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During this time, knowing English was a sign of wealth and intelligence. While reading this book, the narrator, Trevor, is forced to know many languages to help him maneuver the ins and outs of being a colored person in Africa during the Apartheid.

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The significance behind the title "Born a Crime" is that 

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The significance behind the title "Born a Crime" is that 

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because the tribes were supposed to be separate and if there were colored people who we "mixed" then it was already a crime because the parents were two different races.

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Colored Vs. Black: During the Apartheid 

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Colored Vs. Black: During the Apartheid 

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During the Apartheid, colored people were considered a person where one of the parents was white and the other black, which was forbidden during this time. The colored people walked the line between being treated in the right manner, and being treated as black people were during this time. There were also people of Indian and Chinese decent. The government was unsure on how to treat these groups of people during the Apartheid.

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When Trevor Noah was 20 he started stand-up comedy at a South African after his friends pressured him to get up onto the stage. His career expanded from this point until he was one of the top comedians in his country. He after eventually getting experience in the US, he rose through the ranks to became one of the top comedians in modern America.

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On Biography.com, learn more about South African comedian Trevor Noah, who in 2015 was appointed to succeed Jon Stewart as host of the popular 'Daily Show.'

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Nelson Mandela choose to become South Africa's President in 1994. He also choose to fix the countries differences and improve the livelihood of those oppressed by the Apartheid. He also choose to demonstrate kindness, love, and peacefulness instead of hate towards people who had different thinking.

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In this novel, Nelson Mandela speaks of his time as a young man in a very racist South Africa. He talks about his early life and his beginnings as a politician. He also speaks of his time in prison and how it changed his image of whites.

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Authors take on the Novel Born a Crime, by Trevor Noah. 

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Authors take on the Novel Born a Crime, by Trevor Noah. 

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Trevor Noah, Author And Narrator Of 'Born A Crime' | Audible.com

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Trevor Noah, Author And Narrator Of ‘Born A Crime’

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The Daily Show host and native South African talks about his engrossing new memoir, Born a Crime, bringing his own story to life in audio, and the greatest gift his mother ever gave him.

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But the film is more than a dramatic reconstruction of that friendship, of Mr. Woods's radicalization as he is introduced to the privations of the townships and to the brutal menace of the Security Police, or of Mr. Biko's murder and Mr. Woods's subsequent escape into exile dressed as a priest. It is, Sir Richard said during a recent visit to New York, an exercise in what he described as ''propaganda,'' a 2 1/2-hour drama that works to radicalize its audiences and to send them out of the theaters determined to press for stronger international action against South Africa. A Timely Venture

For those who believe that economic sanctions and divestment can hasten the end of apartheid, the film comes at an important juncture. Censorship has drastically reduced the flow of information about what Mr. Vorster, in another of my encounters with him, described as ''the derogatory aspects'' of South African society. It is one of the few successes that the Pretoria Government has been able to claim in recent years, and opponents of the racial system outside South Africa are worried that the world's attention may falter.

At his hotel on Park Avenue, Sir Richard, who produced and directed the film, spoke candidly about his hopes for its impact. ''Through Biko, I wanted to show what life in South Africa means to blacks, and in certain circumstances what it means to whites,'' the 63-year-old film maker said. ''My objective was straightforward - to insure that having seen the movie, nobody will be able to remain indifferent to the situation in South Africa, and to encourage them to stand up and say, 'This is intolerable!' ''

For the director, tackling South Africa has been a gamble. For one thing, the most powerful of his previous films, notably the hugely successful ''Gandhi,'' have dealt with history and with heroes - or antiheroes -whose places in history are fixed. With ''Cry Freedom,'' he has stepped into an ongoing crisis and taken as his focus a figure, Mr. Biko, who was in many ways ambiguous, and who in any case died too soon to have had any decisive influence on his country's future.

It remains to be seen whether Universal Pictures, which contributed 82 percent of the film's financing (the balance, nearly $4 million, came from the Government of Zimbabwe), will reap rewards on anything like the scale of ''Gandhi,'' which has taken nearly $100 million in box-office and video sales. Sir Richard is hoping that box-office success will attract backers for his next project, a film on Thomas Paine; in the meantime, he will spend the next seven months on a world tour promoting ''Cry Freedom.''

