SHORTLY before midnight last Wednesday, Scotland lost a great friend. Even at the best of times the world can ill afford to lose his like. Right now, when rarely has there been a greater need for those possessed of a selfless political disposition and profound sense of internationalist solidarity, his loss is even more poignant.

Speaking personally, I’ve met many fine people in my life, but few finer than Denis Goldberg.

Some of you reading this might be unfamiliar with this extraordinary man, who died of lung cancer aged 87 in South Africa this week. You will however have doubtless heard of his great friend and comrade Nelson Mandela.

It was back in 1964 that Denis, along with Nelson Mandela and other members of the African National Congress (ANC) who had fought against the injustice of apartheid, were tried with treason before being sentenced and incarcerated for decades.

Faced with what then could have been the death penalty, the story is now famous of how on the day the guilty sentence was pronounced, Denis – “Accused No 3” – turned in the dock to call out to his wife and mother: “Life! Life is wonderful!”

As a white person, however, Denis would have to endure that life sentence in isolation from his black comrades, given that racist apartheid applied even to convicted prisoners in South Africa at that time.

It was just after his release from Pretoria prison 22 long, hard years later, having been cut off from the outside world, that I was first introduced to Denis when he came to Scotland at the invitation of the anti-apartheid movement, with whom I was an activist-journalist.

Sitting here now writing this in the midst of the lockdown and self-isolation to which we are all subjected, I can’t help but again reflect on what those interminable years of lonely confinement must have been like for him back then.

Looking back also at that first meeting all those years ago, I recall too that our rendezvous place was a basement bar-restaurant in Glasgow’s Sauchiehall Street, somewhat ironically called The Colonial.

That the unfortunate name of the place was purely coincidence was embarrassing enough, that it was cell-like in atmosphere, devoid of natural light or windows, only made things worse.

Rather nervously during the interview with Denis, I asked whether he felt sure of ever fully recovering from his prison experience. Pausing momentarily, he looked me straight in the eye before replying.

“Oh yes, of course,” he shrugged off the question, casting a quick glance around the claustrophobic room, before adding nonchalantly with a grin, “but sometimes I just have to get up and go outside into the open air to remind myself I can now do what I want.”

As subsequent encounters between us would likewise confirm, this was typical of how self-effacing Denis could be when talking about the testing times, hardships and dangers his life as an activist and prisoner had thrown up.

Many years later in another interview with him for television, he quietly but passionately paid homage to those fellow Scots activists who he always maintained had played such a crucial role within a covert movement that was part of the anti-apartheid struggle.

Certainly, Scots of every description had thrown themselves behind the cause on a mainstream level of boycotts, pickets, rallies, concerts and calls for sanctions.

But Denis was always equally keen to highlight this special, sometimes clandestine or underground, role played by some in the Scotland of which he was so fond.

He spoke eloquently of his admiration for those ordinary Scots who acted as couriers, procured documents and established safe houses in Glasgow for those ANC activists in exile and under threat from the apartheid regime.

SO pivotal were these Scots during this period that agents of the regime’s secret service, the South African Bureau for State Security (BOSS) were deployed in Glasgow and elsewhere, monitoring and tracking activists.

“These were Scots, quite heroic young people who went in and out of South Africa delivering documentation, delivering money ... they played a role which showed the essential humanism of human beings who are going to help others,” recalled Denis during my last interview with him.

Having been born to Jewish parents and brought up in a household where people of all races were welcome, this helping of others, the oppressed, impoverished and dispossessed, was what made Denis, a first-generation South African, the remarkable person he was.

Here was a man who espoused a basic humanity that rarely failed to impress others caught in its spell. In Scotland there was no shortage of such people and Denis I’m sure found their openness, candour and internationalist outlook chimed with his own.

Reflecting on his activism, he once said that he “came from a generation who were prepared to put our lives on the line for freedom. Freedom is more important than your own life,” he insisted.

“I understood that what was happening in South Africa with its racism was like the racism in Nazi Germany that we were supposed to be fighting against,” he said.

“You have to be involved one way or another. That’s what I grew up with.”

Idealist though he was, Denis was also enough of the pragmatist to recognise that there remains “a long way to go” on race relations in South Africa and that the struggle to make life better in his beloved country goes on.

Right to the end of his life this week, he was involved doing just that through everything from health and housing projects to community arts.

“His was a life well lived in the struggle for freedom in South Africa. We will miss him,” his family said in a statement, while one South African journalist colleague spoke of how a “giant has fallen”.

Having had the privilege to know him and looking back on our conversations, rarely have I been struck so profoundly by the modesty, compassion and courage of a fellow human being.

Be it in South Africa, Scotland or beyond, Denis both recognised and championed those qualities needed in laying claim to be a tolerant, caring and multicultural society. We can all learn and take inspiration from his example in these uncertain and challenging times. I for one certainly do.

Hamba kahle – go well – Denis.