Am I an African?

Peter Tosh sings that as long as you are a black man, you are an African, no matter where you are otherwise "from". The song came up on my random music feed on iTunes and got me thinking.

I was born and raised on the African continent and have spent the better part of my life there. I lived my formative years there, and yet am I African? I am not entirely European, other than by appearance. It is complex. The term Euro-African is useful.

What I am reminded of when the question comes up, however vaguely is when I was living in Nairobi, it was my privilege to be able to hear Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o speak. I forget the exact phrase, but what he said was along the lines that you never forget where you are from, that place forms who you are.

Whether I am African or not in the eyes of all, Africa and my efforts to deconstruct my whiteness as a white South African is probably the most significant part of who I am.

I am profoundly grateful for that and I like who those experiences have made me. I do not know what it is like to like who you are without having to put in work. I suspect that I, and those who like me who understand what the means are the richer.

Don't speak ill of the dead

Yesterday it was announced that the South African musician Johnny Clegg died. Sad news indeed. But I will admit to being a little mystified by the outpouring of grief on social media and even perhaps the media more broadly. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy his music. Some of it. I have my favourite songs.

He became famous in my childhood. In those days he was radical. He rubbed shoulders with black men as equals (more or less), and in the eighties in South Africa that was revolutionary. In trying to understand his appeal I have a suspicion that he showed my generation that black South Africa could and was in fact cool. He did so with some respect. I guess.

The problem is that it is now 2019. And we are still honoring a white man who had the temerity to see value in the Zulu culture.

Have we come no further?

Judging by a FB post where overwhelmingly white people were delighted at the notion at the South African Parliament would fly flags at half mast for him. My first thought is: what am I missing? Was he really that great? He is also, even in European newspapers described as musician and activist. Except that other for treating black people like humans and equals, what did he do?

This is still not clear to me.

However there appears to be some disagreement as to who actually was being honored by the flags being flown at half mast. Only turns out that Advocate du Toit died in June 2009, so it definition wasn't him, but in fact Mr. Ike Maphoto, struggle icon.

So it turns out my misgivings are well founded.

What he did was show white people, particularly of my generation that there was something cool about our country. That there were aspects of authentic African culture and life we could enjoy (appropriate). It wasn't so bad after all.

Other than a statement from the appropriate portfolio committee in the Parliament, I have yet to see a black person comment much. They appear to be maintaining a respectful silence, no doubt in bemusement as to the response from white people. One should, after all, not speak ill of the dead. I will follow for the discussions as to cultural appropriation which I suspect may come. And if a person really deserves that much honour for treating his fellow South Africans as humans. Especially nearly thirty years later, when we should have come further.

Seems we're still "coming".

Postscript (Friday 19th):

We have arrived.

I fear this is not a correct respect for copyright, but this cartoon was purloined from This Dialogue Thing Facebook group. And all I can really say is: Bingo. THIS is why an overwhelming number of whites (and a few brown, though not a single black as far as I could tell) thought Johnny Clegg was worthy flags at half mast. Once more, we shown how little progress we have really made.

If the rest of the world cannot see the difference?

Then maybe they're not the problem. 

It has worried me for a while the USian church's complicity with Donald Trump and the politics he espouses. Or perhaps one's choice of words should reveal where one's sympathies lie, and as such the idea of colonisation and appropriation as used by Critical Discourse Analysis comes to mind rather to describe the USian's relationship to Donald Trump. It is however ironic. The community of people who claim that Jesus Christ of Nazareth, as described and known through the Bible, has allowed itself to be colonised by "the world". And I do absolutely believe that. Only it is nothing new. Rather I consider this current revelation of this relationship to be nothing more than a ripping away of the veil of what has been the case for centuries. Christendom has a dialectical relationship with Western Europe and its values. And thanks to technological developments like the internet and the emergence of values such as free speech, the veneer is gone.

