Leaping with pride

Butana Komphela is right. The Springbok emblem has indeed been most divisive in the 102 years of its existence.

It was divisive when Phillip Nel was called off his farm and virtual retirement to lead the Springboks on what would be a triumphant tour of New Zealand in 1937.

It was divisive when Nel was not selected for the first test of the tour.

It was divisive when tough forwards such as Stoffel Bosch and Ivor Dorrington were left out of the 1956 touring side in favour of “Craven’s Babes” from Stellenbosch.

It was divisive when the Springbok selectors steadfastly selected Piet Visagie ahead of Jannie Barnard.

It was divisive when it was claimed Broederbonders within the SA Rugby Board influenced the selection of Afrikaners to be Springbok captains.

It was divisive when anti-Apartheid protestors railed against the touring teams of 1969/70 (UK), 1971 (Australia) and New Zealand (1981). It was divisive when Wynand Claassen was not selected to lead his own team in the first test in New Zealand in 1981 and it was divisive when the proposed 1985 All Black tour was called off because of the abhorrent racial policies of the National Party government.

It was divisive when the curtain of isolation was drawn aside in 1994 and there was an outcry over the playing of ‘Die Stem’ at Ellis Park.

It was divisive when Francois Pienaar was dropped; when Gary Teichmann was dropped and when Bob Skinstad was picked.

It was also most divisive when Luke Watson was forced into the side by presidential decree in 2006.

But… it was also the most unifying symbol of all; providing a focal point which stated “I am South African and proud to be.”

For me, a white South African (from a liberal anti-National Party family, I might add) immersed in rugby tradition, the Springbok badge was always special. Like most boys from my background I dreamed of being one but not being blessed with the necessary superior physical attributes I ended up turning my enthusiasm for the game into a career.

As a rugby writer I was obviously caught up in the history of Springbok rugby and understood its standing in that world, its value as a brand and its singular “South Africaness” but I also had empathy with black people who resented the Springbok as “the badge of the oppressor.”

During the miraculous dawning of South Africa’s new democracy the issue of whether to keep the leaping antelope, chosen because it was unique to southern Africa, caused me no end of mental turmoil.

Eventually, persuaded by the fact that the Springbok, alongside the Silver Fern and uniform of the All Blacks, is the most visible crest in rugby, I decided that it should be kept – for rugby; the sport which, incidentally, had registered the elements of the leaping Springbok with the Department of Heraldry.

And then came 1995 and an outpouring of national pride such as which I had not experienced.

As I wrote in a chapter of “The Badge – a centenary of the Springbok emblem,”, an excerpt which follows, I came under the spell of that modern day paragon Nelson Mandela.

“As an act of reconciliation it was unsurpassed – the day Nelson Mandela wore a Springbok jersey onto the field at Ellis Park. In what was a truly saintly gesture, Mandela, by embracing a sporting symbol that some South Africans loved and others detested, succeeded in uniting a fractured nation like never before. “When he appeared on the field on that Saturday afternoon, June 24, 1995, minutes before the Rugby World Cup Final wearing a Springbok jersey with the No 6 of South Africa’s captain Francois Pienaar on his back, “Madiba” radiated a message of accord that will never be forgotten by the 65,000 who were there. His gesture touched many millions more.

“It will not be too far-fetched to say that South Africa’s beloved statesman was the most famous man ever to don a Springbok jersey.

“That he chose to do it on such an occasion, just months after South Africa’s miracle transition from loathsome apartheid to a fledgling democracy, and that the symbolism he intended was so widely accepted and understood, speaks volumes for his exceptional statesmanship.

“In that moment the Springbok jersey was not only exposed to adulation the like of which mere rugby could not engender, but it was accepted as a South African symbol that could heal rather than widen deep rifts in society.

“It was significant that the Springbok badge Mandela wore on that golden day was in itself emblematic of South Africa’s embryonic democracy in that the leaping antelope was placed proudly over a garland of four King Proteas to show rugby’s connection with the preferred emblem of other, newly unified South African sports organisations.”

Ranged alongside “Madiba” Butana Komphela, the Parliamentary Sports Portfolio Committee Chairman who, with a motley crew of grudge-bearing supporters whose qualifications are suspect to say the least, has rekindled the call to kill the Springbok is a lightweight.

His argument, that it is time for South Africa to be united under one emblem, is also flawed. Few nations have a single insignia. The All Blacks, for instance, wear a Silver Fern, the design of which is a trademark of the NZ Rugby Union, while other New Zealand teams display different versions of that country’s indigenous frond. None go by the name All Blacks.

In Australia the national rugby union team call themselves Wallabies, but the rugby league team are the Kangaroos. The Wallabies ended up in gold-and-green jerseys because the Springboks were in green-and-gold. Their world-beating cricketers have no real nickname, wear the coat of arms of Australia and revel in owning a “baggy green cap.” Their national football team goes by the awful “Socceroos” and their women’s rugby team style themselves as the “Wallaroos.”

The English rugby team sport a rose as their badge, but are not known as the “Roses”, while the cricketers have a badge consisting of a crown and three lions rampant while their soccer team has just the three lions.

The fact is that the Springbok is intrinsic to rugby, is accepted all over the world as the symbol of South Africa and, indeed, is revered by many thousands of South Africans – unless, of course, Komphela and his fellow parliamentarians were coerced to wear it during last year’s triumphal march through France as were the thousands who paraded in it on the days before the 2007 World Cup Final.

The wearers of the Springbok have more than lived up to their unwritten contract with Nelson Mandela to bring fame and honour to their nation in exchange for the right to continue displaying the badge that inspires and motivates them.

The real debate in South African sport should be about the country’s embarrassing lack of performance in the Olympics and the parlous state of the national football side.

If there is to be discussion about the Springbok as an emblem the least Komphela, Cheeky Watson and others of spurious constituency and dubious qualification to attend a National Sports Indaba can do is honour the spirit of the democracy created in 1994 by asking those who wear it and to whom it means something more than bitter point-scoring.

Equally if Luke Watson allegedly cares so little for the Springbok jersey why did his father go to such lengths to have them awarded to his son; and why did he accept them?

For me? I remember Ellis Park in 1995 and the Stade de France in 2007 when, along with the Springbok, my heart leapt with pride.