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Ο φίλος και συνάδελφος Steven Schuietevoerder συντόνισε μια συνάντηση πόλης (town forum) στο Πανεπιστήμιο του Cape Town, στην οποία συμμετείχαν περίπου 150 άτομα, και είχε θέμα “Black Rights, White Fears”. H Cathy Bernatt, μέλος της ομάδας συντονισμού μας έστειλε την ακόλουθη επιστολή ενός από τους συμμετέχοντες στη συνάντηση. Με την άδεια του, δημοσιεύουμε στο blog αυτήν την καταγραφή της δικής του εμπειρίας (έχω σβήσει ονόματα από την επιστολή, για να προστατέψω την ανωνυμία των συμμετεχόντων. Τα έχω αντικαταστήσει με διαφορετικά αρχικά).

Letter from an Open Forum Participant:

I am sitting down to write because I just experience what I think I will remember as the best 2.5 hours I have experienced during my entire time in South Africa. Yes… out of EVERYTHING I’ve written about… this is it .

And I apologize right off the bat because I know that there is no way in hell that I will be able to describe the intensity, emotion, and mind-blowing power of tonight. This also may be a bit disjointed because I’ll be writing this, in a sense, as a journal entry. I just need to reflect. And this reflection is LONG. So thank you for indulging me.

“Black Rights. White Fears.”

The poster was hung around campus for about two weeks with a picture of Julius Malema and Eugene Terre’Blanche (I could write and entire email just on those two political figures so you might want to google them to learn more). But BRIEFLY, Julius Malema is a controversial black ANC politician who has the reputation of being the personification of corruption and racism. Terre’Blanche is the controversial leader of the AWB (South Africa’s white supremacist movement that was the biggest resister of the end of apartheid) who was murdered a couple of weeks ago by his black workers for an alleged wages dispute.

I thought it would be interesting to go but I figured it would just be a bunch of people politely saying, “I completely understand where you’re coming from but I thought I might express my humble opinion on the matter as well.” Very PC. Very American. Don’t offend anyone. And… I had this giant essay I’m supposed to be writing now, so I figured I didn’t have the time. But then after class yesterday my beautiful friend W, told me that she was asked to speak at the event, and would I go to be there for her? So off I went.

“Black Rights. White Fears.”

I’m horrible with number guestimates, but I’d say about 200 people sat in a pseudo-circle in the African Studies Department Gallery. The event was set up by a classmate of mine, M, who I am very privileged to now call a friend. The crowd was as diverse as they come. Every age. Every color. Every accent. Every personality.

The goal: to have an open forum to talk about race. No political correctness. No censoring words. Just honesty. Utter, unadulterated honesty, feelings, and emotion.

Look at that. I’ve already written a page just leading up to the content…

M and her mother Κ, welcomed everyone with words of gratitude for coming, and excitement at the prospect of having a REAL conversation about the issues no one actually talks about. Rather, that no one talks about across racial lines.

W was the first to speak. And boy did she set a precedent for the rest of the night. “I’m angry. I’m REALLY angry.” W is one of the most passionate, emotionally brilliant people I have ever met. As she spoke about her resentment for whites because of her upbringing in a township, you could see the entire suffering of black South Africans’ history bump between her lips. Her hand rigid with the cry of every other resentful black South African still living in shacks, still victims of township crime, still mourning relatives lost during apartheid. She spoke for the mothers who lost children, and the children debased by white power. After the event I overheard a black student come up to her and say, “Thank you. I had all those feelings too but didn’t know anyone else felt the same way. I didn’t know I was allowed to say those things. Now I know how many other black people feel this way too.” W finished strong, confident, angry… honest.

The next student to speak was a white male. I need to stop right here with a disclaimer. I do not remember everything everyone said. It was too intense for that. But there were many things that struck me and many words that still ring in head. At the end of this young man’s speech he said, “And yes I have hope for complete integration in the future. But look at the lunch tables in res [resident halls] and there’s a black table and a white table. Really – and I’m hesitant to use such a simplifying metaphor – but you don’t see zebras and giraffes just chilling together.” It took a second for the crowd to realize what he had said… There wasn’t quite booing, but the was a low groan the resonated deeply in that room.

Next a young black man who spoke quite emphatically in support of Malema and called for the white man to “pull us up.”

Last, a friend of mine, a young white student. She brought a new face to the discussion. She spoke about her mother, who lost her job to a less qualified black person because of affirmative action. And she talked about her dad, also fired for racial restructuring. She said that whites aren’t scared of black people. She has black friends. It’s not racism. It’s that whites are scared of not being able to provide for their families. You lose a job. You fear. And why did you lose your job? Because a company wanted to fill their quota of blacks.

For the next two hours the floor was open. And boy do I wish this was recorded. I’ll write the things that stuck with me the most.

