Williams lifts lid on racism
By Brendan Gallagher
12:01AM GMT 28 Oct 2002
For nearly a decade now Chester Williams has been the dignified, uncomplaining face of black rugby in South Africa. A World Cup hero, a role model and living proof that the system in post-apartheid South Africa works. Endlessly diplomatic and positive whenever racism was mentioned, black and white alike could be proud of Williams and his achievements.
After the launch of his autobiography today all South Africa can still be proud of Williams - in fact their respect for him should grow - but the rugby community might have to reassess its much-hyped role in South Africa's nation building.
Williams, now South Africa's sevens coach, and his co-author Mark Keohane, the Springboks communications director, have both risked their jobs to tell the story.
"It's something I had to do before I can move on with my life in rugby," Williams said. "There was a lot of stuff that needed saying." Keohane agreed. "Chester's story had to be told, the need to communicate it was much much bigger than my job," he said. "I would have happily resigned if need be. It's the only book I've ever wanted to be involved in."
In essence Williams claims that everything he has achieved has been in spite of the system. Throughout his career he has endured racial abuse, sometimes overt and insulting, sometimes subtle and demoralising.
His World Cup colleague James Small - whose precocious performance at a schoolboy trial inspired the young Williams to take the game seriously - called him a f****** ****** on the pitch and shunned him throughout his career.
Springbok mealtimes became a nightmare. Williams and other black South African players dreaded arriving early and having to choose a table first. They would sit there humiliated, waiting in vain for a white player to join them. There were notable exceptions - Gary Teichmann, Rassie Erasmus, Werner Swanepoel - but the black players could not spend their lives pathetically hoping they would appear at the foot of the stairs.
By the end of his playing career, Williams had grown to detest the quota system whereby Springbok and provincial sides would be required to nominate a minimum of three players of colour in their squads of 22. On the Springbok tour of Britain and Ireland in 2000, coach Harry Viljoen bluntly told Williams he was finished as an international player after the Ireland Test, yet needed him on the bench against England. A cosmetic and cynical selection if ever there was one.
"I found it degrading to be put on the bench just to make up the quota, as was the case against England," Williams said. "I would much rather have been dropped altogether, that would be much more honest."
Williams, in retrospect, also objects to the way his image was used to promote and justify South African rugby, especially during the World Cup of 1995. He feels his story was badly misrepresented.
"I was definitely not a product of any enlightened developmental system put in place to help black and coloured players. No way. I did it the hard way. I fought my way up through the "white" system on merit. I am a rugby player, pure and simple, that is my story."
Both Willams and Keohane believe that an important corner has been turned in the last 12 months or so, and appreciate the South African Rugby Football Union's acquiescence in their project.
"I kept the chief executive Rian Oberholzer and coach Rudolph Straeuli fully informed at all times and they saw the manuscript first," Keohane said. "Perhaps there are passages that embarrass them or with which they disagree, but to sum up Rudi's response: You are here working for us, you believe in us, we must be doing something right. Everybody's imput is valuable, let's move on."
Williams' life story, the race issue apart, is one of the more remarkable. His withdrawal from the squad on the eve of the 1995 World Cup with a hamstring injury was cruelly highlighted a week later when, as an employee of the Western Province union, he had to act as "gofer" and water boy for the Australian bench in South Africa's opening game.
Then came the battle of Port Elizabeth, when two Boks were sent off against Canada and the squad had to be augmented. Williams, fit again, was recalled to the relief of nation's image makers, and the black face of the World Cup celebrated by scoring four tries in the quarter-final against Western Samoa.
Thereafter his life became something of a soap opera - World Cup triumph, quickly followed by the insult of being offered less than other Springbok players by Francois Pienaar, who was recruiting for the doomed World Rugby Corporation. In purely marketing terms, he was second only to Jonah Lomu.
Then came two career-threatening knee injuries which left him on the sidelines for two years, marriage to his childhood sweetheart with President Nelson Mandela as the guest of honour, divorce, remarriage, a return to South Africa colours, the final humiliation under Viljoen, his reincarnation as a sevens coach, a split from his controversial agent and now the book. Never a dull moment.
Underpinning everything, his motivation throughout stemmed from an incident in his childhood days and his hero worship of Wilmot, his older and more talented brother who died of meningitis, aged 21. Like most older brothers he affected to take little interest in his younger sibling, but one day Chester saw a piece of paper on top of Wilmot's school satchel. He sneaked a look. The jotting, alongside Wilmot's maths homework, simply said: "Chester is the best centre, one day he will become a Springbok."
He did, and more.
, well said.
