My Floating Generation: The Elephant in the Room...as a South African presently living in London, what to do next? (By: Shaun Mclennan)

What does it mean to be a white South African living in the UK? We come from land where our upbringing, influences and teachings were welded from a melting pot of freedoms we as white folk never shared with our generational equals living on the other side of the race line. As a generation, as well as an individual, I was never given a choice either way – this was the life we would grow up in. I have a choice now.

As a young South African I never quite grasped the realities of Apartheid as it was winding it was way to freedom revolution of 1994. I had a maid, I went to good schools, I enjoyed the best that South Africa could offer without a stitch of guilt – the beaches, the mountains, the rivers, the bush, the warmth , the food, the braai’s, the pool, the, rugby, the safety and security…the safety. There was Natal, Vaalies, Leon Schuster, takkies, Combi’s , red-nose day, koeksisters, chappies, pronutro and boerewors…mmm boerewors. It was Utopian melody of life’s luxuries made possible through a generational apathy and made easy through government suppressing the cries for change from voices living in comparative hardship. Having said that I don’t know if I would do anything differently to my parents, and to be frank I don’t think that many of you reading would have done either. Think about it, your entire life you were never made to fully appreciate what adversity was being experienced on the other side of the breadline. Government was a well oiled machine ensuring that this was the way of the life, this was right – we as whites were guilty of going with the flow and in our minds I think we felt we deserved something for the progress we contributed to: they fought and won wars on neighboring borders, they built infrastructure linking the coast to the mainland, they built hospitals, schools, developed a thriving agriculture sector, developed the most powerful economy in Africa. In truth, these triumphs of civil progression and military thrust were only possible through the blood, sweat and tears of our brothers in arms, all South Africa’s people. All 48 million of us deserved the fruits of these victories and only a fraction of us got to taste them.

This has all been said before but the reality of the years of inequality frame the big question on all our minds – all you South African Londoners reading this. We are all here for fairly similar reasons: travel, money, security and relationships and I find a common reality for a lot of us, for my generation is that we are floating – we have big questions hanging over us as what do we do next? Do we go home? Where do our roots now belong? Where is home? Is it here? Is it in Australia or Canada? These questions were never asked of our parents generations – this is our biggest challenge as a generation…finding the answer.

In attempting to try and answer this question you need to be realistic about the realities in South Africa which are often very difficult to swallow for many of us: 1) your children’s experiences in South Africa for better or worse will be very different to those ones you had; 2) safety will be an issue for the next 30-40 years at least; 3) giving your child the same quality of schooling that you had will most likely mean you will have to invest a lot more in their education; 4) you will work to a government which has still got growing pains and will make mistakes and is most likely to be threaded with corruption here and there – you cannot compare it to the well established governments and delivery structures of the UK, Oz or any other 1st world country; 5) the value your saved Rand in 40 years is uncertain, so you need to plan accordingly; 6) getting employment will require a slightly different approach to London or anywhere else but there will always be a need for the skilled, and a place for the motivated; 7) the chance of things going pear shaped politically is there as the Malema’s of the world take shape.

One has to balance these realities with the positives of a move back home or moving anywhere else. In considering these realities, the answer to the big question remains very personal and can only be. For me, weighing up the good and bad, I have chosen to go home accompanied by my green mamba passport...I think someone once said, “the red dust of Africa is difficult to get off your feet” and in truth that’s simple for me; I feel like I exist in London’s small houses, busy trains and pubs and as awesome as this experience has been, I feel like I live at home…maybe it will change as the romance of living in the wide open arms of South Africa will be cast away as the realities of a developing nation take hold.

I wish you luck my fellow floaters in coming to your decision...may you find roots and grow in happiness wherever u land.

Shaun

Afro-Pessimism: The World Cup and Stab Vests (By: Stephen Bollaert)

Today I googled “Stab Vests” – 27,600 results – and the first and most obvious relate to South Africa and the Soccer World Cup – quite an eye-opener – but I am getting ahead of myself.

On Tuesday (26 May) I arrived in the UK on the first leg of a cycle tour from London to Switzerland. First stop - my sisters home in the genteel middle class and rather conservative village of Welwyn Garden City north of London (despite the name it is more of a village than a city). Very neat, clean and leafy – reminds me of Pinelands outside Cape Town.

