The Night of the Storm

On a stormy July evening in 1993, two gunmen entered a church in Kenilworth in Cape Town and opened fire on an unsuspecting congregation.

Eleven people were killed; a further 58 were wounded.

And the nation was plunged into shock at such a brazen attack at the height of uncertain democratic transition.

This is the story of the St James Church Massacre - a politically motivated attack that took place just three months after the assassination of Chris Hani, and nine months before South Africans would go to the polls for the first time as a free nation.

It's a story about a country coming to terms with its past, of grace comforting grief, and forgiveness overcoming tragedy...

Four members of the Azanian People's Liberation Army sat in the rainy car park of St James Church at around 19:30 that Sunday evening while worshipers sang inside the building.

Two were preparing to go in armed with assault rifles and hand grenades. Another was preparing to stand sentry outside, and the fourth was idling the getaway car – a 1974 yellow Datsun.

One of their aims was to take the armed struggle into 'white areas', as heard at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. St James though had always been a mixed church.

"I was leading the service. I had just introduced two of our young adults, and they were about to sing a duet," says Ross Anderson, associate rector at the time of the attack.

Sichumiso Nonxuba and Gcinikhaya Makoma flung the doors open to the left side of the church stage, and proceeded to fire automatic rounds at the congregants nearest to them for approximately 30 seconds.

They then lobbed two hand grenades into the 1200-seater auditorium - one landing near the front, and one near the back.

Gerard Harker, 21, dived onto the first grenade. He succeeded in saving several around him, but lost his own life along with his 13-year-old brother Wesley.

Near the back of the church, Myrtle Smith was hit by a piece of shrapnel - wounded by one of the six-inch nails taped around the grenades.

Anderson recalls stepping up to the pulpit to yell "Get down!", as a hail of bullets flew over ducking heads. Many more were injured, maimed, or would have their own near misses.

It was in the heart of that early chaos that Charl van Wyk, a member of the church who was armed on the night, decided to take action.

"Once I realised that this was a real attack and wasn’t a play, I went down onto the ground with everybody else, and I pulled out a .38 special revolver that I had in an ankle holster," says van Wyk.

Makoma was hit in the hand, derailing the plan to return and throw four petrol bombs into the pews.

The gunmen fled. Van Wyk gave chase.

And silence descended on the church.

And so, this message became the rallying cry of a church rebuilding, while the country wrestled with its own journey toward forgiveness and reconciliation.

All four perpetrators were eventually arrested by 1996. Three would receive amnesty during a TRC application in 1997-98, arguing that they were following orders and that churches had been "complicit" in taking land from black people during apartheid. The TRC nonetheless labelled the attack and the others sanctioned by APLA during this period as "gross violations of human rights”. Three of the men would apologise to the church, both at the TRC and privately at the church.

As this process unfolded, the victims of the St James Church Massacre aimed to live out their creed which had become so painfully real for them during the Night of the Storm.

Gie said that while some were scarred by the event, she had been determined to return to the place she calls home, and did so a week later. "We had prayer meetings and police set up counselling sessions and people on the whole wanted to come back to church. There was a dogged determination amongst us that we weren’t going to let evil prevail."

She was also grateful for small but lasting mercies, like the storm keeping many people at home that fateful night or ensuring the back doors of the church would be locked, scuppering the plan for further destruction.

The church itself experienced a boom in visitors and empathy following the attack, and struggled to accommodate all the well-wishers and sympathisers from around the world who would visit in the weeks and months that followed, with numbers often overflowing into the foyer, said both Smith and Retief.

Retief and church members were invited to speak on forgiveness to audiences around the world. Van Wyk was commended by police and would later befriend Makoma while the latter was in prison.

For Lulu Mdodana, who escaped on the night unharmed, but struggled like others with the aftermath, the process took a little bit longer. "While I was at the TRC hearings, I thought 'oh no, these people have done this to us and now they want amnesty?' No, I was still angry.

And for Craig Smith, who lost his mom Myrtle that tragic evening, he had this to say 30 years later: "At that stage we didn’t know who the perpetrators were, but the spirit of forgiveness was there. We also know it’s pointless fighting violence with violence, it's just a downward spiral, so God’s way, is the better way.

"If you have experienced God's forgiveness, that goes a long way in helping you to forgive someone else that has done these things to you."

Finally, Anderson had this to add: "Love is the only force that can transfer an enemy into a friend, and out of a situation like that, bring genuine peace."

St James held a memorial service on Tuesday evening to commemorate 30 years after the Massacre and honoured the memory of the 11 people who were killed that night.