by Justin Foxton | Sep 13, 2016 | Citizen Participation, Democracy
I recently got a glimpse of myself in a mirror of entitlement.
The reflection was clear and stark and it took me totally by surprise. I did a double-take; looked and re-looked – but still the images played themselves out in front of me like scenes from a ghastly movie.
The incident took place at our local Home Affairs office. We were there to do Cathy’s photo-card ID and had prepared ourselves for a long morning. We were welcomed by a kind man who perhaps could have known a little more about what was going on. But what he lacked in terms of hard knowledge he made up for with his soft and friendly demeanour. He sent us to wait in the right seating area which is really all one can expect from the man at the info desk at a Home Affairs office.
We took our seats in the queue and were greeted by nods, yebos and smiles. Everyone was relaxed and happy; checking their phones or chatting to their mates. The queue moved quite quickly.
But then it happened. Two rows ahead of us, between a couple of students there to get their ID’s sorted out – sat me. I was having a total meltdown.
We white people – when firing at our stereotypical best can be entitled in a way that I have frankly never experienced black people to be. We built an entire system of entitlement that has been officially outlawed for 22 years but most of us still behave as though we inherently deserve more, better, quicker than other races. We get around this despicable and outdated behaviour by labelling other races entitled.
Now what I saw in the mirror that day at Home Affairs was your archetypal white man doing the famous white person’s dance of entitlement. The queuing version of this dance goes something like this: When being made to wait in a queue we perform a series of repeated moves usually accompanied by sounds specifically designed to make the surrounding people feel slow, inefficient and inferior. The routine known as: “Things Worked Better in the Good old Days” involves one or more of the following moves:
We sit bolt upright and crane our necks around the people in front of us trying to catch the eye of the man at the info desk. If we can just catch his eye he will realise the error of his way making us wait and move us to the front of the queue where we belong. Whilst we are craning, we develop a strained look on our face, as if we are sitting on the toilet. We then check our watches in an exaggerated manner, lifting our wrists unnecessarily high for this purpose. We alternate between craning, straining and checking our watch. Craning, straining and checking our watch. This is the basic beat of the dance of entitlement (queuing).
Having failed at getting the man’s attention with our initial routine, we up the ante by muttering loudly enough to be heard about how few people are serving the long queues of people. We then roll our eyes. We cluck. We drum our fingers. We pout. Mutter, roll, cluck, drum, pout. Mutter, roll, cluck, drum, pout.
When this also fails, we abandon the subtleties of our various interpretative dance moves, pull out our cell phones and loudly tell whoever is on the other end how incompetent ‘they’ are.
I stared in horror at my reflection and realised how often I had performed the dance of white entitlement (queuing) or some variation thereof. My black friend and colleague caught me doing it just two days later whilst we were waiting together in a bank queue in Limpopo (us mlungus are well-known to black people for our impatience and rudeness). So not even this experience at Home Affairs had shamed me into some form of change.
My wife made it to the front of the queue. As she sat down, she smiled and said a warm hello to the fingerprint lady. The woman was totally taken aback. And as my wife thanked her and turned her back to walk away, the woman literally beamed after her.
It’s quite simple to contribute to nation-building in our country – particularly as a white person. We can begin by patiently waiting our turn. And when we get to the front, say hello and smile.
It’s radical.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17-year-old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Sep 2, 2016 | Citizen Participation, Democracy
I have a friend who recently came out of the racism closet.
Well, when I say she came out of the racism closet what I mean is that she came out publicly – on Facebook. She did not mince her words or try to soften the blow. She just came right out and said it.
Now under any circumstances this would be an extremely brave thing to have done. Coming to terms with our own internal tensions, ideological complexities and paradoxes is a life-long journey and revealing those in public is a truly vulnerable act. However, for me it was doubly brave given the profile of my friend. A little about her for context:
She is an educated, savvy, young, middle-class, white woman. You wouldn’t say that she comes from a conservative background as such, but she does come from a church-going family and the church can sometimes be a conservative environment.
Given this short profile you can understand why her closet-hop on Facebook caused a bit of a stir. Here it is verbatim: “Listening to Julius Malema on SAfm – this guy makes so much sense! Love it. Glad I voted EFF. (Update – not a hack folks!)”
Now, let’s recap for clarity: my friend is an educated, young, white woman. She is a deep thinker and her decision to vote for the Economic Freedom Fighters would have been well-considered, researched and spoken-through.
