I Was There

Sun Herald

Sunday April 20, 2008

Natalie Reilly, Helen Hawkes

A leader is released, a football nation triumphs, a wall comes tumbling down and China embraces Hong Kong - here, four travellers recount a moment in history.

'Joy, fear and sporadic violence'

Journalist Michael O'Reilly writes about being in the right place at the right time when Nelson Mandela's release from prison was announced. Mandela, the future president of South Africa, had been incarcerated for 27 years.

NELSON MANDELA IS FREED

February 2, 1990, was squaring up to be just another day in apartheid South Africa. The centre of Cape Town was a microcosm of the country's division. Security police ringed Parliament House as yet another white minority government declared itself to be legitimately in session, while thousands of black protesters were gathering nearby.

I was sitting on the roof of a ute, in the middle of a sea of protesters outside the city hall, as one of the crew of an international TV news company. The crowd was sitting down and the protest was following the usual script. To the best of my memory, Winnie Mandela was on stage, shouting, "We demand the release of Nelson Mandela and the unbanning of the ANC [African National Congress, of which Mandela was leader]!" to a storm of cheers and raised fists.

Meanwhile, someone had tuned the ute's radio to the state president's opening address. As we listened to FW de Klerk, he announced something totally unexpected: "The prohibition of the African National Congress ... is being rescinded."

My reaction was one of disbelief. De Klerk was newly elected and it was hoped he would be a reformer - but this single statement had just reversed 42 years of apartheid intransigence. There was near silence when the crowd was told. They wasn't buying it - not after so many years of oppression. This gave way to a confused muttering and looking about, until someone grabbed the microphone and yelled, "Viva, Mandela, viva!" Then the crowd was on its feet, chanting and singing, a mass of heads bobbing up and down in the surging, rhythmic dance of the toyi-toyi.

Meanwhile, we were in the middle of the biggest news story in the world. With a Betamax tape stuffed down my jacket, I jumped on a motorbike outside our office to try to make a satellite feed booking in nearby Sea Point, on the Atlantic shore. Riding like a madman, I jumped a red light and got chased down by a police car. "Ja, it's a crazy day," the officer said, eyeing my loathed foreign media logos. "Just be more careful, man." He let me go.

Nine days later, Mandela was freed in scenes of joy, fear and sporadic violence. An ecstatic crowd and a media scrum greeted the beaming 71-year-old as he walked to freedom from a jail in Paarl, some 60 kilometres from Cape Town. It would take another four years for him to become president.

But on the evening that Mandela's release was announced, as the sun was setting, I drove through nearby townships with a camera crew. Nothing was happening - no rallies, no protests, no fires, all was eerily quiet. It was as if a breath held for three decades had just been expelled.

THE BERLIN WALL FALLS

'I was there when the gate opened'

Erected in 1961, the 155-kilometre Berlin Wall was devised by the Soviet-backed East German authorities to stem the tide of people fleeing to West Germany. East Germans were forbidden to cross the wall into West Germany. Following the collapse of the Soviet empire, and after weeks of unrest, the wall came down on November 9, 1989. Melbourne video editor Rebecca Dallwitz, then 32, was there visiting family.

"My sister-in-law, Charlotte, lived in West Berlin.

Her boyfriend at the time, Erdmann Moeke, was a former East Berliner. He was an only child who was kicked out of East Berlin about 10 years before the wall came down because he was an agitator. The only places he could meet his parents were Czechoslovakia, Hungary and other Eastern-bloc countries. My husband's family is Prussian and their property is in the former East Germany that was taken by the Russians in World War II.

There had been enormous agitation in Hungary and Czechoslovakia about people being let through borders in the weeks leading up to the fall. People were forbidden to gather for demonstrations in East Berlin but the churches were already organising meetings and peaceful rallies to try to get the East German authorities to melt. Erdmann, a television reporter, was keeping a close eye on all of this.

On the day it happened, I went to visit Erdmann's mother with Charlotte. We'd brought along care packets for her, which included toothpaste, coffee, toilet paper and little luxury things. What struck me was that there was no advertising anywhere. It's a major city, with huge boulevards and beautiful streets, but it was bleak. It was very quiet; people were frightened.

We went back to West Berlin at 6 o'clock, to Charlotte's apartment, and Erdmann rang and said, 'You've got to watch the news. They're going to let East Berliners across without passes!' We thought, 'It's just not possible.' Then he said, 'Look, get down to the wall; we'll meet you there.' So I put on my coat and we ran.

We went to the Brandenburg Gate and thousands of people were standing on the wall on the western side. It was an incredible sight - from the east side, the police were shining huge spotlights up on the people and hosing them down to try to get them off the wall, so you had these silhouettes of people with spray going everywhere. I thought people were going to fall off but somehow they didn't.

It was probably about midnight when the East German minister for propaganda [Guenter Schabowski] was handed a piece of paper saying they would allow East Germans to come through to West Germany. When a reporter asked Schabowski, 'When will this be effective?' he said, 'Oh, well, I guess ... now.'