I grew up in apartheid South Africa. At some point I wondered why christians had done so little to fight the injustice. There was also the question of the rise of Nazism. The past three years have answered that question beyond any reasonable doubt. So to be clear, I am pretty sure it is a white, Western thing, not an USian thing.

Time for a reckoning. Time to reclaim the Jesus and God that I know from the Bible. Time to decolonise this too.

 

Article can be found here

Article can be found here

Time to decolonise South African history

I grew up in South Africa during apartheid. Which means my education has significant gaps, not least of which is the history of my own country. As part of my self-education, and also so as to be able to engage with my father, who is obviously also a product of the Union of South Africa, I started reading a book I bought a while ago, The History of South Africa, by one Frank Welsh.

I purchased the book quite a while ago (as I am wont to do - books need to gather a fair amount of dust in my bookshelves before I embark on reading them). Perhaps before I underwent my own awakening as to the racism and white supremacy of my upbringing and childhood world. (Yes, it was apartheid South Africa, but to the best of their ability raised me to know that all people were equal and that our society was deeply unjust and wrong). Nevertheless, despite already getting rid of Martin Meredith's The state of Africa for its distinct colonial 'whiteness', I decided to give Frank Welsh a shot.

It has been interesting, and not as bad as Meredith's book. It provides a fair amount of information as to the history of black (and brown) South Africans which was exactly what I was after. I realised that I would have to accept that it could not be comprehensive (what exactly is the relationship between the Xhosa and the Thembu? Where did the Griqua's come from?), but it was not bad.

Except for one thing. He is far too comfortable using archaic terms which in this day and age are simply offensive and inappropriate. I am not even convinced that it would be necessary to quote writers who use it, but when he uses a term when not quoting? Why? WHY?? (In case you're wondering I refer to use of the k-word and - the camel that broke the straw's back, as it were - the n-word as well!).

I put the book aside this afternoon, irritated and after a few hours I realise that I simply have no further interest in reading it any further. I feel a mite intolerant, perhaps, but really, it is 2019. It is time for a decolonised historical narrative which breaks from the past. Even if the book was first published twenty years ago, these were not terms which were acceptable even then. It is time for literature and history which explains and creates a new decolonised and respectful narrative. We do not have to use terms which are offensive and hurtful to people. This book is not that. I am not sure such a book even exists.

Perhaps it is up to me to write it in that case. This book, though by far not overtly racist or even particularly biased is nevertheless headed for the bin.

Or maybe not. I have been searching (my whole life) for a writing project. Perhaps I have just found it.

Moenie vrees nie

van Mathews Phosa

(Excerpt from Deur die oog van 'n naald; Tafelberg, Cape Town, 1996)

Hoekom moet jy vrees
as jy niks het om te vrees nie?
Jou gewete is mos skoon,
moenie vrees nie.

Hoekom moet jy vrees
as jy niks het om te verloor nie?
Jy het mos niks nie,
moenie vrees nie.

Hoekom moet jeg vrees
as jy weeb jy's geen onderdrukker nie?
Jy het niemand onderdruk nie,
moenie vrees nie.

(Translation:
Why must you fear
if you have nothing to be afraid of?
You say your conscience is clean,
do not fear. 

Why must you fear, 
if you have nothing left to lose?
You say you have nothing, 
do not fear. 

Why must you fear
if you know that you are no oppressor?
You haven't oppressed anyone, 
do not fear. )

Why I like this poem?  It is a poem for wbiteness. For our need to justify and excuse. And yet how fragile and afraid we are. This has become particularly relevant as in recent days social media have indicated the white fear of becoming a minority in the US is a major driver of their current policies. I have long believed that deep in our hearts we know what we and our kind have been up to the world. A people who fear justice are afraid.