Now, the post did not go unnoticed. Some – presumably in denial – stated that her account must have been hacked. Others pointed out that Julius Malema is anti-white, to which she responded that he is not anti-white but anti-white supremacy.
Why is all this important to us? Well, with this post my friend sent a couple of very clear messages. Firstly, she defied the general rule of your vote being your secret. This tells us that she is proud of her choice and fearless about making it known publicly. This is good for democracy.
Secondly – and this is the more important point – she sent a hugely powerful message about who she is as a white South African; the journey she is on – a journey out of her own dark closet: her closet called racism; her closet called white privilege; her closet called white-is-right. Through this short and simple post, she told the world that she will not be a slave to her own white fear for one day longer, but will stand tall and proud and say something like (my words of course – not hers):
“I am working hard to become a person who my children can be proud of; a person who daily internalises the fact that even though I rejected apartheid – in fact more accurately, I came of age after the demise of the thing – I benefited and continue to benefit from apartheid and from being white. I realise that in order for me to be where I am – privileged – people, yes, black people, have had to lose their lives and their dignity and they continue to make these sacrifices for me on a daily basis. I simply cannot rest on my piece of land whilst knowing that yours was taken from you because of racism. I cannot send my child to a beautiful school whilst your child has no access to even the most basic education. I cannot stand by and watch while business founded and forged on the backs of the oppressed continues to enrich itself whilst over 30% of our population remains unemployed.
Do I feel guilty that my children go to good schools or that I live in a nice home? No. I feel broken. Broken by the inequality I see around me each day. I simply cannot continue as I am knowing that I live a life of quite extraordinary benefit and privilege at the expense of my black brothers and sisters.” That is something of what my friend said to me in this Facebook post and it killed me because all my work tells me that she is spot on.
Now please don’t misinterpret her post. It was a statement of defiance against her own unearned white privilege; a statement of recognition that she – like all of us – has such a long way to go before we can joyfully inhabit this land together as one. It was not an endorsement of Julius Malema personally and it went way beyond any kind of political statement.
With this simple post my friend challenged me on so many levels. I voted for the DA but when I read her post I somehow wished I had voted for the EFF.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17-year-old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Mar 2, 2016 | Democracy
Open letter to a friend and colleague:
Dear Akhona,
It has become fashionable to write open letters to public figures. These letters are usually vitriolic and self-serving. Come to think of it I have seldom read an open letter that is kind, affirming and hopeful. One of my objectives in writing an open letter to you, is to change that.
You may not be a public figure (yet) however you are very famous to your beautiful son, your brothers and Mama who are the very breath you breathe and your large network of friends and associates – me included.
Regrettably such fame doesn’t generally garner much interest. So why am I writing this? I am writing this to make public a simple truth that we exchanged via Whatsapp during the time of the Penny Sparrow scandal; black and white works.
This may seem like a somewhat fatuous statement at a time of such racial upheaval. But my association with you has demonstrated time-and-time again that this fact is true. Not only that, but black and white is necessary as we seek to find balance in this country of ours. Let me explain.
In the time that I have worked with you, we – that is Cathy and I and our respective kids – have become close friends. By virtue of spending long hours in planes and cars together, we have learnt a great deal about one another. We have challenged one another’s stereotypes – including our racial stereotypes, we have grown in our understanding of our respective cultures and we have made those new understandings work powerfully in some extremely challenging and even hostile work situations. I can confidently say that neither of us working independently in our field of conflict resolution and peace creation would have the success that you and I have had, working together. The one without the other would simply be less effective. Black and white works.
Through this process of time spent and conversations held (the only way that different people ever found one another), I have learnt a tremendous amount about your incredible culture. This has allowed me to bring a more rounded, balanced, integrated me to the uniquely African work we have been doing. My whiteness with all its strengths and weaknesses has been balanced by your blackness with such different strengths and weaknesses. And I have learnt that black and white is not the same – thankfully! Of course, we are human and equal – but we are also extraordinarily, beautifully different. This combination of our differences; different skills, customs, ways of doing things; different ways of speaking, relating, forgiving, inviting, negotiating and yes, even fighting – is powerful to heal and restore dignity when used in combination. It is an elixir not a poison. And then of course, we have many similarities. What fun that has been!
And you have deepened my understanding of what it means to be African. Through your kindness and jokeful acceptance of my often awkward attempts at being culturally sensitive, I think I have been allowed to call myself that; an African. Not that sterile classification that so polarises; white South African. No, through you and our dear friend Mr Walter Malepe, I have been affirmed and accepted as an African. I thank you for this.
