kagablog

June 15, 2017

an interview with Tsietsi Mashinini

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 6:31 am

the president of the Soweto Students Representative Council and a central leader of the mass student protests that began in Soweto in June 1976

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Question: Could you tell us what life is like in Soweto?

Answer: I don’t know in what way I can portray the picture. But Soweto is the biggest Black township in South Africa. It has about 80,000 houses, which are inhabited by more than one million people. I came from a family of twelve kids. And my parents make it fourteen. We stayed in a four room house, and the rooms are about eight by ten. Very few houses have electricity. Of those with electricity, most of them belong to the in Soweto had wages just to keep them alive, and not to have any other needs a human being has. Bourgeoisie in Soweto. It is ghetto life all the way. Very few gas stoves around. There are lots of basic needs people cannot afford, because of very low wages. In fact, when a survey was done in 1974 it was found that 60 percent of people in Soweto had wages just to keep them alive, and not to have any other needs a human being has. You don’t own any property except your furniture. The house is not yours – it belongs to the Bantu Administration Board. You are in the urban areas for the purpose of either schooling or working. If you are not doing either of the two, you are sent to the Homelands. Soweto has very few recreational facilities. It has two cinemas, about six municipal halls, and scattered playgrounds here and there. It has almost 300 schools, from grade level Sub A through matriculation. There is no university in Soweto. If you want to go to university, you go to one of the tribal universities.

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Q. You mentioned bourgeois layers in Soweto. Can you explain that further?

A. They are a very small percentage. In fact they have a special township, a place for the rich, called Dube. That is where you find most of the big houses and mansions. Most of the people who stay there are doctors, lawyers, and people who have got the best jobs in town. The rest of the people are labourers and drivers. They constitute 85 percent.

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Q. Could you describe the conditions in the schools and the education system for Blacks in South Africa?

A. Besides having to buy everything you need at school, you pay high school fees. There are a number of bursaries that are granted on merit, but usually they are granted to students from rich families. The classes have almost eighty pupils in them. There are two or three on a desk even at high school. At primary school level you sit down on benches in rows with no desks at all. Our schools don’t have heaters. The school simply has a classroom, a blackboard, and the Department of Bantu Education provides the chalk and writing material for the blackboard. Everything else in the classroom is provided by the pupils. After April, the Bantu Education Constitution laid down that if you have not paid the fees you should be sent out from the school. If you don’t wear the proper school uniform every day, you are liable to expulsion. Teachers cane you for whatever offence, and each school has its own regulations. The school I came from, you enter at 7 a.m and school goes out at 5:30 p.m, with two breaks in between: one at ten o’clock for twenty minutes and a lunch break between one and two o’clock. You get punished for not having shoelaces, belts, ties, and buttons. And if you are a girl and you are wearing a tunic, you get punished if your buttons do not correspond to your tunic. In South Africa, the teaching is very impersonal and indifferent. It’s only in rare cases where you find the teacher with an interest in his students or pupils. Most of the time the teacher just comes in, gives you work, and goes out.

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Q. Are all the teachers Black?

A. Yes, all Black. In my school there was a white teacher. He came this year and was not well received by the students. I understand there are almost eighty white teachers in high schools all over South Africa. This is supposed to project an image overseas that Blacks and whites are living quite happily, that we even have white teachers in Black schools. I don’t know how many times that teacher nearly got beaten up at school by students because of the bitterness the Black people have.

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Q. Can you describe how the recent student protests developed around the Afrikaans language?

A. We don’t have much political education in South Africa and most of the material you read out here is banned in South Africa or it is for the whites only. So you come to realise that you know very little about the outside world except when Kissinger is going to Zurich. That, they announce. The local papers concentrate on local news. Newspaper reading has never been the interest of students for a very long period, because the newspapers were white. A South African high-school student because it was there that the eruption started, at high-school level around the South African Students Organization-cannot tell you that Transkei is another aspect of oppression because of this and this. But in some way or another, the student understands and indentifies all elements of oppression like this Afrikaans thing-that is, our education, which is simply to domesticate you to be a better tool for the white man for the white man when you go and join the working community.

Q. Until now all teaching was done in English?

A. Yes all the time.

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Q. And now the proposal was to make all teaching in Afrikaans, or just some of it?