For any film maker, capturing the complexities of South Africa, and succeeding dramatically at the same time, is a major challenge. In the case of ''Cry Freedom,'' the film addresses a central problem - the fact that Mr. Biko was relatively unknown outside the country - with a shift of focus. The climactic moments, Mr. Biko's death and funeral, occur when the film is barely halfway through, leaving much of the remaining action to the banning of Mr. Woods and his escape to Lesotho on New Year's Eve 1977.

To anybody who knew Mr. Woods in South Africa, there was no doubting his courage. As a journalist, he mocked the ruling Afrikaners and their system with temerity; his weekly, nationally-syndicated column was the stuff of celebration wherever opponents of apartheid gathered. Nor did he hesitate, as his campaign for the prosecution of Mr. Biko's killers demonstrated, to step out of the role of critic and into that of a political activist when his moral scruples required. Two Ordeals

Whether his ordeal belongs on a par with that of Mr. Biko is another matter. But to Sir Richard, the division of attention between the two men was a natural choice, given the need to be commercially successful and the parallel requirement, if the production was to have a major political impact, to go beyond ''the purely black-oriented subject'' of Mr. Biko and his beliefs to a wider audience in countries that are best positioned to confront South Africa economically, an audiences that is predominantly white.

''In the end, because he had such a short life, there was very little dramatic that happened to Steve, apart from his death,'' Sir Richard said. ''Nor was he even very well known, at least outside South Africa.'' Accordingly, the ''Gandhi team'' that put together ''Cry Freedom'' - mainly Sir Richard and John Briley, the American screenwriter whose work on ''Gandhi'' won him an Oscar for best screenplay in 1983 - decided that the Woods escape, complete with a nerve-racking hitchhike in a police paddy wagon and an abortive attempt to ford a swollen river - would strengthen the film at the box office.

Looking back, Sir Richard says now that he was primed to make a film about South Africa from an early age, when his father, principal of University College, London, led family discussions of the racial issue. Much later, his interest was heightened by the research required for ''Gandhi,'' which begins with the Mahatma's years as a lawyer in Natal.

In 1982, Mr. Woods, looking for a film vehicle for the Biko story, sent his book on the subject, and his autobiography, to Sir Richard, prompting the film maker to make a private journey in 1983 to South Africa with his wife, Lady Sheila. The visit provided much of the material that gives coloring to ''Cry Freedom.''

Sir Richard described his attitudes before the visit as typical of the ''well-intentioned liberal'' - avoiding the purchase of South African oranges, for example, and hoping that incremental pressures would prompt the Afrikaners to reform. But that was before a trip to see Winnie Mandela in a squalid township outside Bloemfontein, before a report on the state-controlled television network described him as a Communist and before he was menaced in the washroom of a gas station by angry young Afrikaners who had heard the broadcast. Old Memories

Careful observation is an Attenborough trademark, and when the opening credits of ''Cry Freedom'' roll over a scene of the Crossroads shanty town outside Cape Town, filmed on location outside the Zimbabwe capital, Harare, I was rapt. It was an account of life in Crossroads that led to an order for my expulsion from South Africa - later rescinded - in 1978. As the screen showed police with water cannons and dogs and Land Rovers raiding the camp on a smoky spring morning in 1975, I felt as though I was watching an eerie rerun. Others obviously feel the same. A group of South African blacks watching with me in a Broadway screening room frequently applauded the screen.

Sequences dealing with Mr. Biko's confrontations with the Security Police were uncomfortably familiar to those who had been through the process themselves, as they were, in a less menacing fashion, to me. In the rage of a police captain confronted with an uncowed Mr. Biko, in the lower ranks' silver shirts and loose tie-knots, in the sense that all operations operate on the margins of civilization and law, I was brought back to a realm of unpleasantness that I had repressed from memory.