And as I have listened to hours and hours of languages being spoken that I don’t understand, feeling every inch of my inadequacy, you have demonstrated the power of patient engagement. Before, this impatient white boy might have disengaged from such meetings or conversations with an air of arrogant irritation: “Why don’t they just speak English?” But because we have worked in non-Zulu speaking areas you too have been lost. We have been lost together! But you have shown me that it doesn’t matter whether we understand or not. What matters is that we respect the speaker by being present and engaged with every word he or she speaks. It matters not whether we understand the words. We work to hear the heart. It is all about dignity. Respect. Honour. This is the African way. I have developed – slowly but surely – these subtle but necessary skills, and as a result I have the ear – and perhaps even the heart – of many people who by rights should have little or no time for this mlungu. I could not have developed in these areas on my own. The thin strands of trust; the hands shaken and held for long enough to say; “you are my brother”, the ever-so-subtle but terribly warm smile from a tribal elder as I speak. That would not have happened if black and white did not work.
We have done battle together in corporate boardrooms and under trees. Many are the fights we have fought and many are the battles we have lost and won. They have been hard fought and taxing but I believe we can say that in some small way our country – room by room – person-by-person – is a better place because we have worked side-by-side. That is for no other reason than the fact that black and white works.
So thank you Akhona. Thank you for being willing to challenge me and for allowing me to challenge you; thank you for allowing your mind to be changed and for seeing the brother in me. As fires burn and as battles rage let you and I and our families affirm in word and deed what I have known to be true for all my life.
That black and white works.
Take care sisi.
Justin
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
by Justin Foxton | Feb 10, 2016 | Democracy
Writer, justice and reconciliation ambassador and Pastor Alexander Venter speaks of four kinds of racists in post-apartheid South Africa. Following on from my last column – and adding to the continuing national dialogue on racism – I believe that these are very useful definitions in terms of helping us to name our prejudice and hence bring it under control. They are not specific to any one race; they apply to all South Africans regardless of colour or ethnicity. Which one are you?
Confirmed racists are prejudiced and open about it. They resent or even hate people of other races. This includes the phenomenon of xenophobia, where people fear, reject and even victimise those of other races. Some believe more than ever that blacks and whites – and indeed all differing races – should be kept apart. In the case of black and white, white confirmed racists believe black people are inferior. They will say things like: “Things were better under apartheid.” They will express open glee when a black person articulates such a misguided view as for them this is a slam-dunk in terms of confirming their own prejudicial belief systems. For black confirmed racists, white people are still imperialistic settlers and their retort might be along the lines of: “They must go back to Europe.” Confirmed racists are upfront and ‘honest’ about their racism. The attitudes of this group are hardening and they can often be heard dumping their hateful and offensive opinions and actions on those around them.
Suppressed racists are those who have buried their prejudices in the name of political correctness, keeping-the-peace, or fear of being judged. This will come with a decent measure of self-deception and denial. “I am not racist!” they protest (or perhaps even “I am not a racist but….”) and they may even resort to the old: “I have friends/colleagues who are black!” It doesn’t often take much – a particular event, issue, person or glass of wine – to bring out the racist comments and attitudes. The reality is that we can only supress things for so long before they pop out. This type of racism is no less destructive than Confirmed Racism because it pays lip service to principles of equality while opposing its implementation. This is particularly applicable when it comes to any form of redress particularly policies like BBBEE. It would appear that many South Africans are currently stuck at this level of racism. We haven’t engaged deeply and meaningfully with the hard and often painful process of facing our race demons and we certainly haven’t acknowledged just how vital it is that we do. This will take courage and hard, uncomfortable work – and many of us simply haven’t begun that journey. However, until we do South Africa will be caught in the twilight zone between two eras. This will impact on social cohesion, crime levels, economic growth and the strength of our democracy. Moving beyond this stage of racism is fundamental now to our progress as a nation.
Recovering racists are those who have acknowledged and faced their racial conditioning and the fact that if you were raised in South Africa then racism is intertwined in your very being. They are taking responsibility for this and they are consciously working on their thought processes, beliefs, attitudes and actions. They have dealt with their guilt and are free of this, but freedom is relative. Like people recovering from any addiction, they will always be in recovery and this is a daily journey. They are unlearning old ways of thinking and relating and are adopting new attitudes, behaviours and even speech patterns. They are working at inner and outer transformation of their lives and hence society at large. This is the stage we all need to get to. It takes us beyond denial by harnessing the power of vulnerability to admit our weaknesses and our struggles. Only when we do this can we heal – individually and hence collectively.
