On a recent family holiday to the Kruger Park, we were enjoying a swim in one of the day visitor’s public pools.
The pool was full of people all having fun together and we were laughing and playing with the other families. Suddenly, I became aware of the pool attendant calling me over to speak to him. I waded over to him and asked if there was a problem. In a typically polite African way, he quietly told me that there was another pool at the main camp that we might enjoy more. “Why, what’s better about it?” I asked him perplexed. But then it dawned on me that he was inviting me (not telling me) to use a pool where there would be other white people. We declined his obviously well-meaning offer and stayed in that pool for the rest of the afternoon.
A lot of my writing focuses on race and racial identify in post-apartheid South Africa. For me it has been – and still is – an often very painful journey; a journey on which I have discovered to my shame the positive role that the simple colour of my skin has played (and still plays) in my life. On this journey I have also learnt the negative role that skin colour played (and still plays) in black people’s lives. But my white skin has also, at times, made my life sad and disconnected. It did at that pool. Why? Because I want to swim with my fellow South Africans. I do not want a special pool inhabited only by other white people.
As I have grappled with my white privilege and my place in post-apartheid South Africa, I have often felt deeply disconnected, as I did that day. This disconnection results in a form of displacement that manifests in many ways in us white folk; fear; racism; superiority; in statements like: “we’d be better off leaving”; in urgent and often frenzied attempts to “do good”; in burying our heads in the sand about racism; in leaving for foreign countries siting crime or lack of opportunity as reasons.
I have come to understand that at least some of these positions and attitudes come about as we discharge our pain and discomfort at living in a country in which we feel – to some degree – unwelcome as we are. There seems to be a built-in shame – acknowledge or unacknowledged – at being white living in South Africa. And lest we think we can outrun this shame, writer and researcher Brene Brown tells us that it is those of us who battle to admit to shame that suffer from it the most. This shame left unhealed is very toxic.
For those of us who remain here, do we deserve to feel unwelcome? Perhaps that isn’t the right question. Perhaps a better question might be; does anyone deserve to feel unwelcome in their own country?
Now, I don’t often feel the pain of being disconnected or displacement in overt ways such as the incident at the pool; it is subtle and not all the time. The white monopoly capital rhetoric makes me feel disconnected from my country. This is not because I do not believe that our wealth is still way too concentrated in the hands of white people – it is.
Political campaigning which suggests that prospective leaders are using too many white people on their campaign teams makes me disconnected. This is not because I believe that black leaders should use more white advisers than black – I do not.
Quotas and BBBEE make me disconnected. This is not because I don’t believe that our sports teams should privilege black players over white – I do. I also believe that a black job applicant should be privileged over a white job applicant of the same qualifications or experience. This is because restitution for decades of white privilege over black people must continue, until equilibrium (whatever that ultimately means) is reached.
So then, why am I writing about the pain and discomfort of being white in South Africa? Do I have the right to write this? Do I not deserve to feel this? Is it, for want of a better term, a necessary pain that must drive me – drive us all – to seek the healing, restoration and forgiveness our country still so desperately needs? I guess the answer to this will vary between people.
For me, the answer to all these questions is yes: yes, I have the right to write this; yes, I deserve to feel this pain and discomfort and yes, it is a very necessary pain that I must be willing to live with – embrace actually – in order that I might start to learn a new and better way of being white in South Africa.
Justin Foxton is founder of
The Peace Agency.
His writing is dedicated to the memory of Anene Booysens, Emmanuel Josias Sithole and Suna Venter.
HI Justin
Oh my word, thanks for articulating that. This feeling in me is deepening all the time and having adopted a black child gives me a completely unique way of traversing this emotional frontier. It brings all sorts of different, difficult and relevant questions to my heart and mind. I did some talks out in a Limpopo tribal village recently and it was the strangest feeling. Of course my child and I communicate a picture that both black and white have to process when they encounter us, this in itself is interesting and even heartwarming to observe. In some way, though I dont want it to sound like its going to sound, she gives me a passage to a new way of interacting with black people, for which I am so grateful. She has freed me to be more myself in this transitioning society and her very presence at my side or on my lap or when I admonish her or kiss her in public says a lot of things that I dont have to explain. She has given me more peace and more grounding in being a South African today. Maybe because i feel I have more of a right to be simply who I am as a South African and almost a legitimacy to say or propose or argue on behalf of black South Africa even though I am white. Does this make sense? I have had to ask myself, can I still express racist tendencies (different from my notions of privilege) even though I have a black daughter? It’s been an interesting journey and Im sure will continue to be more so as she grows beyond 7. It does keep me in check though. But of course being with her is such a lovely experience because of who she is, we are just family and friends and she is my baby and I am her mom. Our conversations are interesting in the SA context, but this is another story.
Back to Limpopo. When I was there last week, there was an interesting affinity I had and even a desire to be ‘in’ the village as part of the village. In a way, it felt more interesting and more necessary and more meaningful to live there as a South African, even a white South African. For my child, she simply assimilates and wants to play with whoever will play with her. A white child would not manage this so easily in a black village, and they would stick out too much. My child is completely at home and I know she is safe. My world often feels so unrealistic and even unjustified in the bigger scheme of SA. Weird to say this but I felt more at home there. Im sure I would miss a good expresso but that can be remedied. Of course I would only be integrated as a ‘white’ person with all that that symbolises, but I do believe that I would become known and accepted by many as myself and visa versa. It’s a glimpse of the future and it will be lovely if we could get there. We are on the journey. I like you would have preferred to remain in the pool you were in, and would have felt disconnected in both situations. Its a strange pathway, but maybe we are the ones pioneering a different way, where the former images of stark contrast will become more blurred. We have to live with a constant assessing of our position and role in this world. Its a privilege too, dont you think, and so humbling? In many ways it is also a relief. Certainly a relief to know that there are others traversing the same, almost unchartered, terrain.
So thank you for your article
Wow I am just getting to this now and I am blown away…firstly by your seep and sincere assessment of your place in this country, but also by how similar our stories are (even down to the fact that I too do work in villages in Limpopo!). A kindred spirit on this beautiful and often painful journey. Thank you so much for taking the time to write your story to me!
Hi Justin,
I think that 23 years after inequality was abandoned is enough time for the current government to have dealt with any problems related to the past discrimination. I think that now it should be the best man most suited for the job not the one who who will accept the opportunity to accept corruption to use the circumstances to enrich themselves. How long does it take to correct previous injustices? If after 23 years of positive discrimination we cannot complete on equal terms rather than our acceptance of corruption then that says something. I have had to work overseas for the past 10 years to get a decent wage and now my skills and experience are ignored in this country because I am white and have skills which are in demand worldwide. Also the remuneration that I received overseas was in line with with my qualifications and experience and not influenced by my position as a third class citizen in SA.
I think it will take decades if not centuries to correct the evils of colonialism and apartheid. We must all do what we can to heal the wounds and that includes standing against corruption. Because make no mistake where we are at as a nation is a symptom of precious evils.