It was the same whether he was talking to the politics department at some university in Sweden or to genteel activists in a cathedral city in middle England. In their polite, ever-so-respectful way his hosts in the anti-apartheid movement would suggest, never demand, that he talk about his experiences in prison or how, as a child, a Catholic priest had instilled a sense of social justice in him. At the time, the thing that annoyed him even more than their liking for these insipid tales of victimhood was the way they were always so terribly reasonable. Why couldn’t they just confront him, actually look him in the eye and say: ‘Shut the fuck up about the revolution. You’re here to make people feel good about themselves, not make them feel guilty for being part of the system you hate so much!’

He dragged his eyes away from the rain-spotted window, wondering how long he’d been lost in reverie. He found a recent and detailed account from the Land Collective about a strike by workers at an orange farm in Mpumalanga Province. It described how the trouble had flared up after a whole crop had had to be discarded because the pesticide had been contaminated with petrol. The farm owner, one Piet Meyer, had immediately blamed the workers and sacked the elderly foreman. The old man’s protests – that he had had nothing to do with what had happened – had fallen on deaf ears. Meyer’s attitude – as reflexive as swatting one of the ticks that would land on his leathery, sun-freckled skin – was a throwback to the old era. Anton read the first paragraph:

SACK FIRST and ask questions later – NOTHING has changed. So now the union bosses have been called in. What a joke. They are part of the SYSTEM. They will take six months to write a report and then they will negotiate in a FIVE-STAR hotel and the PEOPLE will be FORGOTTEN. The only thing the farmer is interested in is the FAT PROFIT he is going to make when he SELLS THE LAND. Yes, he wants to SELL his farm to whoever will give him most money. FOREIGNERS want the land but Meyer does not care – he just wants MILLIONS of rands. Nobody asks what will happen to the WORKERS. What are YOU going to do about this? Are you going to leave this INJUSTICE to stand?

It was only ten thirty in the morning and Anton already felt tired and exasperated. He peeled off his rimless glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, and tugged at his goatee. He heard the hiss of the espresso machine and looked over to the counter where Saleh, the Turkish café owner, was taking a breather before preparing for the midday rush.

‘Get me another double-shot coffee, man,’ he shouted.