"Dit is 'n rots waarop ons huisie staan"

Compliments of twelve years of schooling in apartheid South Africa, I have twelve years of Afrikaans as a second language. Although, it was in fact my third. Nothing to compare to the nine languages which Mathews Phosa speaks. So all the more interesting that he introduces this book of Afrikaans poetry by stating that he considers Afrikaans to be a mother tongue of sorts ("Die feit dat ek in Afrikaans skryf, is 'n uitvloeisel daarvan dat ek my skoolopvoeding feitlik eksklusief in Afrikaans ontvang het en dat ek Afrikaans as 'n soort modertaal in my lewe beskou"). I find myself strangely moved that he enjoys the language sufficiently to write poetry in it.

It is almost three decades since I left school, and without a doubt my Afrikaans is extremely rusty. Now that I live in a country where another Germanic language is spoken, I am amazed I was not more confused as a child, given that my mother tongue, in the sense of being the language one learns from one's mother knee is Norwegian.

I can see the connections much more clearly than I did before. I am surprised I was not more confused, considering how much I mix my English and Norwegian, I would certainly have more problems now. It has, nevertheless, been an interesting exercise to try out my Afrikaans now, and I am not dissatisfied with the results. Back to the book itself.

His intention is fairly shameless: versoening. Reconciliation. I am not exactly the target audience, but I must admit to being simply touched to read a black South African, who has every reason to hate the language nevertheless to use it to write, of all things, poetry. Given the instrument of oppression which the language cannot but signify in lights of how it was wielded, especially in 1976, it is not pretty amazing in my book. While I identify as "English South African", there is no avoiding the fact that I am simply a Euro-South African. My father, who has an interest in genealogy, informs me that in addition to English (from Lancashire), we also enjoy a French, Dutch and German  ancestry. Now that is about as South African as one can get as a Euro-African. My great-grandmother was a small child in a British concentration camp in the South African war (1899-1902) - something I consider give me impeccable (white) South African credentials. So reading poetry in that language is a pleasing experience.

Did Mathews Phosa succeed in his attempts? Who knows. I made the decision not to know when I left the country almost a decade ago, overwhelmed as I felt, by the general white attitudes as I perceived them around me. I must have bought this book around that time. In many respects South Africa has come far. In others, it has not. In some respects, even though I am only just starting the poetry itself, the title itself seems quite prophetic. The title surely refers to the occasion in the gospels of the Bible where Jesus says that it would easier for a camel to go through the eye of a (the) needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. The point being that it would be difficult. Likewise I suspect the poet also knew that achieving his intention to stretch a hand of reconciliation ('n versoeningshand as it were) would be as hard.

Then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. This little book of poetry will be a treasured part of my library irrespective.

Mathews Phosa - Deur die oog van 'n naald
1996
Tafelberg - Kaapstad.

Black Lives Matter

Probably the most profound learning and growing experience I have had the past few years has been that of the Black Lives Matter movement.

I was doing my Masters degree in Edinburgh, and although already on the way, thanks to a South African friend who was at that stage posting lots of stuff on Facebook which played a huge role in educating me about white supremacy (although that term has gained much more traction since then).

I remember Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Tamir Rice, but perhaps it started with Trayvon Martin. And it has not stopped since. I can name quite a list without too much effort: Sandra Bland, Rekia Boyd, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Akai Gurley, Walter Scott etc. etc. There are too many.

Let me take a step back: I am a white South African. I grew up in Apartheid South Africa. I am an English South African, whose father faithfully voted PFP though out my childhood, and who was horrified when my friends admitted their parents actually voted NP. But never politically active. My mother, you may be wondering, did not vote in South Africa. She remained a Norwegian citizen for the duration of her forty plus years of living in South Africa and I like to joke that her most notable anti-apartheid protest was to ensure that both her children received the most Norwegian names conceivable.

