In Cry, the Beloved Country (1948), Alan Paton narrates the story of the Rev. Stephen Kumalo who must leave his native village of Ndotsheni in South Africa to find his sister and son who have left for Johannesburg but never let Kumalo know what happens to them after they arrive. The two leave for the big city because the meager land of Ndotsheni can no longer support the native people living there. Kumalo quickly finds his sister and then later his son, but it is too late. They are the latest victims of the injustice of apartheid that has deprived the native people of land and opportunity. The Europeans have horded all power for themselves. Yet, Paton does not fixate on this injustice alone. By juxtaposing the personal losses of both Stephen Kumalo and James Jarvis, Paton demonstrates a longing for justice that is the key to real change. It is the loss of James Jarvis' son, murdered by Stephen Kumalo's son, that paradoxically leads to a movement toward reconciliation and restoration. The losses of both fathers, both victims of injustice, create a longing for justice that begins to bring real change in the midst of continued suffering.
Apartheid was a system of injustice. It divided Europeans from natives in South Africa, keeping all power in the hands of the white minority. The best land was taken for Afrikaner and British farms. The mining corporations benefitted the European shareholders, and the natives provided cheap labor, forced to leave their families at home and live in company settlements. The system became incompatible with maintaining traditional tribal life as it forced the break-up of families. The people of Ndotsheni had been given so little land and of such low quality that they cannot all survive on it. They are forced to Johannesburg where they find no work and are deprived of the traditional support of the tribe. In their desperation, crime seems to offer a solution to their problems. Absalom Kumalo becomes a victim of this system, leading him to the murder of Arthur Jarvis.
It seems coincidental that the two fathers meet in Johannesburg though they both live in Natal, one in the valley and the other in the hilltops above. It appears coincidental that the two unexpectedly meet at Barabara Smith's house when Margaret Jarvis is visiting her niece and Stephen comes to check on one of their servants who is from Ndotsheni. This time Stephen is embarrassed that he must face the man whose great suffering is caused by his son's actions. He must inform Jarvis that his son killed Arthur. Yet there is a gentleness in James Jarvis' reaction. There is at first shock, but there is no anger in him. One would expect that each man's suffering would divide them, but the reverse is true. There is mutual compassion because each has lost a son. There is something more than coincidence here. There is the movement of divine Providence.
James Jarvis' compassion arises from what he has learned about his son since his death.
This new compassion leads to the restoration of Ndotsheni, a work that relies on both Stephen and James.
At the end of the novel, Stephen Kumalo ascends to the hilltops above Ndotsheni to keep vigil on the day before his son's execution as James descends from High Place.
In "Kura" from Baby No-Eyes, Patricia Grace seeks to use English in a way that keeps the Maori language and culture alive. The first-person narrator, in the voice of Gran Kura, uses a conversational style that mimics the way stories were told in Maori. She compares the stature of her body to that of a leaf: "See that leaf – like that. Thin like that, without weight. You could see through me those days, just as you can see through that leaf" (150). The reader, of course, cannot see the leaf to which she points, but the style makes the reader believe that the language really does come from an old woman who is telling a story to her grandchildren. The language is informal. Elsewhere, she refers to places as if the reader would know what she is talking about. She points out "where Staffords live now," and "the eldest daughter of Te Wharekapakapa and Kapiri Morehua" (148, 149). The use of Maori names and the assumption that the audience is familiar with these places make the reader feel a part of the intended audience, listening to a story expressed through a different cultural perspective.
Another way in which she uses English to keep the Maori language and culture alive is through code switching.