Pre-racists or Innocents are those who are in the pre-prejudice stage; they are our children. They are racially innocent provided of course their parents, extended family or other influential adults haven’t already polluted them with their prejudice. The post-apartheid generation has a wonderful opportunity to be racism-free in a way all other South Africans could never be. It will depend on our guidance and modelling – or lack thereof – as to whether this generation is lost to racism.
I would suggest that these definitions are very useful starting points but perhaps not as clear cut as 4 neat categories. For example I am a Recovering Racist but I sometimes catch myself suppressing racist thoughts because “that’s not what a recovering racist should think”. But again I ask – and I would urge personal honesty – which type/types of racist are you? Perhaps even more importantly, are you prepared to go on a journey to the next level of recovery?
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
My sincere thanks to Alexander Venter for giving me permission to quote extensively from his book “Doing Reconciliation – Racism, Reconciliation and Transformation in Church and World.”
by Justin Foxton | Jan 18, 2016 | Citizen Participation, Democracy
I have been writing about issues of racism for years now, but I have seldom felt so winded; so physically nauseated – as I did when I read those hateful words written by now infamous people.
The irony is that at the time the story broke I was enjoying our annual family holiday in the Kruger National Park. All the way around that beautiful place my wife and I were marvelling at how diverse it has become. Not so long ago – I’m talking 4 or 5 years back – it was practically all white and very conservative, to its great shame. Not anymore. All races, ages, adoptive families like ours, gay, straight you name it, we all swam together; our children made friends; we shared drinks on New Year’s Eve; we stopped and pointed out animal sightings. It was the first year in many that we felt that things had really turned and that the place was now moving towards being truly inclusive and representative.
When you are in Kruger you don’t usually stop for a Sparrow. But we did this time. She stopped us in our tracks. What we were reading on social media and in the news was just so utterly contradictory to the South Africa that we were relishing. Over the days that followed we spoke a great deal about the issues at stake. I read all the angry articles, Tweets and Facebook posts. I joined the majority of right-thinking people from South Africa and the world in my condemnation of what had been said. But a piece of the puzzle was missing; a big piece.
The discourse surrounding the whole affair began to change slightly and this is when it dawned on me; the issue is not simply the racist ravings of people like Penny Sparrow, Velaphi Khumalo or Justin van Vuuren.
Now please let me reiterate; I – like millions of other South Africans – deplore and reject all words and actions that hurt or demean others in any way. However isn’t this response a little too easy; perhaps a touch convenient given the enormity of what has been said? As sane, rational people of all races, we get to talk about the Penny Sparrows of this world. We get to write columns and blogs and Facebook posts voicing our disgust and in some cases our deep shame. This is all well, good and necessary. But does our indignation not become a spotlight that we turn on ‘those racists’ and away from ourselves?
And here is the big issue for me personally: I fight every day for equality. I write and I talk and I argue against racism constantly. I have a black child. I have beautiful, amazing black and Indian friends and colleagues whom I adore. I often publically share my frustrations with my own white self; my stuck-up, self-important, over-hasty, too direct self.
However, the question I must honestly and vulnerably ask myself, is if on a racism scale of 1 to 10 Penny Sparrow is a 12 – then where am I? I have written in this column before that ending racism begins with you and me; the painful, ongoing journey that each of us must embark on to face our prejudices head-on and get healed, and that if we are to be brutally honest with ourselves then we are all recovering racists who exist somewhere on that scale.
If these issues end with us simply venting our collective spleen against the blatant racists amongst us then surely we have missed an opportunity to turn the spotlight of those vile ramblings back onto ourselves in order that we might face up to our own prejudices and progress further down that racism scale towards zero. Imagine if we all did this? Now that would deal racism a proper blow.
Again let’s be clear; we must deal decisively with all hate speech and the people who speak it. They will undoubtedly face the full and legitimate anger of the citizenry and they must face the full might of the law. But then what? Where does that leave you and me; the racists in recovery? No further down the road of recovery than we were before Penny Sparrow.
For her the beach became the big issue. What is the issue – big or small – for you? I am not asking this question of whites only. I am asking this question of all South Africans. And if your answer is, “I am not a racist”, then I would humbly suggest that you have the furthest to go.
Justin Foxton is founder of The Peace Agency.
This column is dedicated to the memory of 17 year old Anene Booysens: gang raped, mutilated and murdered, and our Mozambican brother Emmanuel Josias Sithole: beaten and stabbed to death.
