beard had been
pulled out on one side of his face.

They'd torn out one hair at a time.

The white policeman said,

'We've got you now, you Kaffir!”

My son was bleeding
heavily from the mouth.

/ heard shots.

I ran, I slipped, I fell.

I crawled out of the front door.

My boy, my child dreams of this.

He wakes up crying for his father.

Every mother's worst nightmare,

powerless lo ease the pain
of a grieving child.

This is Anna Malan for SABC, signing off.

Hey, Langston.

Page seven, Tony?

The bottom
of page fucking seven?

Remember, you're the one
who sent me over here.

At least show me the respect
of not burying what I write

in the back of the goddamn paper.

Too re...? Too remote?

Since when is police brutality too remote
from the lives of the American people?

Oh, I'm sorry, Tony.
I must be losing my mind.

How can it be news
when the victims are black?

Goddamn it.

Nobody gives a shit, Dumi.

As long as it's black folk getting killed,
nobody gives a shit.

It's not that simple, man.
It's not always black-and-white.

Sometimes it's gray.
Sometimes it's fucking gray.

- Sometimes it's fucking grey?
- Hey, Langston.

'M only joking.

It's just the beer talking, okay?
We cool?

Hey, Kenny. Hey, Anna!

Let's show these people how to dance.

I'd like to see that.

Hey, man, coming
for something to eat?

A little later, thanks.

Anna. Anna, it's for you.

Some woman, she listens
to you on the radio,

- and she won't talk to anyone else.
- Hello? Ja?

I have something bad.

For you, please.

What?

Your daughter's body?

Body?

We took her up into the hills.

You have to harden your heart.

She had valuable information
which needed to be extracted.

There she is.

You raped her?

We kept her naked for three days.

It wasn't enough. She just wouldn't talk.

She asked us for some panties.

Of course we said no.

She found a plastic bag.

She made herself some panties.

We asked her to kneel...
shot her through the top of her head.

God, she was brave.

They're trying to convince me
to electrify my fence...

and then they want 500 grand
just to come around once a week. Uh-uh.

Then in six months,
they want to sell you another system.

If anybody is left here in six months.

- Guess who's emigrating.
- Hmm?

- Dave Margolis, gone.
- No.

Ja, he's got this fabulous job
in Florida.

Well, I guess that's the end
of cardiac surgery at Viddsted.

How's the architecture department, Ed?

In desperate need
of a transfusion.

Can you rape with a political motive?

When the security police
raped women in detention,

they justified it

by claiming it was necessary
to extract information.

So do you think you can rape
with a political motive?

Well, speaking as a lawyer,

I suppose...
you can rape with political motive...

uh, if...

For example, if rape is used as a torture

to extract information, then, logically...

rape can be...

politically motivated.

So you think rape can...

Can be logical?

Would, um, anyone
like some coffee?

No, I think
we'd better be going now.

It's getting late. Amy?

- Thank you. That was wonderful...
- Technically speaking,

it's kind of a difficult one to...
You know, to get around.

I mean, you have to have...

Just as the Nazis claim

that following orders
exonerated them from guilt,

so the South African perpetrators

used that same defense.

Is this the human condition,

that men anywhere will
willingly commit atrocities

So long as the law allows it?

Dumi.

- Bam! Front page.
- Yes? Anna Malan.

Anna.

The story about the mother
who goes to the mortuary and finds her son

with his intestines all hanging out.

You didn't say she shit
on the floor, did you?

No, I did not.

I said she slipped on the floor,
in all the blood.

Oh, thank God. I was worried.

We don't allow swearing on radio.

- Anyway, thanks, lovey. Bye.
- Bye.

Lovey.

Anna, we on air in five minutes.

South African holocaust,
a genocide?

“Every white South African

is as guilty as
the perpetrators themselves”?

How dare you write
this sensationalist crap?

You come barging into my country
with your own fucking agenda!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, now.

You're the one
with the agenda, Anna.

Trying to prove you're not responsible
for what your government's been doing

in your name for the past 40 years.

“I didn't know.”
Now, where have I heard that?