The guards didn't know what to do, so they just opened the Brandenburg Gate. I was there when they opened the gate. People flooded through. And the cheering and the tears and the clapping! You can't imagine the atmosphere - it was just the most sensational feeling. I remember this little old lady and she looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She was staggering forward, her eyes wide open, staring into the light in complete shock. She was probably expecting to be shot.

We thought we had better go across to the east. So we went to visit Erdmann's parents because ... we could. So we leapt across the gate and as this tide of people were going west, we went against it.

I still get goosebumps when I think about it.

We opened the door to their flat - the look on their faces when they saw us - they cried and cried and cried and we sat up drinking until six in the morning. They couldn't believe it was happening. I was being embraced by old people who were in tears. They'd spent most of their lives in this situation and of course their children had spent their whole lives in it. They were overwhelmed. And, I suspect, they were distrustful. They were happy but they expected that in a day or two the authorities would say, 'We made a mistake; you're all under arrest.'

The next day, we joined thousands of people in picking bits off the wall - I still have those pieces of the east side. Charlotte and I have a special bond because of those events. Twenty years later, we talk about it and we still cry." As told to Natalie Reilly

ITALY WINS THE FIFA WORLD CUP

'It was one big party'

When Italy played France in the FIFA World Cup final in Berlin on July 9, 2006, Claudio Carnevale, owner of Ecco Ristorante in Drummoyne, Sydney, was in Casino, near Rome, with his wife, Carmel, and sons Daniel, then 14, and Alexander, then 11.

"Although Carmel and I were not born in Italy, we have Italian heritage. My parents are from the Basilicata region and hers from Calabria. For Italians, football is a religion.

Of course, while Australia was still in the World Cup, we were cheering for them. But once it was down to Italy and France, it was, 'Forza, Italia!' - go Italy. We had rented a little apartment in the centre of Casino and readied ourselves to join the crowd in the cobblestone main square.

There were several giant screens and an hour or so before kick-off, at least 15,000 people were in the square. There were national flags everywhere and singing and chanting. People were saying, 'Vinciamo noi' (we're going to win); Italy hadn't won a World Cup for 24 years. When the national anthem was sung, the crowd joined in.

When the winning penalty was scored [by Fabio Grosso], people were jumping up and down, hugging and kissing the person next to them. Some were crying. We were caught up in the incredible emotion of it all. I think it's something my sons will never forget. There were trumpets being blown and all the cars had their horns and stereos going.

The town had set up fireworks for an Italian win and they started shooting through the sky. The honking of horns didn't stop for two to three hours and, during that time, there was dancing and singing. We watched from our hotel balcony, finally going to bed at 3am with the party still going.

The day after the victory, we went to Rome and the word got out that the players were going to be on a double-decker bus, riding into the Circo Massimo near the Colosseum. A stage had been set up for the players to parade the Cup. Thousands of people began flocking to the Colosseum. If you were claustrophobic or wanted to go to the bathroom, you had no chance. The players didn't get there until 10pm. Along the way, people wanted to congratulate them. When the team finally reached the square, the crowd erupted. It was one big party. Even the players were singing." As told to Helen Hawkes

HONG KONG IS HANDED OVER

'Some speculated we'd see tanks'

On July 1, 1997, the handover of Hong Kong to China marked the end of 156 years of British rule. ABC reporter Tom Iggulden recalls being there, amid the anticipation and rumours.

In 1994, when I travelled to Hong Kong looking for work as a journalist, I'd expected to be recording the handover to China for posterity. Instead I was celebrating in the company of my drunken team-mates from the Causeway Bay Rams Rugby Football Club, at a first-class Indian buffet with views of the Fragrant Harbour. Dressed in red, we welcomed the invading communists with a hearty toast: "If you can't beat the bastards, join 'em."

A TV featuring coverage of the solemn handover proceedings lost its battle with the well-lubricated hubbub. Some had speculated we'd be seeing tanks rolling down Nathan Road that night. They were wrong. The invasion came from the seas, brightly lit barges featuring giant pandas, dragons and animals of the Chinese zodiac chugging down the harbour, accompanied by what was described as the biggest fireworks display in Hong Kong's history.

Aside from the animals on the harbour, the nearby presence of heads of state and the fact we'd be waking up as communists, the night followed the same script as hundreds of others I'd enjoyed in Hong Kong. Which is to say it was filled with a certain sense of impending doom and a desire to make the most of things while the going was good.

The transfer was unlike any in recent history and few knew what to expect. Rumour and gossip about post-colonial life were rife. The nervousness was understandable. Since 1949, millions had fled to the territory from mainland China to escape the communist regime. Most arrived with nothing.

Among the players on my footy team were a mobile phone salesman, a bus mechanic, an engineer and a schoolteacher. Kelvin, Roman and Paul were born in Hong Kong and had no experience of living under communism. But they were confident little would change.

I left Hong Kong in late 1997 and returned there for the first time last November, 10 years almost to the day since I left. Kelvin, Roman and Paul had started families and been proven right in their optimism about Hong Kong's future. Friends of mine who had secured foreign passports were also still there. The passports were used for holidays, not escape.

© 2008 Sun Herald

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