A. Every student is doing seven subjects, at least until high-school level: the two official languages, English and Afrikaans, your mother tongue, and four other subjects. This Afrikaans policy compelled you to do two of the subjects in Afrikaans and two in English. With the type of education we have and where you do not have much material to research on, students find difficulty in understanding the concepts involved in physics, biology, and geography. And now, if you do all these things in a language you are not conversant in, and the teacher has never been taught to teach in Afrikaans – Afrikaans has got very circles in society because everywhere the medium of English is used, except in official pamphlets where Afrikaans and English is used – and all the time for almost eleven years you have been taught through the medium of English, it is difficult to switch over. A number of junior secondary schools went on strike a then some went back. But there was one in particular, Phuti, which went on strike for six weeks and they would not go back until Afrikaans was scrapped as a medium of instruction. When any school was involved in an incident of some sort, the press built it up as another protest against the Afrikaans language. There was an incident at Naledi high school where security branch officers went to pick up a student for detention. When the go there, the students decide to beat up the security branch officers and burn their car. The press picked that up as another protest of Afrikaans medium of instruction and then it was the talk of the township. We were getting sick and tired because instead of oppression being gradually removed from us, the system was in fact implementing some of the thoughts of oppressing us. I realized that people were fed up with this sort of thing, but nobody had the guts to start anything. I decided that if we were to demonstrate it would have an effect because there has never been a demonstration before in Soweto. There were demonstrations some time before we were born or when we were little kids, like Sharpeville demonstration – of which we know very little because any material written material, about Sharpeville was banned. We heard that the students of the University of Witwatersrand had demonstrated. So I thought that if we could demonstrate it would be something out of the way. I was the president of the South African Student Movement [SASM] at my high school, Morris Isaacson. I called the students together, and on the Wednesday a week before June 16, we talked about it. I delivered the speech on the South African situation and got the students in a mood to do anything.
On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I gave them the briefing for the demonstration. On Saturday, we put a placard at the school gates saying: “Notice – no Security Branch allowed. Enter at risk of your skin.” Now the press put that up again as another protest against the Afrikaans issue. On Sunday there was a SASM meeting of all the students in Soweto. I went to the meeting and got a few chaps from the other schools to help me, and we decide to mobilize all the high schools and junior secondary schools. We did that on Monday and Tuesday, and then on Wednesday we went on the streets demonstrating. We were very peaceful all the time and there were just placards denouncing Afrikaans as another method of oppression. The idea was coverage on this junior secondary school, and there, myself and a number of other students had drawn up a memorandum to the effect that we Soweto students totally rejected Afrikaans as a medium of instruction and we were not going back until this was scrapped. We were converged already, and I still trying to tell, the students to settle downs so that we could address them properly, when the cops started shooting.

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Q. How many students were involved on June 16?

A. The press put it at 10 000. I am not very good at estimating how many people were there, but I have seen what 10 000 people are. And if I was to compare that demonstration with others, I we had the biggest crowd on June 16. I think nearly all the students in central, north, east, and west Soweto were involved. Only the South was not involved.

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Q. How were the workers strikes organized after the student protests?

A. After June 16 we realized that there were too many killings, we tried to get a method whereby we could hit the system, and reduce the casualties. As we did not have guns, our only weapon was to cripple the economy of the country, lies in Black hands. So the idea was to stop workers going to work. So we sent work to the parents, the workers. We requested that from such and such a date to such and such a date nobody should go to work. And that is how the workers came into it. They pledged solidarity with the student and stayed at home. We distributed pamphlets, and students were circulating them, that is how there organized. All the time they wanted to be involved in the struggle, but there was no concrete organization which could announce “Don’t go to work could work” could only be done through students.

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Q. Are Black workers being organized on a large scale?

A. Yes I have seen of the underground work.

Q. The clash between some of the hostel workers and the other residents of Soweto what caused that?

A. Now, in the course of the struggle since the Black Consciousness Movement was established and even since Mandela time, the hostel dwellers were always overlooked as a sector of the community. Not much consciousness raising was done, so the system went to these people and told them to kill Black leaders. They gave them pictures of Black leaders, mine was included. They gave them numbers of houses to burn belonging to Black leaders. So, we knew about this, but we were not in a position to do anything. It was confirmed that the system had mobilized all the hostels and fortunate enough some of the hostels did not participate. Only one hostel did participate in the murder of Black people. Immediately afterwards, the Black community reorganized itself to pick the people who did not want to pledge themselves in solidarity with the Black students. But the hostel dwellers became aware of the fact that the system was just using them and so they pledged solidarity with the students. Now they are hitting very hard against the system. The only thing which will happen is that it won’t be reported what the hostel dwellers are doing against the system. It will only be reported what they are doing against the students.

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Q. What was the Students Representative Council?

A. The SRC was formed after June 16 when we were planning the second demonstration for the release of the detainees, requested each school to send two representatives. We did not want the thing to appear as if it was organized by SASM, otherwise SASM would be declared a restricted organization. By even so, all members of SASM were detained and I’m the only one left of the national and regional executive councils.

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Q. Have all the leaders of SASO and the Black People’s Convention been detained?

A. Yes, all of them. The SASO general student council was from July 5 to July 9. The national president was elected after the riots, was then detained in connection with the riots. Before the demonstrations Mongezi Stofile was an ordinary student, but after he was elected national president he was detained in connection with the riots.