She did however have a picture of a crying black girl in the house, and as adults she told us that she had intended that we would ask why she was crying. That would be the basis on which to explain apartheid to us. we never asked. I was not actually one to ask questions. Rather I observed the world around me and came to my own conclusions. Funny thing is, while I may have barely scratched the surface, I was never way off either. I realised that black South Africans lived differently. I pieced it together that it was wrong. And I was born with an inherent sense of fairness which told me it was wrong. Very, very wrong. And so I felt uncomfortable in my own skin as my awareness of the world around me grew. And I dared not think too deeply and suppressed the need for answers as a form of protection. I made good use of my white privilege.

But I remember so clearly the moment it all changed. I was living in Norway for a few years in the early nineties and I came across Steve Biko's book, I write what I like, in the library. So I took it out. Before reading it, I paged through the pictures in the book and my glance fell upon one photo, which seemed a bit more familiar, and the name was certainly a shock. It was someone I knew and respected. Could I even be so bold as to call her a friend? Yet, she had been detained by police and even tortured. And suddenly Apartheid became so much more real to me. And I was ashamed. I was so ashamed of being a white South African.

To cut a long story short, that shame pursued me for many years, until the freedom of discovering that Black Lives do indeed matter. That may seem like a paradox of sorts to you, but let me explain. I am a racist. Of course I am. I grew up in Apartheid South Africa, how could I not be? Even my parents efforts to raise me more non-racist than many of my peers could not escape that. I was a product of my society. And therein lies the freedom. Unlike the myth that racism is a personal foible, the idea that racism is a structural and institutional reality which churns us all out makes perfect sense. It is not something I chose any more than a black person chose to be born in South Africa. BUT that in no way lets me off the hook, far from it. Let me repeat that: far from it.

The Bible says that "For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more" (Luke 12:48b). So we who are white living in a racist system have been given much, no doubt about it. And it is not about. being a white saviour, again, perish the thought. (Quick disclaimer: I grew up in a christian home and spent my entire childhood in that sub-culture. I remain an ardent admirer and dependent of Jesus himself, "christians", not so much, to put it mildly. Thankfully, there are exceptions.) So to speak in the terms of that sub-culture: white saviours are in my view akin to 'idolaters' and those who understand what I mean by that will also understand the consequences that image implies.

Rather we whites need to check our privilege. We need to stop erasing the voices of the rest of the world. We need to sit down and with time learn how and, quite importantly, when to use our privilege to amplify their own voices. We need to voices of justice and equity and restoration. There is so much I could write I suspect. But I am still learning.

And now, with social media and the internet, there are so many "opportunities" to speak. Whether one will be heard in the cacophony of what is 2017, is another question. There are opportunities to learn to write books, feature articles, blogging, ad nauseum. But it occurred to me: am I not just another white "Becky", wanting to be heard. Are there not enough of us? There is a fine balance to be found between taking space and being a voice for change and justice. So this is the question I am grappling with now.

Please join me on this journey.

"Cry, the beloved country"

"Cry, the beloved country" is the title of a recent Economist article about the challenges South Africa is facing at this point of its history. Also the title of a 1948 book by Alan Paton. This book was prescribed reading for schoolgoers during apartheid. Even then I suspected it was more of an "alibi" as school authorities attempted to prove their "non-racist" credentials. Perhaps a useful litmus test for many as to how aware they truly are of the subtext of what we were taught at white schools at that time.

That is what the title of that article evokes for very many - and content of the article aside - may explain some of the sceptism to the article!

All that aside, I want to share a passage from that book which I have always loved and somehow still resonates with something in me when it comes to South Africa, though I would use the word "injustice" instead of "fear".

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, not stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, not give too much of his heart to a mountain or valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Alan Paton
Cry, the beloved country
1948

Follow up to "After the Party"

Wow! How kul - a comment!! Now THAT is inspiring :)

Yes, in case you're wondering have just spotted a comment, made two months ago to my posting after I read Andrew Feinstein's "After the party". Which in turn reminded me that as a follow up it is worth noting that subsequently the Constitutional court in South Africa has ruled that the appointment of Menzi Simelane to the position of head of the National Prosecuting Agency (?) was not rational. Okay, that may seem absurd, but that is the long and the short of it.