Much of what Mr. Biko says in the film is taken directly from Mr. Woods's records of his conversations with the black leader or from testimony in a terrorism trial at which Mr. Biko was a witness. And yet, on the basis of my own experience of Mr. Biko, an afternoon in Kingwilliamstown a few weeks before his final arrest, I couldn't help feeling that something important was missing - a sense of a much harder man beneath the surface of our encounter, a leader obliged for the time being to be more forbearing toward whites than he felt. Meeting a Villain

It was this sense, expressed in a Times article on the weekend after Mr. Biko died, that led to a revealing encounter with one of the villains of the film, Police and Justice Minister James T. Kruger. Mr. Kruger, who wrote his own epitaph on the day after the death when he told a gathering of white supporters that ''Biko's death leaves me cold'' and when he laughed with a delegate who congratulated him for granting the black leader his ''democratic right to starve himself to death,'' summoned me a day or two later to his office in Pretoria.

The Justice Minister thanked me for coming, poured a cup of tea, and told me that since I had ''told the truth about Biko'' - by implying that he was not as tolerant as some opposition newspapers in South Africa were claiming - he would reward me by revealing the ''real truth'' about how the black leader died. He acknowledged that Mr. Biko had died of head injuries, not from a hunger strike, as his own initial statements had suggested. Then he walked to the wall and banged his forehead against it. ''It was like this,'' he said. ''He injured himself only because he wanted to embarrass us.''

The quality on display that day - a man not so much sinister as credulous, less the master of the Security Police than its servant - is captured in the film in a passage that takes Mr. Woods to Pretoria for a Saturday afternoon chat at Mr. Kruger's Cape Dutch home. The Justice Minister, hospitable and avuncular, assures the editor that he has no place for ''thugs'' in the Security Police, that he dislikes banning people (''Hell, man, I'm a lawyer'') and that he understands the necessity of finding ways ''to live together'' with blacks.

With this attention to authenticity, one of the director's choices seems all the more odd. To wrench the audience back to what Mr. Woods, safely in Lesotho, has left behind, the film plunges back, at the end, to Soweto on June 6, 1976, the day that police opened fire on a crowd of schoolchildren protesting mandatory Afrikaans instruction in black schools, setting off a year of disturbances in which at least 600 blacks died. The film shows rows of white policemen with automatic rifles, a brief warning to disperse, then a massacre, with policemen chasing blacks alleyways and shooting to kill.

The reality was much more banal - and more complex. Many of the officers on that dusty Soweto hillside were blacks, and on the first day, though not later, there was little random killing. The best that can be said for the way ''Cry Freedom'' has presented it is that events that were spread out over days, or weeks, have been compressed. Mr. Woods, interviewed in Beverly Hills during a promotional tour, acknowledged that the Soweto scene had been filmed with cinematic license but said that the limits of the medium justified it.

To have had blacks firing at blacks, he said, would have been ''too confusing,'' unless the film had taken time to explain how blacks, as well as whites, have been caught up in defending the apartheid system. It is a judgment that seems certain to attract the attention of the Pretoria Government, which is likely to take every opportunity to undermine the credibility of what, in the military terminology much favored among the ruling Afrikaners, is likely to be taken as a major ''onslaught'' in the propaganda war over apartheid.

The film misses another opportunity to illuminate the complexities of South Africa when it implies that Mr. Woods's success in getting illicit photographs at the mortuary was what revealed that Mr. Biko had died of brain injuries; in fact, it was a Government rule permitting a pathologist representing the family to attend the post-mortem. Such paradoxes are common in a system built by people who have never been able to resolve the tension between their claims to democracy, as manifested by a parliamentary system and an independent judiciary, and a vow never to surrender power to the majority.

The film also skims over what, to many witnessing the events of 1977 at first hand, seemed like the heart of the affair. Virtually nothing is seen of the three-week period of detention and interrogation before Mr. Biko's death, and nothing but the verdict -an exoneration of the Security Police - from the inquest that followed. Instead, there is a moving depiction of the funeral outside Kingwilliamstown, a day etched in memory for its high sun, its angry speeches and the mournful discordance of the poignant black nationalist anthem, ''Nkosi Sikekel' I Afrika,'' ''God Bless Africa.''