You didn't know

- about people being electrocuted?
- No.

- Hands in bottles?
- No.

You didn't know about
tongues being pulled out?

What do you want me to say,
“Yes, I knew'?

“Yes, I saw things”?

Is that what you want? Yes, yes, yes?

So I knew things, we all knew things...

but not the fucking details.

You call cutting
a man's hands off details?

You call shooting a woman
in the vagina a fucking detail?

Shut up. I don't have to listen to this.

You do have to listen.
You have to listen to every word

so you'll never be able to say
“I didn't know” again.

- You fuck! Fuck!
- Stop it, Anna. Stop it! Stop it!

Annal!

You're on the air
in three minutes!

Come on, come, come.

By telling their stories
and sharing their pain,

the victims find some measure of relief.

This is Anna Malan for SABC,
signing off.

|'m sorry.

No, you're right.

I was raised to treat
black people with respect.

I did what I could.

Yeah. Drink your coffee.

How far can we go

into every corner of this land?

How many more stories?

How much more pain can you take on board?

We had been living
on that land for centuries

before they arrived.

We tried peaceful means for many years,
but they never listened to us.

They forced us to take up a gun.

Mr. Van Der Weyden,

please tell us your story.

There had already been
three attacks in the district,

So when we traveled,

we traveled in convoy for safety.

We were coming home from church,

and my wife was in the front truck
with the children.

I was in the truck behind
with my brother.

We had the guns.

The truck went through the gate...

The truck went through the gate
and over the land mine.

Do you know how it feels
to look for your 3-year-old,

your youngest boy,

never, never to find him,

because he's gone into thin air?

Do you feel...

you want to... continue?

The next day, we went to look
for my wife's leg.

We knew it was there somewhere.

He went to look
for his wife's leg?

What we found
was a piece of my son's skull.

Some of his brains were on it.

I picked it up in a tissue
and took it home to bury it.

Why did he bury the brains?

Shh. Be quiet.

Anna.

Excuse me. Mr. Chairman,
I have a question.

I have a question.

Come on, come on, come on.

I feel a fool.

You shouldn't.

I've never lost control like that.

Hey...

it happens.

Thanks.

All the words they used
to humiliate people...

the orders to kill people
and to torture people...

were given in my own language,
Afrikaans...

the language of my heart...

the language in which
I wrote about love, beauty...

tenderness.

What does that make me?

Oh, 'm so ashamed.

Don't be.

This is a great
learning experience for a young fellow.

He scores! Yay!

Anna?

I'm back.

I's heavy.

Make no mistake...

there is no greater pain than dishonor.

People at the top walked away from us.

“We'll get you your amnesty,” they said,
“but from now on, we know nothing.”

“You're on your own,” they said.

What's my new rank in the new
South Africa, hey? Not colonel.

Perpetrator, psychopath, lunatic.

I was a professional. I was a hero.

If it was a difficult case,
they used to fly De Jager in.

Well, how did they
get the message to you?

A wink of an eye,
nod of a head, wave of a hand.

Come on.

We understood what it meant.
“Take them out.”

Oh, you can do better than that.
I need proof.

- Anna. Hey.
- Hi.

- How was your weekend at home?
- Fine, fine.

Very good.
And you? Your weekend?

Great. Dumi took me shopping, look.

Ah. Suits you.

Ah...

Ah. “The truth shall set us free.”

Dumi, do you think these people are hungry
for the truth or just plain hungry?

Maybe both.

And there are the perpetrators.

As in most cases,
they are white, and they are male.

This child, Bedamakeba,

has not spoken one word
since the day

he saw his parents murdered
in front of his eyes.

I started to strangle Mr. Makeba.

He struggled violently.

Sergeant Schempers smothered him
with a pillow over his face...

then I fired four shots
with my AK through the pillow.

There was blood and feathers everywhere.

The woman was hiding under the bed.

Sergeant Schempers killed her.

We didn't know the boy was there.

He just stood there... looking at me.

I could see his mother's body lying there.

I pointed my gun right at him.
I was going to shoot.

He didn't move.