It gives one hope really, although things are more challenging than ever. Especially as last week the Economist had South Africa on its front page and it was depressing reading. What also threw me for a loop was not one but two things I read subsequently. In the one, an article from the Daily Maverick, where the writer argues that the Economist is giving into a stereotypical view of Africa as hopeless. In the other, a letter on facebook, the writer lambasted expats for contributing to the negative of South Africa overseas (which I do agree with!). On the other hand, I do fear that both of the writers are also being a bit naive about the challenges which South Africa is facing at the moment.

However, I have to say that it fills me with some pleasure that in both cases the writers are white. Far too many white South Africans are precisely so negative about South Africa that I actively make sure the same could never be said of me. That said I will not gloss over the challenges. That would be disloyal to what was achieved when Apartheid was overthrown.

Now this is the type of musing which I may in future put on my new blog thinks&writes.

"After the party" by Andrew Feinstein

Hmmm, you know that you may need to reconsider being a blogger when it is so long since you have been to your own site that you have forgotten the name of your site! How embarrassing.

Nevertheless I cannot quite give up on blogging. It is not lack of ideas, it is rather just tricky to remember them and most of all sit down and do the writing.

It is already April, but neverthless a new year (at least in terms of my blogs), so here we go again.

FOr my "opening shot" - I have just finished reading "After the Party". First and foremost it confirms what I have already known (and this is not what you think!). I really do not follow things that closely. Perhaps it is remarkable that despite working for the South African government for almost a decade that I am so incredibly ignorant of its political workings! After a mere two years in Norway I feel as though I am better informed here than I was there. To be honest I cannot be sure.

Nevertheless, it was both fascinating and distressing to read more about the Arms deal. Of course all the things which I did notice now make much greater sense. It really is very disturbing and makes me quite sad. I think I am quite ambivalent whether it would have been better to have known this when making my decision to leave. On reflection I think that I am glad that I made the decision on personal grounds. The "inklings" which I had are unrelated.

I tried to read the book somewhat critically, yet I have no major criticisms against the author. I am bemused by his obvious admiration for Vlaclav Havel and Edward Said (who are both quoted on several occasions) and am tempted to read the former myself. I respect the fact that he somehow manages to not vilify anyone (which with my view and perception of whites South Africans is quite admirable) and the real bad guys are without a doubt the arms industry. This in no way causes problems with my own worldview.

I think that the one area which I found lacking was that of the role of culture. Is it coincidental that he and Gavin Woods come out as the crusaders for truth in this story. I can understand why it is not his place to go into detail as to the ultimate fate of some of the other players (like Laloo, who makes up a trio with Feinstein and Woods initially, but somehow disappears, something which I consider with some foreboding). Given the complexity of the "Rainbow nation" in terms of its multicultural population, I personally think that this is also a major factor in how things have played out. (Note, I in NO WAY consider any culture to be better than any other, quite to the contrary I think that every culture has significant strengths and weaknesses. Cultures, like most things, can also benefit from a dialectic process whereby they can build on their strengths and work on their weaknesses).

I also am amazed that the author manages to retain such idealism, though I sincerely hope that he is no longer naive (how can someone who has been through what he has remain so?). Which is why I respect his idealism and certainly see the logic of much of what he posits is required to ensure that any country avoid such a quagmire in the future as this entire saga has, is and I fear may continue to be for a while to come.

On a final note, I could not help but chuckle as the irony of Menzi Simelane's appointment to head the National Prosecuting Agency after Vusi Pikoli became apparent. In fact if it wasn't so tragic it is nothing less than quite absurd. I found myself wondering if it was not his reward for being the scapegoat, while other fish swam away unhurt.

A good read indeed. (Buy it here at Amazon)