The inquest, and what it revealed of the callousness of Mr. Biko's interrogators, has been replayed in television docudramas and in the live theater, on Broadway among other places. But according to Sir Richard, the decision to eliminate both came less from a desire to avoid repetition than from a compulsion for authenticity. ''There's just so much we didn't know, that re-creating it would expose us to charges of falsification,'' he said. He added, ''Besides, the actual details of his death are almost irrelevant, in the sense that if you get too involved in them, you trivialize the monstrousness of what happened.'' American Stars

Critics may question the judgment, as also the decision to use American actors in the principal roles. But to Sir Richard, who saw more than 100 African actors before choosing Mr. Washington, the selections were imperative. ''I wanted desperately to play an African black; after all, it's their story,'' the director said. ''We brought them out of Nigeria, out of Canada, out of Germany and, of course, from the U.K.; and in two or three cases we even smuggled them out of South Africa. But in the end, however much people say, 'Hey, where are the boys from Bloemfontein?,' if your actors can't do the job, there goes your movie.''

As the film ends, a list appears on the screen of all those who have died in detention in South Africa in the last 25 years. It is an effective device, showing Mr. Biko's name 45th on a roll of more than 80, each of them listed with the official cause of death - ''slipped in shower,'' ''suicide by hanging,'' ''shot while escaping'' and so on. The last entry is for March 26, 1987, a reminder of how much in South Africa stays the same, despite a decade of ''reform'' pledges from the Government, among them vows to apply stricter disciplines to the operations of the Security Police.

In New York, Sir Richard told me that success for ''Cry Freedom,'' by mobilizing opinion around the world, would reaffirm his belief that ''right does triumph, in the end.'' But from Mr. Woods, in a Beverly Hills hotel, I had a rough tally of the effects of Mr. Biko's death on opponents as well as supporters of the Government, and there was little in it to encourage the conviction that much that is heartening has flowed from the affair. Aftermath

Ten years later, Mr. Biko's organizations have mostly folded, to be succeeded by a rump group, the Azanian People's Organization, that has lost leadership among young blacks to the African National Congress, an organization long committed to violence. Mr. Woods remains in exile in London, resigned to stay there until the Afrikaners cede power to the blacks; and the Biko family's lawyer, Shun Chetty, who broke the news that the black leader had died of head injuries, is in exile, too, working for the United Nations High Commission on Refugees in Khartoum.

If there is any solace for the surviving victims of the affair, it may be that the perpetrators eventually paid a price as well. Several police officers involved suffered unwanted transfers and demotions, and Mr. Kruger's career was ruined. Forced out as Justice Minister, he spent years wandering aimlessly down the parliamentary corridors in Cape Town. He died earlier this year, but not before unburdening himself. In London on a clandestine bid to buy a tankerload of Saudi Arabian oil, he went for drinks one evening in the bar of his hotel, and was overheard to say: ''Ag, man, the Biko business, that was the biggest disaster of my career.''

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Film Is the Weapon, Apartheid the Target

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But the film is more than a dramatic reconstruction of that friendship, of Mr. Woods's radicalization as he is introduced to the privations of the townships and to the brutal menace of the Security Police, or of Mr. Biko's murder and Mr. Woods's subsequent escape into exile dressed as a priest.

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And if so, what defiance will they encounter from the Zulu King, Goodwill Zwelethini, and his chief minister, Chief Mangosuthu G. Buthelezi, men who revel in their martial heritage? How many of their divided subjects will rally to them?

"What de Klerk and Mandela believe is that they are just going to drive tanks through the Zulus," said Gertrude Mzizi, a leader in Mr. Buthelezi's Inkatha Freedom Party but a non-Zulu, a hereditary princess of the Basotho people. "They are making a very big mistake. That is just going to create an England-I.R.A. thing that is going to last for centuries."

Not so, countered Zibuse Mlaba, a Zulu chief who supports the African National Congress. He said the congress, after winning the election, would find a way to settle with the King, and traditional Zulus would follow him into acquiescence.

"At the end, he will give in," Chief Mlaba predicted. "After the elections, the provincial government will accommodate the King. They will give him observer status -- let him sign bills after they are discussed in Parliament. They will set aside some fringe benefits for him, better than what he is getting now. It will be enough."