Having a few weeks in hand to organise a bike, set it up for touring and do a couple of trial runs I fancied the idea of finding casual employment to supplement my meagre supply of pounds – the Rand does not go too far here. This idea turned out to be wishful thinking in the current economic climate but, while irrelevant to the issue of Afro-pessimism, it does explain why, within 4 hours of arriving in Welwyn Garden City, I was seated in a local employment agency.

So here I am doing the rather futile round of employment agencies (by the way I am “legal”) and being interviewed by a very helpful lady when we (that is the staff and I) are disturbed by a man entering the office and acting rather strangely. Being fresh out of South Africa my thoughts went straight to armed robbery. A bit of an adrenalin rush then relief – ‘he does not seem dangerous’ – ‘but he is a lot younger and beefier than me’ – ‘maybe on drugs or maybe simply a bit strange’. Nevertheless, my natural response to protect women and children had already kicked in and I left the agency to call in my back-up (my brother-in-law). Though numbers were now on “our side” clearly size and age was not.

Fortunately the “offender” almost immediately followed me onto the street and straight into the arms of a local community policeman. My guess is that the other staff member had called in for help at the outset of the disturbance. Within a minute or two help was at hand. Impressive! I was equally impressed to see how the policeman handled the situation. The thing I noticed was the distance he kept between himself and the “offender” while fully controlling the situation. This got me thinking about knives, stab vests, the World Cup’ Afro-Pessimism and the resultant visit to Google.

What is it that drives this irrational fear of violence in South Africa? Perhaps it is Afro-Pessimism and a subconscious desire to see Africa fail or maybe it is driven by a sense of “white” and, in particular, English superiority. My guess is that while these may be factors the real reason is ignorance and fear of the unknown. A little “street smarts” which is essential anywhere in the world is probably all that is needed for a perfectly safe and memorable visit. Of course, ill advised visits to the shadier sides of South African cities is potentially dangerous – but then this applies across the world and, having “survived” walking through downtown Johannesburg with no other “white” in view; selling chickens in the heart of a “black township” which most of my “white” compatriots have never and never will visit; as well as regular cycle rides through the back roads of our local “black township”, I wonder what all the fuss is about.

Then it struck me. I have never been held up or mugged though two of my children have. I have never been subject to armed violence aimed at my person except when I ill advisedly tried to help a “damsel-in-distress” only to be attacked by the very same “damsel” yet, when faced with this mans strange behaviour in a country I perceive as perfectly safe, I immediately think ‘armed robbery’. The cause – all the hype and bad press – nothing sells like bad news and I, probably like most, have been conditioned to expect the worst. Sad isn’t it?

Incidentally the “offender” is as “white” as I am and if - IF - over the next few weeks of cycling in the UK and across France to Switzerland I am subject to personal violence the chances are that it will be at the hands of someone pretty much the same colour as me. Of course I am not expecting that – my greatest fear is heavy trucks on narrow roads.

...classified as a white person

The other day I was rummaging through my old documents trying to track down my birth certificate. There, in the midst of all my old report cards, I stumbled upon my very first identity document. As I flipped through its pages there it was – my formal classification document in which I, Catherine Bollaert, was legally ‘classified as a white person’ under the Population Registration Act as legislated in 1950.

I was flabbergasted! In all my thirty-three years of existence it had never once occurred to me that I might have owned a real-mckoy document of such historical significance! I mean I knew that Apartheid had done this to people. But there it was - my name on this little piece of paper with a stamp that declared that this person has been ‘classified as a white person’. Immediately my mind began interrogating the significance of this discovery. Was it intended to be a treasure or a curse that needed to be burned?

With this discovery, it felt as though I had landed with a thud into the heart of South Africa’s Apartheid history. Where did that leave me? Even though I was too young to have really experienced what Apartheid was all about, the colour of my skin meant that I was guilty. Nonetheless, I had benefitted at the expense of the ‘other’. For this, justice and restitution had to be made. So, was this the hard evidence proving me guilty as charged? However, on the other hand, because of the very nature of my being white, I am now cast an outsider – an illegitimate child.