He just stood there, staring.

I couldn't do it.

I defied an order.

I can't sleep.

When I close my eyes, all I see is him.

I'll look after him.

I'll pay his school fees.

Please...

let me do something.

Please.

Oranje Vrystaat.
The Orange Free State.

Hey, Langs, these free-state Afrikaners

were the worst ones before.

Your people, eh, Anna?

Oh, right. If you mean is this
where my family's from, yes.

Did I grow up here? Yes.
Do I know them? Yes.

Do I agree with their politics? No.

Sister, I'm just joking.
Can't you take a joke?

- No.
- No?

Ah-ah-ah-ah, children, children,

don't make me stop this car.

You have to disperse now.
Go home.

Some of the commissioners were delayed,

and the hearings are postponed
until tomorrow.

- Postponed.
- What?

- It's postponed.
- Oh, come on.

We can stay at my parents' farm,
if you like.

It's just a couple of miles
from here.

I... No way.

Anna... Sorry, I mean,
thank you very much,

but I'll go back
with the others to Joveck.

Guess who's
coming to dinner, huh?

What's so funny?

- You coming?
- Yeah.

Let's go.

Come in. Come on in.

Hi, Anna.

Randy. Prince.

- Okay, so sorry.
- Get down.

That's right. Get away.

These dogs are very stupid.

- Anderson, hey.
- Hello, Anna. Ah.

This is Mr. Whitfield.
He's come all the way from America

to write about the hearings.

Anderson's worked for our family forever.

I was born on this farm, sir.

I's my great pleasure to meet you, sir.

It is good that you come to
write the truth about this thing we have.

Annal!

- Anna.
- Hey, Ma.

Hello, Mr. Whitfield.
Welcome.

- Thank you.
- Do come in.

I'm so sorry about the dogs.

That's quite all right.
Anderson rescued me.

Yeah, you can't be too careful
these days.

- I hear you on the radio, Anna.
- You do?

I sneak a listen every now and then
when no one is around.

I won't tell Pa.

(

Are you the American journalist?

Yes, sir, I am.

Langston Whitfield.
Pleasure to meet you.

Willem Malan.

I think you have a very bad impression
of us Afrikaners by now.

Uh... Yes, sir, I'm afraid so.

You don't know us.

Willem.

Willem.

Your namesake, Langston Hughes.

Yes, he also happens to be
my favorite writer.

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird That...

That cannot fly

I met him, you know...

at a poetry conference in Paris
in 1955.

He was the first black writer
I'd ever met.

He was wonderful. He had such a...

wicked sense of humor.

That's a signed copy.

You can have it.

- Oh, no, no, I...
- Please. Please do.

I's my pleasure.

I'd like you to have it.

Why, thank you.

Black or white,
Mr. Whitfield?

- Beg your pardon?
- Coffee.

He likes it black, Ma.

Oh, that's Anna when she was
about 10 years old.

This is Anton and Anna.

Anna gave him the name
“Boetie,” which means “little brother.”

Do you have any children, Mr. Whitfield?

Yes, a son. He just turned 9.

You must miss him.

Yes, I do, very much.

My mother never told me
about that, you know?

Going to Paris, meeting Langston Hughes.

It's so strange to think
your mother has a whole history

you know nothing about.

And how much do we know
about each other's history, Anna?

Mmm.

All we need.

Mmm.

King Tebu begot Bemboi.

And Bemboi begot Sadumo.

And Sadumo begot Mgutu.

And Mgutu begot Jongeleswei.

Jongeleswei begot Sabata.

He's naming his ancestors.

It's his way of placing himself

in the flow of time.

And Bwilakhiya begot me.

I am Anderson Delakeyabo Mbasi.

On that day, my life was affected.

It was late at night when the police came.

“Who's knocking so terribly?” I asked.

“The police,” they said. “Open up.”

They were looking for my son.

They said my son is a terrorist,

yet he was not.

That white policeman,

the one with the bald head,

hit me on my chest. Ba!

Then they broke everything in my house.

I said to them,

“Not even a jackal does this
to the sheep.”