No tribe in southern Africa arouses the mixture of fear and romance inspired by the Zulus, the largest ethnic group, with about 7 million of the 40 million South Africans, and the most nationalistic.

Many Zulus are educated and urbanized, and many -- most polls say a majority -- prefer the African National Congress to Inkatha and Chief Buthelezi.

But even Zulus who despise Chief Buthelezi usually acknowledge some loyalty to the King, and a strong sense of being Zulu.

It is the only remaining monarchy among the dozen or so tribes of South Africa, and the only tribe with such an imperial history. Shaka, the brutal militarist of the early 19th century, built the Zulus by forcible amalgamation of many powerless clans and tribes into a war machine that gave nightmares to both the British and the Boers. An Impulsive Streak And a Martial Pride

"The history of battle is what unites the Zulus and encourages them," Chief Mlaba said. "No one else conquered the British Army. Although they were beaten later, they still believe they can maintain that sense of beating the oncoming government. That's their weakness. They forget that all that was in olden days."

Impetuous pride, Chief Mlaba said, is a national trait of his people.

"They don't take things easy," he said. "They jump before looking into things seriously. It takes time to realize their mistake."

Mrs. Mzizi, whose husband is Zulu and who joined Inkatha when it was still a Zulu cultural movement, agreed: "They can tolerate to some extent, but when they are angry nothing can stop them. Now it has reached a stage where no one can stop them."

The other thing history has bestowed upon most Zulus, she added, is an attachment to the land.

"In their communities there was never any need to vote," Mrs. Mzizi said. To the traditional Zulus, she said, the most burning issue is not political freedom or the right to vote, nor promises of modern houses and clinics. The issue is territory, which is held by the tribe and allocated by the chief.

"They believe they are the only nation that fought the British and the Boers, and so most of the things in South Africa belong to them," she said.

When architects of apartheid devised 10 black homelands, the one they created for the Zulus was a withered version of Shaka's domain.

On the map, KwaZulu is a splotchy rash across the former British colony called Natal, the choicest parts of which whites kept for themselves.

On the ground, the boundaries are unmarked but unmistakable: wherever the undulating pasture heaves upward into eroded red hillsides, wherever the paved road turns to gravel, wherever the colonial-style plantations give way to huts and tin-roofed shanties, that is probably KwaZulu.

The area north of the Tugela River, which crosses central Natal, is mostly rural, and overwhelmingly Inkatha. It is the stronghold of Zulu tradition. A Chance in 1970 For Independence

The Zulus could have had a degree of independence in the 1970's, when the South African Government tried to spin off the fledgling homelands, setting them up as independent states that no other country in the world recognized.

Four other homelands took the offer, and some believe that if the Zulus had accepted, the apartheid master plan might have succeeded. The outside world, which refused to accept the fiction of places like Bophuthatswana and Ciskei, Transkei and Venda, might have found the Zulus harder to ignore, the argument goes.

To Pretoria's fury, Chief Buthelezi, the homeland leader, refused.

Chief Buthelezi, a cousin of the King, was happy to use the levers of tribal power, but he aspired to be more than an ethnic politician. He wanted to be a pan-African liberation leader, and the Inkatha movement to be a match for the African National Congress.

In the 1980's the African National Congress, through a surrogate called the United Democratic Front, moved strongly into Natal. The congress and its allies made many converts in the cities and urban townships, among the young and educated, but did not penetrate the more remote rural areas.

The rivalry was often violent, and it shattered what remained of Zulu unity.

Although the young operatives of the A.N.C. had little taste for what they called "the demon of tribalism," they won over a number of Zulu chiefs, men who had fallen out with the royal family or who presided in areas near the cities and saw the inexorable encroachment of modern times.

Inkatha, in turn, extended its reach to the Zulu migrant workers in the cities and townships around Johannesburg.

The migrants were urbanized, in the sense that they lived in cities. But within those cities they lived in islands, worker hostels for men on their own. They had gone to the city for wages, leaving wives and children home in KwaZulu, and they wanted no part of the strikes and consumer boycotts that the congress launched against apartheid.

