Hollerith 1890 tabulating machine with sorting box (Adam Schuster - Flickr: Proto IBM, CC BY 2.0 via WikiMedia)

The word “apartheid” conjures up black-and-white photographs of post-traumatic stress and politicians wagging their fingers; for some, it brings back very real and terrible memories of a different time in history, where friends and family were lost and homes torn apart. Computers are likely to be one of the very last thoughts someone might have when thinking about apartheid South Africa. However, computers were used on both sides – simultaneously powering the system behind apartheid and countering its reach. Here’s more about the use of computers during apartheid, and how we might have lived in a different country without connectivity.

Computers in South Africa

Computers seem like a “modern” invention that might have arrived in southern Africa later than elsewhere. However, a little bit of research quickly points out that computers have an earlier history than most people would imagine.

According to Wits University, they received their first computer system for use in 1960. Much like the initial computer networks set up from United States universities, these systems were mostly used for internal record-keeping and communication. Computers weren’t yet a household item. Smartphones might have seemed like an attempt at witchcraft.

South African computer users can also thank the pioneer Joan Joffe, whose company became the first to import and sell IBM computers to the consumer market in 1982. Without this step, computers might have taken longer to reach mainstream use. Soon after this, computer users would have access to early PC games like Doom, Pac-Man and Wolfenstein.

Is it all that surprising that the apartheid government also realised they could use computers for countrywide oppression? Let’s recall that it’s the same government who banned everything by Pink Floyd.

Computers in (apartheid) South Africa

According to Stanford University – perhaps the most comprehensive source I could find – the first electric tabulator device was shipped to South Africa’s IBM representatives in 1952. If you’re wondering, tabulators tracked information on what an older generation called punch cards: the information punched out on the cards would be tracked or counted by the tabulator machine. Results would be displayed on dials. Today, we have spreadsheets and webcams, but for a great deal of the previous century people were using tabulator machines and beepers. (If you’re a younger reader in the future, the idea of carrier pigeons might well blow your mind.)

According to Stanford University sources, the apartheid government maintained their files electronically via the Department of Interior and what they called “the Book of Life”: “The passbook records included data on ‘racial classification’, name, sex, date of birth, residence, photo, marital status, driver’s licence, date of departure from and return to the country, place of work or study, and fingerprints.” Other apartheid government departments also had computer access, says the Stanford source: “The Department of Prisons held political prisoners without trial, and used an IBM computer for ‘financial’ purposes.”

The true use of computers, according to this, is far more extensive than most South Africans are taught in school history books – or might imagine to research. Apartheid police, the Department of Prisons, the Department of Labour and the Treasury were all reliant on computer systems in some way or another.

Computers also had a role to play in the opposition to apartheid. Operation Vula made covert, quick communication easier using computer systems, namely an imported Toshiba 2000 laptop, according to first-hand accounts by Tim Jenkin.

Do androids dream of freedom? Operation Vula

Operation Vula was one of the programmes set up to oppose apartheid – specifically to establish a quick and electronic communications network, which eventually facilitated the movement of exiled ANC members without being noticed. Vula is derived from the Xhosa word vulindlela, meaning “open the road”. This is something I found out about by coincidence, and not something I can remember ever reading about in a history book. The true history of apartheid opposition can’t be fully told without letting people know that technology might have been a large part of its success.

Tim Jenkin, mentioned earlier in this article, might seem like a familiar name to some readers. That’s not because I’ve mentioned him more than once, but because some might have seen the movie (or read his book) Escape from Pretoria. Operation Vula is a part of Tim Jenkin’s story that you won’t see in the movie. However, it might have made for a worthwhile sequel. Anyone who has the patience and skill to escape from a by creating an elaborate set of keys, is surely a determined enough genius for his role in Operation Vula to make sense.

A 2024 talk at the University of Cape Town reveals more about Operation Vula and how it worked. Secret, anti-apartheid communication included “methods like public telephones with agreed code words; coding methods in books; and concealed communication methods like invisible ink and microfilm.” Operation Vula came to fruition when activists had to find a faster means to communicate. The answer came in the form of an internationally connected computer system, according to Jenkin. Activists in South Africa were connected to various systems, including one used in London. “But when you’re using electronics, the distance doesn’t really matter. The lines were terrible in those days, and, of course, anything going to Zambia was suspect from the start. So, we decided to use London as the hub.” A Toshiba 2000 laptop was used as the main communications device on home soil. “The laptop didn’t have a hard drive, a touch pad or a mouse.” The computer used a black-and-white screen and what the speaker refers to as a built-in operating system. Software was introduced via a floppy disk, and encrypted messages were transferred “to a tape recording using an acoustic modem”. The message, encoded into sound bytes, could then be played to an activist’s answering machine (located, in this case, in London) through a public telephone, where they could then decode its results.

While this seems like something one might have to do in the event of a zombie apocalypse or dystopian fiction novel, the covert communication network called Operation Vula instead helped oppose draconian rules – and had its part to play in saving the world.

Lees ook:

Persbericht: Oud nieuws heeft weer toekomst, onze kronieken gaan digitaal