I had five trees planted from the seeds,

and they bore me good fruits.

Then they went outside
and broke all my small trees.

Now I want to ask this policeman,

why did you break my trees?

Tell me.

Tell me why so that I can forgive you.

Oh, there. There he is. There.

- Well done.
- Anna.

You were great in there, sir.
You really showed those bastards.

I showed them what is ubuntu.

We are all part of each other.

When that policeman hurts me,

he hurts you.

He hurts everybody in this world,

but also himself.

Nelson Mandela taught us
this lesson, Mr. Whitfield.

You are American.

Write about this truth

you've learned here in South Africa.

Please take this stick of mine.

It is a very important stick.

It tells us
we are not alone in this world.

Ubuntu.

Ubuntu.

Don't you feel anything
for the people you've injured, Colonel?

No compassion? No shame?

You talk of compassion.

I see nothing but hatred
in your eyes.

So, what do you say
when you come home?

What do you say to your wife
when you kiss her hello

or pick your kid up and put him on your
lap and tell him a bedtime story, huh?

What do you say? “I had a nice day”?

You know what you say?

You know what you tell yourself
after cutting a man's throat?

You tell yourself
you're saving your country.

You're saving your country
from a bunch of savages

who would fuck your women,
kill your children, destroy the country

your forebears
created with their blood.

You tell yourself, “The blacks
got out of this country.

They'll drive it into the ground like
they did all over the rest of Africa.”

You tell yourself,
“The blacks need us whites to control them

because they're not fucking human beings.”

This is bullshit.
I've heard it all before.

There's nothing new here.

You wasted my time.

Good night, Colonel,
and fuck you very much.

You want to know what killing was like?

You want to know?

Keeping someone on the edge of life
because you need information?

I'll tell you, it was like having sex.

It was like fucking a woman
for the first time.

I've never felt excitement like that.

Sometimes, I couldn't wait to go out
at night and choose myself a Kaffir.

You motherfucker.

You want to kill me now,
don't you? Hmm?

We're all the same.

You're just like me.

I would love to Kill you.

Do you know what's saving you?

An old black man with a stick...

and a white woman

who took your shame upon herself.

Wait.

Don't go.

I can prove they knew
what we were doing...

the generals.

There was a farm...

a training facility.

Training farm for the askares?

Officially for training askares.

And unofficially?

Just for recreation.

Parties, beautifully stocked bar.

Generals used to come
from Pretoria every weekend.

They brought their girlfriends
to watch the show.

Well, where is the farm,
Colonel?

You going to torture me
to make me talk?

Where's the farm?

Boetold farm, near Krugersburg.

Go at night.

Your skin will protect you.

It can't be here.
I know all the farms around here.

He's making a fool of you.

No, it's here.

Stay here.

|'m coming with you.

Come on.

Holy shit.

Shoo! Go.

Come on.

Hush. Shh.

- Oh, my God.
- Oh.

Mr. Tabata knew he was going to die.

He asked to be buried with the flag
of the African National Congress.

He was a brave fighter.

I said yes.

The farm was owned, operated and funded

by the apartheid government
and implicates at the highest level,

the former government
in murder and assassination.

Colonel Henry De Jager
succeeded in exposing his superiors,

but at the cost of implicating himself.

He had to face trial.
But by making a full disclosure

and showing he had followed orders,

he was confident of getting amnesty.

We are satisfied

that Colonel De Jager acted on the advice,

orders or command

of one or more senior members

of the security branch of the government.

His application for amnesty succeeds...

On the grounds of full disclosure
and a political motive...

but fails on the grounds
of proportionality.

The means employed by Colonel De Jager

to carry out the orders of his superiors

were out of all proportion
with the objective sought.

Amnesty is hereby refused.

Colonel De Jager will stand trial
on 63 counts of murder.

I killed for my country.
I was ready to die for it.

I did what I believed was right!

How could you possibly think
it was right to do what you did?

- Aren't you Anna Malan?
- Yes.

- Malan from the farm Varoost?
- Yes.

You want to know how we thought
what we were doing was right?