Inkatha colonized the hostels. Later, according to a judicial inquest, hard-liners in the South African police would stoke the rivalry by supplying weapons to the hostels and helping organize terror attacks. A Tribal Rivalry Deepens Hostility

Many Zulus contend that the congress helped give the conflict an ethnic character by branding any Zulu-speaker an Inkatha sympathizer, routing Zulu families and burning their homes.

Often, Zulus add that despite its staunch nonracial policies, the African National Congress furthers the ambitions of the Xhosa tribe, including Mr. Mandela.

The Xhosa, like the Zulus an offshoot of the Nguni peoples who descended into Natal in the 16th century, predominate along the coast in the eastern Cape region. Because they were the first to encounter European missionary education, they have been disproportionately represented among liberation leaders.

"Why do you never write about the 'Xhosa-based A.N.C.?' " Chief Buthelezi snapped during an interview this week, complaining that Inkatha is so often identified as a Zulu interest group.

Chief Buthelezi, having failed to make himself the pre-eminent leader of South Africa's blacks, and then having failed to make Inkatha the main national challenger to the African National Congress, retreated to his ethnic power base, fanning the nationalist flames with fierce talk about "ethnic cleansing" and "genocide."

Two months ago King Goodwill, who has spent most of his reign in a subordinate political role to Chief Buthelezi, complicated matters by demanding an independent Zulu monarchy across the whole of Natal.

Mr. Buthelezi had promised to negotiate a federal constitution that would secure the King a prominent place in the new order. He had lost to proponents of a dominant central government. The homeland itself is to be abolished on April 27, replaced by a new province that merges KwaZulu and Natal.

The King declared that if South Africa would not accommodate him in a federation, he would take back King Shaka's domain the way it was before the Boers and British arrived.

The multiparty partnership that presides over South Africa during its transition is now torn between putting the Zulu royalists in their place and appeasing them.

Appeasing them would mean satisfying the King of his future. Chief Buthelezi hints that this can be done, short of giving him Shaka's kingdom, by creating some kind of autonomy for KwaZulu and Natal.

African National Congress leaders, who fear the centrifugal pressures of strong provinces, have so far refused to do that. They prefer to gamble that the King can be won over for a smaller price -- a ceremonial status for tribal chiefs, like a provincial House of Lords, and budgets to maintain royal life styles. No Move by Troops Against Zulu Capital

Brute force, especially aimed at the symbolic figure of the King, would risk resistance across a large area. The first moves of the army in KwaZulu seem to be narrowly aimed at genuine trouble spots, with no sign of troops moving against Ulundi, the homeland capital, or into rural tribal strongholds.

It is not clear how grave a threat the Zulu royalists might pose. Guerrilla warfare has not historically been their style, and their strongholds are remote from the major cities.

Jacob Zuma, the most senior Zulu in the African National Congress, said that in the townships around Johannesburg, other blacks are terrified of the Zulus. "But in KwaZulu, people are not so afraid," he said. "In KwaZulu, everyone is a Zulu."

But the violence that has killed 20,000 blacks in the last 10 years -- half of them in Natal and KwaZulu, many in the grisliest massacres -- has left no one hopeful about peace if the Zulus remain aggrieved.

Unlike Mr. Mandela, the Zulus are not famous for forgiving their fellow Africans.

Last November in Nqutu, 10 miles from this battlefield, gunmen swept down on the kraal of the Molefe clan and slaughtered 12 people who had been preparing for an congress rally.

Yes, locals said, it was obviously an Inkatha attack, but more than that.

Not a soul in Nqutu had forgotten that the Molefe were Basotho, who got their land as a reward for fighting with the British against the Zulus here on the battlefield of Isandhlwana. And no one thought that, 115 years later, the fact was irrelevant.

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Rival Visions of Freedom Split South African Zulus

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And if so, what defiance will they encounter from the Zulu King, Goodwill Zwelethini, and his chief minister, Chief Mangosuthu G. Buthelezi, men who revel in their martial heritage? How many of their divided subjects will rally to them?

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Colored people were not allowed to have the privileges of white people, but aren't treated the same as black people in Africa during this time.