I wake up some mornings and I feel tired (and sometimes angry). I realise that the things that make me tired are not physical, but mainly psychological and, in some way, related to the history of this country.
I feel tired because I am sick of white people asking every time when black people are going to stop blaming racism and apartheid for many of the ills in our country. They will never understand our pain and our anger, I think, and I feel even more tired and angry.
I feel tired when I think of how, even as a reasonably accomplished individual, I always have to convince mainly white South Africans that I am competent.
I feel tired when I think back to the time I was appointed as editor of the Cape Times and the media reported that I was young, conjuring up all the bad attributes that they associate with being young: inexperienced, impulsive, etc. White editors who were younger than me were not described as young, but as whiz kids and other words celebrating excellence.
I feel tired when I think about how I sometimes go into a shop and get ignored but as soon as a white person enters, s/he is helped.
I feel tired when I hear stories about how black people call to enquire about rental properties and are told it is not available only for a white friend to call a few minutes later and being asked to come and view the property.
I get tired when I read stories like the one about the black family who was asked to leave a Camps Bay house they rented for a holiday, only because they are black.
I get tired when I visit the townships in Cape Town – I suppose it’s the same throughout South Africa – and I see how apartheid still shows its sniggering face amid all the poverty. It is like apartheid is telling us: you thought things would change with democracy; you thought you would get rid of me, but it is not so easy. I am note so easily defeated.
I get tired when I see the shacks in informal settlements, literally on top of each other, and I hear people calling them home. They don’t fit into my definition of home even though I spent much of my formative years living in one.
I felt tired when my daughter, when she was still at a former whites-only high school, told me that all her (white) friends were going abroad for the holidays, and when were we going abroad?
I get tired when I hear people talking about not being able to get jobs because of their race.
I get tired when I see politicians campaigning for our support using race as their campaign platform. All of them do it, some just more blatantly than others.
I get tired when people will do nothing to help others more vulnerable than them without getting plaudits on social media.
I get tired when I attend discussions on poverty, inequality, unemployment, gender-based violence, racism and other pertinent issues in our society and no one offers any feasible solutions. And if solutions are offered, they get lost in the cacophony of anger and helplessness.
But whenever I feel tired, I turn to the youth for solutions and hope. As I listened to the Linge Primary School choir at a Partners for Possibility function last week – in one song, they recited words from the Constitution of South Africa – I felt less tired. In fact, I felt rejuvenated.
Douglas Gibson, I think it is time for white people in South Africa to stop questioning why we continue to talk about apartheid and to accept that the hurt caused by apartheid will be with us for a long time.
Instead, they should try to help us get to a point where the after-effects of apartheid will not be so pervasive. The only way to do this is to work together to achieve a more equitable society. Together, we can wipe that smirk off apartheid’s ugly face.
(This is the unedited version of my Thinking Allowed column that appeared in the Weekend Argus on Saturday, 26 October 2019)