The first of which were the words of a black female law student. “I am not looked at the same way as a white person. And I will live my entire life looked at as lesser. When a white person gets a job it’s because of merit. When I get a job it’s because the law firm needed to fill their quota for affirmative action. When that white person messes up, our boss will say, ‘Eh, he’s fresh out of law school. He’ll learn.” When I mess up they say I shouldn’t be there in the first place because I am not qualified. We have the same education but I will always be looked at as black.”

A young black male: “I went to private schools throughout my life so I all my friends were white growing up. And I get legitimacy by mimicking whites. The way I talk. The way I dress. Even the way I gesture. It’s all white. Because in order to be taken seriously, I need to be as white as possible. I won’t regain my dignity until I can gesture with the rhythm that beats freely in my heart.”

The words that probably resonated with me most. A middle aged white woman: “As an Afrikaaner woman I know that I debase black people every day. And I don’t even know I’m doing it. I little while ago my colleague and I [she points the middle aged black woman sitting next to her] were interviewing very prominent white businesswoman. If I said her name you would all know who she is. And the entire meeting this woman would only look at me. The one time she looked at [her colleague] was when she said something about toilets and [sorry… I can’t remember the other thing… but it was “a black issue”]. And I didn’t say anything! I didn’t say anything! I didn’t say, ‘excuse me miss, but you’re insulting my colleague.’ No! At that moment I let down my friend. I fucked up. I fucked up! And I have fucked up, and will continue to fuck up. I for that I apologize. I’m sorry. So please, if you ever see me do anything, or not say something that perpetuates black debasement, call me out on it. Please stop me and tell! I’m trying but it’s bloody hard to do.”

The response by a young black female student: “I just wanted to say how much that meant to me. I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that and how few people actually say that. So really I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate everything you just said. Thank you so much.”

A middle aged white woman: “I just wanted to say… And I’m sorry if I get emotional. That… [starts to cry]… that… It’s really hard. With my family. Recently my family has been emailing back and forth and… and… there were some really hurtful things said, and pictures sent, and… And my dad said some incredibly racist things. And I took him on. That’s difficult though because he’s my father and I love him. And he probably will actually never change. He’ll always thing that way. So it’s just hard because there’s a lot to do just within my own family.”

Many other people spoke with completely uninhibited emotions and stories. One young female black student pleaded that the white authority in South Africa just needs to band together in some act of symbolism to take responsibility for apartheid, apologize, and promise to work towards a better, more equal future. A middle aged coloured man said how he studied at UCT and that we are making progress. That there’s no way this could have happened when he was a student – openly expressing opinions like these – without fearing that someone was going to follow you home and beat you up. A black male student said, “I was the only black rugby player in school, the only black student in my class, and the only black person to step foot in my school friends’ white homes. And when I got there their parents would always ask, ‘but how is your English so good?’ And I would think, ‘what kind of image do you have in your mind of black people!?’” Another black student got up and said, “Maybe zebras and giraffes don’t chill together, but giraffes and buffalo do.”

One of the last people to talk was my friend. And this was after a lot of emotional talks, personal stories, and passionate calls for honest dialogue and open anger. My friend said, “I went to private school all my life and so all of my friends were white. And they had me over their houses and their families loved me. But the thing I would always lose friends over was money. We’ve already done all the symbolic stuff. We won the rugby cup together. We had the Peace and Reconciliation Committee. I can sit here with you [puts his hand on the shoulder of the white man next to him] and I can be friends with you [points to the white woman next to him], but nothing will actually get done until – and I call it the Robin Hood effect – until the money gets to the poor black people.”

I didn’t think it was my place to stand up and say anything. But of course the entire time I was thinking about what I would say if I said something. And by the end of this night by entire body was shaking with nerves and engulfed emotion. I thought, “I feel insignificant and small in a room with so much history and powerful passion. I am on outsider here. I am American. And the only thing I can offer is the lens I look through. I have only been here for four months and it’s fascinating for the first time to really see this through your eyes. I work in Khayelitsha so I see the disparity. I’ve talked to W so I’ve heard the resentment towards apartheid. But honestly, when I walk around campus, I just see a beautifully divers, amazing country. And that gives me hope that that trend will continue. I was born in the United States in 1989. But I am still white. And the thing I’m realizing is that a lot of times it’s very difficult to admit blame, or rather that we don’t think we need to apologize for anything because it’s not our fault. And even though for a very long time I didn’t even know what apartheid was, I apologize. I apologize for what happened and what is still happening today.”

I don’t know whether or not I have the authority or am in any position to apologize. Should I apologize just for being white? I still don’t know. But someone has to.

It’s four pages later and the truth is that these snippets don’t even glaze the tip of the iceberg of the emotion, controversy, passion, anger, misunderstanding, mis-communication, pride, love, hope, power that this evening embodied. I am so thankful that W told me to come. And I’m so thankful that M put everything together.

I have just barely over a month left here and I know that I will miss this incredibly beautiful society so much. I can’t even begin to show how much I have learned, and what amazing people I have met. So I’ll be holding on to these last few weeks… Thank you for sharing this journey with me as a go along.

With much love the world over.