Duma Nokwe became the first African member of the Johannesburg Bar in 1956, presenting the apartheid government with a problem it tried hard to make go away. Nokwe’s spirit and determination are honoured with an artwork by architect and artist Lewis Levin as part of the Sunday Times’s Heritage Project, reports Celean Jacobson

When Duma Nokwe became the first African member of the Johannesburg Bar in 1956 — beating his nearest rival, Nelson Mandela, to the honour — the apartheid government had an anomaly on their hands.

Under apartheid laws a black man could not always take tea with his white colleagues, and certainly not rent rooms in a whites-only Group Area.

The Johannesburg Bar debated Nokwe’s membership application; whether “non-Europeans” could use its law library or the common room; and what the social etiquette might be.

Should “non-White advocates” be considered for appointment to the Bench?

A book celebrating the centenary of the Johannesburg Bar says that most of the esteemed members of the Bar council couldn’t see what the fuss was about.

A few said they wouldn’t object to “non-Europeans” being housed in the building “provided they were on a separate floor or separate portion of a floor ...” One was in favour of building a separate library as soon as possible for “non-Europeans” .

Among those objecting was BJ Vorster, future Justice minister and prime minister.

Legendary human rights lawyer George Bizos remembers that Nokwe was upset about the discussion over whether he should or should not enter the common room, and sought advice from Walter Sisulu.

“Walter said in that way he had: ‘Well, chaps, we have been fighting for many years to get one of ours into the Bar, and now are we going to lose that over a cup of tea?’”

In the end Nokwe did not apply for commonroom privileges — and was denied chambers at His Majesty’s building by the government.

He was told to practise in a “native residential area”, which would have been impossible as there were no courts or facilities in those areas.

The Bar council appealed to the Minister of Native Affairs, but H F Verwoerd, the “architect of apartheid” who went on to become prime minister, refused to see the deputation.

But Nokwe, a former schoolteacher, had his own ideas, and teamed up with legendary human rights advocate George Bizos, to operate illegally out of an office on the 8th floor of His Majesty’s Building.

The name Duma Nokwe was displayed on a brass plate at the door and the Bar’s newest member set about making his mark on the court, charming magistrates with his fluent Afrikaans and strong cross-examination techniques.

Nokwe should have had an illustrious law career that would have seen him take his place alongside some of the most famous names in South African legal history. Great advocates of the day — men such as Kentridge, Bizos, Unterhalter, Maisels, Fischer and Wolpe — were his peers and mentors.

But in the end they were his defenders when, in the year he was admitted to the Bar, he was put in the dock and charged with treason.

Alongside Nokwe were more bright legal minds: Mandela, Oliver Tambo and Joe Slovo. Mandela had been tipped to become the first African advocate, but a racist lecturer denied him a supplementary exam, forcing him to settle for practising as an attorney.

As Bizos writes, the handful of lawyers who fought apartheid injustices had a difficult time.

“They had to interact with hostile security policemen, had to find money to pay counsel, run the risk of losing some of their clients, they had difficulties with their partners, were unfairly criticised by certain judges and disciplined by an unsympathetic Law Society, mainly because of the ‘unpopular’ political cases they took.”

As the country commemorates the 50th anniversary of the Treason Trial this year, Bizos recalls how Nokwe tried to carry on his practice working during adjournments, while helping with the biggest case of his life.

“Duma was on the liaison committee for the accused. He was a very active participant in the preparation of the defence,” Bizos said in a recent interview.

During the trial the ANC was banned — a development that made it hard for leaders like Mandela and Tambo to communicate with each other. But they could talk to a lawyer.

“So they came to visit Duma and me,” Bizos said. “We couldn’t go to a tea room or restaurant so we had tea up in our rooms in our chambers. We would talk, then I would excuse myself to go to the library.

“They had things to discuss that I was not to be party to. Then, when they were finished, Duma would come to the library and we would go back and finish our discussions about our work, our careers, what the lawyers were planning for the defence.”

Nokwe was acquitted in 1961, but life was becoming increasingly dangerous for him as a former secretary of the ANC Youth League and secretary-general of the national organisation, and in early 1963 he was sent into exile in Southern Africa and continued to play a leadership role in the ANC.

Bizos never saw his friend and colleague again. “I was very careful not to communicate with people in exile because my task was not to be involved in underground activity, but to use such talents that I may have to defend justice,” he said.

Nokwe’s achievements are still honoured, for example by a group of Sandton advocates whose e-mail address is @duma.nokwe.co.za — a very 21st-century tribute. “Now at the Bar there are many men and women, black and white,” said Bizos. “He’s revered as a pioneer that broke through the bar.”

Nokwe’s children had little idea of the great role he was playing in South African history. To daughters Poppy Nokwe-Hlophe and Nomvuyo Nokwe he was just ‘dad’, the parent who protected them from the constant dangers around them.

“There were all these uncles in the ANC in and out the house. There was Uncle Nelson and Tata Sisulu. We knew something was happening. We knew these were great men, but we couldn’t relate that to our father. Dad was just dad,” said Nomvuyo.

Their father died in Lusaka, Zambia, in 1978 at the age of 50.

Today his widow, Vuyiswa Nokwe, lives in Cape Town.

Said Nokwe-Hlophe: “We miss him a lot more now in the new South Africa. He had a vision of what it would be like.”