Ask your brother.

Which brother?

- Which brother? Which brother?
- Anna, no! No!

- Which brother?
- Let him go, let him go.

Why, Boetie?

I can understand a bullet.

I truly can. I know a bullet.

We grew up with guns.
You taught me how to shoot.

I know a bullet.

But the applies, the electric cord,

the metal pipe with a condom over it...

I cannot understand.

I have no place for them in my head.

Help me to know.

Help me, Boetie.

My gentle Boetie.

Please.

Please.

I did it for us, Anna.

So our people could sleep safe.

I got blood on my hands
so we could all sleep safe.

You knew this, Anna.

We all knew this.

- Boetie...
- Go, Anna.

Go!

Ma?

Ma, we're leaving.

All those years ago...

that time I was in Paris...

- I met someone.
- Ma, I...

He was a poet from Chile.

Imagine that...
the other side of the world.

We couldn't have been more different...

or more the same.

- Ma, don't.
- I didn't tell your father, Anna.

I didn't stop loving him,

not for a moment.

I didn't tell him, but the lie
took something away.

Even if the truth isn't known, Anna,

the effect is there.

No more lies, Anna.

No more lies.

You expect me to forgive you, huh?

You want amnesty from me?

Well, two can play that game, huh?

Let's have a fucking hearing.

You can confess,
and then he can tell me

whether you're telling
the truth or not.

How many times, Anna?

Where? From when to when?

I love you.

|'m so sorry.

I'm so very, very sorry.

- Hi, Dumi.
- Hey, Felicia.

Where's Anna?

I don't know.
Do you want something to drink?

Yeah, thanks.

Great. Cheers.

At the final hearings
of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission

held in Capetown today,

a senior police
spokesperson told reporters...

Those who committed abuses
had their judgments clouded

by overzealousness or negligence.

No policeman has ever been
asked to commit atrocities...

She's gone, bro.

It's over.

- But hey, you still got me, okay?
- Yeah.

Okay.

Take care of yourself.

Be good.

Hey, Anna.

Oh, you missed the party.

Langston's coming home with me

for the farewell dinner.
Come with us. My wife is cooking.

I can't, Dumi.

This for me?

Hey, man.

Thanks, Dumi.

Thanks for making me laugh
when there was nothing to laugh about.

Hey, thanks, Anna Malan.

Oh...

Why don't I fill up this for the road.

I came to say good-bye.

I'm sorry about your brother.

Langston.

Ja, man.

Anna.

Bye-bye.

I told Edward.

Cheers, mate.

Anna.

You take care.

Thank Christ we're out of here.

My skin will never forget you.

Anna.

Langston, let's go.

That's my house.

What the hell's that guy doing?

I don't know.

Oh, Jesus, it's a car jacking.

Take the car.
I don't give a shit. Just take it.

Dumisani.

No, leave him.

He's American.

Ah. American.

We're Dumi's friends from before.

What?

Langston, it's okay, man.

Dumi doesn't want to talk today,

but Dumi liked very much to talk before.

- No.
- Yes.

They paid you.

How much did you get
for old Hubert Sobandla?

Ten rands? Fifteen, 207?

They were going to kill me,
my wife and the kids.

You pointed out
old Hubert Sobandla on the highway.

How many others, Dumisani?
How many more?

Langston, believe me, man,
they forced me.

Tell him what it means.

It means he's going to meet
his ancestors today.

Oh, Dumi!

Don't cry for him.

He's an mbembe from before.

Langston.

Langston.

Dumi!

Oh, God.

Oh, come on.
Come on, come on, come on.

Come on. Don't
die. Come on. Come on.

Come on, come on,
come on, come on.

- Hold on.
- Langston.

- Forgive me.
- No.

Somebody help me!

Out of love No regrets

Though the return Be never

Because of you
This country no longer lies

Between us but within

It breathes becalmed

After being wounded
In its wondrous throat

In the cradle of my skull
It sings, it ignites

My tongue

By a thousand stories I was scorched

A new skin

I am changed forever, I want to say:

Forgive me

Forgive me

Forgive me