I probably epitomise middle child
syndrome. Growing up my sister and brother used to make fun of me on family
trips by car. “Leave me alone!” my sister would shout then humph in my
direction. “No one understands me!” she’d exclaim. She and my brother would
laugh while I tried to read. They’d poke fun while I felt the eternal angst of
being the one caught in between. I’ve probably carried the whole misunderstood
thing with me my entire life: Making jokes no one else would really get and not
hiding how hysterical I myself found them. Doing and saying things in accordance
with my own world view and structure without really taking into consideration
the thoughts and perceptions of others. The consequence of what others thought
about me had never really played an important part in my life until I actively
became socially aware and realised that I needed to express myself better when
making friends. I think all of this childhood trauma has resulted in the
misdiagnosis about my political feelings towards our most monumental political
figure... Yes you called it. Drum roll please:
Chauffeur Roleyshlarshlar Nelly Mandy-L.A (Rolihlahla Nelson Mandela).
Even some of my friends have taken to the notion that I do indeed hate
the South African liberation icon. Worse yet some of my family members think I hate
this inspirational figure and magnanimous hero of the struggle.
I do not and am inspired by his achievements every day I breathe and am
not locked up on the streets for being what I am. And even then I fully recognize
that I have it lucky as there are restrictions to my detention. All because he
and a thousand others like minded in the pursuit of social justice laid down
their lives so I could exploit these luxuries.
Jock adequately ridden?
A couple of weeks ago I found myself back in the vehicle for a family
trip. I decided to resort back to my childhood antics of attention seeking via
being an instigator of heated debate. I opened with:
“Did you guys see the open letter on News24 talking about how Mandela
sold out the blacks?”
Even if you are politically apathetic there will definitely be three
parts of that sentence that will invoke some sort of gut response. Either:
News24, Mandela or blacks.
If you are somewhat politically
minded the entire sentence will strike a chord and like you have an asshole an
opinion will form (Thank you method man.)
The long and short of this little debacle is that my mother was deeply
insulted by the assertion and probably more hurt with the fact that I could identify
and understand with what the writer of the letter was saying in his letter.
After a while my sister was able coax me into admitting that the titling of the
letter was indeed sensational but did not necessarily take away from the
emotions expressed in the letter nor their validity. Thank you once again
News24 for providing a point of contention on the day the man was meant to be
celebrated most through his failing health and the country’s increasing fragmentation.
I suppose being 94 and having done so much doesn’t exempt you from what were
once your responsibilities and promises.
So I can obviously understand my mother’s hurt and anger. Firstly at me
for having brought up the issue and expressing the fact that I could understand
it. She must be thinking that I am the most ungrateful pile of bones to have
ever been fed. Secondly because the power of the legacy that is Rolihlahla
Mandela should not be tarnished as that is the biggest point of reference when
it comes to the idea of South African liberation.
Unfortunately I cannot simply ignore the gaping holes left by the power
exchange of CODESA merely because I became one of its immediate beneficiaries. While
it may be idealistic to speak of immediate and widespread economic transformation
back then. The question then becomes; when should the it take place? There has
been a mere quota-system put in place to signify “change”. The freedoms gained
have been social and political forsaking economic freedom. Without economic
freedom the social and political themselves become restricted resulting in no
real change at all. People are told that there has been a change rather than
feel it happen themselves.
While I can’t fully say with
absolute conviction that I’m ready to commit class suicide in order to aid the
revolution and change the global status quo I still can’t ignore the facts. I’m
merely a black kid on the white man’s playground trying to playoff catch by his
rules. A game I shall never win when the rules keep changing in his favour to
make sure that power is maintained. A regular of arbitrary arrest by the same
people with whom I share a skin pigmentation, the game has had me fucked long
before I was conceived. Trying to be an individual in communal poverty means
only one thing: Insanity.
While poverty may not purely discriminate on race it has chosen to play favourites aided by historical
foresight.
I understand that had there been a complete takeover of economy there
would have been a fucked up situation that would have probably resulted in a
civil war. But with our violence statistics so high up are we not already at
war with ourselves?
Just because you can’t see it does not mean it’s not happening. With the
greed and corruption enabled by a fear of never again going hungry, are we not
already at war with ourselves?
With the supported ignorance of unaccommodating
of fundamental difference within our own
communities and gender based violence are we not already at war with ourselves?
With misplaced self righteousness, aloof to the idea that people can
speak and think for themselves and do not need to be spoken of or around but
rather to, are we not starting a war ourselves?
The lack of basic services housing, water, electricity, food, clothes,
health care, education, sanitation DIGNITY, SOVEREIGNTY are we not killing
ourselves?
Old structures keep us running in the same wheel because we decide that
there is nothing else for us to see, build, do or even to think about. Instead we
come home and switch on the T.V because it’s the easiest way to escape from the
realities at play. We hate ourselves and kill each other one crime at a time. And
yes overt ignorance is a crime. While some people don’t want more (2 and a half
kids a white picket fence and a Labrador) some people do because they have
nothing and have realised that the only way to get it is to take it.
Those with passports will wipe their brows when the aeroplane finally
lifts off the tarmac and the anxiety attacks will subside as they watch the
airports they had been in moments before go up in flames.
It’s not Mandela I have a problem with. It is the idea that people have
turned him into. I am grateful for the freedom he gained “millions”. He did not
do this alone. Read a book for once. There were still gaping flaws left in the
negotiated freedoms of his legacy. No man is perfect. No idea is perfect. No execution
flawless. Nothing beyond criticism. So when I criticize and make fun of him I am
not being insensitive on the contrary I am using the same freedoms he and
thousands of others fought for me to have. Everything needs to be interrogated
and seek to be bettered. Hindsight gives 20/20 vision but most are blind to it
only because the only thing they want to look at is a mirror held up to their
own faces.
When the revolution arrives at my door step I have two options:
To hide underneath my bed, type as furiously as I can trying to make my
last words count: My last status update, my last tweet and my last blog post to
make sure that the world knows I existed.
Or
Get out into the streets, shut the fuck up and just do. Join the people
fucking shit up symbolic of their bonds
and finally accept my fate when they realise that I am merely an agent who did
nothing in their aid and actually gained from their pain.
For the sake of my parents I hope I choose the latter.
Probably just an alarmist.