So, it was as though this little piece of paper contained the curse of my identity. With THAT stamp the rest of my life had been pre-determined. Unless I could change the colour of my skin there was nothing I could do about it. Because of these four little words I would grow up in an all white neighbourhood and go to an all white church and be educated in an all white school, each of which was over-flowing in privilege. Most would consider me lucky! A blessing indeed to have been born white in a context where to have been born black meant being classified as sub-human and treated as such. Nonetheless, it was also because of those four little words that I would be trained in the ways of racism; that I would be taught to privilege privilege itself; and taught to fear the black man coming towards me. Because of those four little words I was now part of the world wide web of oppressors. So, the discovery of this little piece of paper was like discovering hidden muthi – the magic charm that contained the power of my curse. For this reason alone it needed to be burned.

No. This little piece of paper is now becoming my treasure. It is evidence that I too am a product of the society into which I was born and which continues to be defined by the stamp that the authorities on that day felt like putting on your little piece of paper. Can we really be defined by the tone of our skin colour or by the ability of our hair to retain a pencil? Does this not only go skin deep? Can we not see the absolute absurdity of all of it? Should we not be laughing out loud in mockery of those words - to think that I, that we, have allowed them to dictate who we are today? Whilst I am in no way dismissing the magnitude of the injustice of Apartheid and the severity of how it destroyed the lives of millions of people – the least of which is mine – can we really let those few little words on that little piece of paper continue to maintain its pervasive power which is still plaguing the stability of our society? In as much as you had no choice in your being classified as a ‘black’ or ‘coloured’ or Indian person, whose consequence you have had to live with, I too had no choice in being classified a ‘white person’. I too have to live with the consequence of that. But it is me who now gets to choose how.

Angola, South Africa: It's all the same...right?

It’s unbelievable really. The African Cup of Nations suffers a major attack; the Togolese deep loss and trauma and the Western media is more concerned whether this is the “litmus test” of what’s to come during the football world cup later this year in South Africa! What is that all about? Nonetheless, I thought the response of a South African who was being interviewed about this perceived security risk, by a Sky News reporter, was priceless. Drawing the parallels he asked the reporter that if a bomb went off in London (as indeed it has) whether it would deter them from going to Amsterdam? Of course not – it wouldn’t even cross one’s mind to think that!

For a moment I want to draw a few comparisons to gain some perspective on this. First of all, the continent of Africa is larger than the size of Western Europe, China, USA, India, and Argentina put together! Secondly, as Time Magazine points out, the distance between Cabinda (where this attack took place) and Cape Town is about double the distance between Paris and Kosovo , double the distance! (http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1952798,00.html). Thirdly, for me to fly from Durban to Cape Town takes about the same amount of time as it would to fly from England to Switzerland. A vast continent indeed! With countries that are separated by massive geographic distances! Why then is the Western media so concerned that what happened in Angola is going to happen in South Africa?

Is it because they still think that Africa is one and the same country? Surely not! However, considering the number of “non-Africans” who still refer to the African state they are about to visit as ‘Africa’ – then perhaps this remains a valid hypothesis. But why such fear?

With the way the world has been politically and economically structured, it is usually those with less power who are obligated to enter into the world and worldview of those who exert the power. The result of this in South Africa meant that most “blacks” have had great insight into who “whites” are – as they were continually having to enter into the “white” world. On the contrary, for “whites” knowledge of who “blacks” are has largely been based on what the media and religious institutions have said (or didn’t say) they were. For “whites” this created a deep-seated fear of “blacks” that was pivotal to upholding the Apartheid rule.

So, when reading about the fears that the West continues to have of Africa I am reminded that such dynamics are not peculiar to South Africa but form part of the global order. I am also reminded of how similar “white” South Africa and the West are with their attitudes towards Africa. For me, this Togolese tragedy is a beckoning for those of us in the West to step beyond our ideological boundaries and discover that in fact the distance between Cabinda and Cape Town is as safe as the distance between London and Amsterdam. In doing so not only will we feel more secure but so will the rest of the world!