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Q. Do you have any connection with the ANC OR PAC?

A. I will tell you something. The ANC and PAC played their part in the South Africa struggle in the 1950s and 1960s. Right now there are ex-members of the ANC in the whole of South Africa. But they are not politically active, that is, have a concept of perpetuating the activity of the ANC or PAC political ideology. As far as the students in South Africa are concerned, the ANC and PAC are extinct internally. Externally we are aware they exist. Internally they are doing no work. There may be some underground work they are doing which we are not aware of, but as far as the struggle is concerned they are not doing anything.

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Q. Do you think there is a different political outlook between the old movements, the ANC and PAC, and the Black Consciousness Movement?

A. Yes there is. There were a number of clashes between ANC and BCM leaders, because the ANC leaders did not want to recognise the BCM as a liberation movement.

Q. Why didn’t they want to recognise the BCM?

A. They did not want to understand why BCM was formed when ANC was the liberation movement. But ANC was banned inside the country, so a new liberation front had to come.

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Q. Can you say something more about the BCM, its origins and links with similar movements elsewhere?

A. The BCM was formed in 1968. There were student councils in Natal, Orange Freestate, all over South Africa. They came together and formed SASO – that’s the mother body of SASM. SASO and SASM belong to the students, SASO at the university level and SASM at high school to lower primary level. Then there is the Black People’s Convention (BPC) with the Black community, the Black Allied Workers Union with the workers and the Union of Black Women federations which concerned themselves with different sectors of the community. Then ideology is the same: to make the Black man more conscious of the evil of the white man, elements of oppression, and so on. The ideology concerned is to peacefully bring about a change in the South African social aspect and to bring about total liberation of the Black man. The BCM, which is a very strong movement, gained momentum from 1972 until the death of Tiro, the person who established SASM in 1972 and was assassinated by a letter bomb in 1974 in Botswana. He was permanent organizer of SASM and was the first national president of SASM at the high school level. He was one of the Black leaders who died for the Black course.

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Q. We have heard that the BCM is influenced by ideas from the American Black National Movement?

A. I am not sure. I myself have read very little material about the Black Power Movement in America. The students in South Africa do not identify Black Power the way it is identified in America. I don’t even know how it is identified in America. I believe that Black Power is the realization of the people of oppression. Immediately they realize they are oppressed they regroup themselves to fight against the system. As long as there is a Black person oppressed in South Africa, there will be Black movements which will result in the concept of Black Power – the eruption of the Black masses. Black Power is every Black person in South Africa, Namibia and Zimbabwe.

Q. To what extent have you involved sections of the Asians and Coloured populations?

A. The ideology of the BCM defines BLACKNESS as an attitude of mind, and not of the colour of the skin. So it makes provision for the Coloured and Indian population to be involved in the BCM. The Black man is any member of the South African community. The difference between the Coloureds, Indians and Blacks is that Blacks are not referred to as Blacks but Africans. If you want to differentiate between the three groups, one is African one is Indian, and one Coloured. They are all referred to as Blacks.

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Q. What have you read in South Africa? Are books and pamphlets smuggled in which give people an idea as to what happens in the rest of Africa?

A. There are a number of books which are smuggled into the country. A lot of people possess banned material. You just do not lend it to people to read because that is where the offence is, by giving it to people, by circulating it. So if you have banned material you keep it to yourself. If the system picks you up and you are in possession of banned material, that is another offence. The first banned book I read was the Immorality Act, which is a story written by a judge about a white man who was in love with a Black woman. The next was this book by Nelson Mandela, No Easy Walk to Freedom. There are quite a number of copies in South Africa. Mostly what is not banned are SASO and SASM newsletters, but they are banned after a month or two. Since June 16, everything that was Black was banned even before it was released.

Q. What about Marxist books? Books by Marx and Lenin?

A. Not even in the libraries. I only learned what it was when I was in Botswana in exile, that the concept of Marxism is based on “each according to his abilities, each according to his needs “. Then I realized that this was exactly what we were fighting for in South Africa. If you ask the people what type of government they would like to have, a person cannot articulate in those terms but a person can tell you that those people in Dube are rich and other people in White City eat cow dung and this is obscene. That a person gets R 40 and the other person gets R 140 for the same kind of job per month. If these things could be equal people would live better. In such parables people will tell you exactly what they want: and when you come to analyse it all, they want Marxism. They have been oppressed and suppressed for so long they only want to leave in an equal society.

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Q. How did developments in Mozambique and Angola affect the Blacks in South Africa?

A. It brought political awareness of the potential Black people carried in their hands. SASO tried to have a rally sometime before the independence of Mozambique and that rally was banned. Now, I was a political infant, and the question arose in my mind why was this rally banned? You turned to like everything the regime hates. They don’t like anything to do with Frelimo; then you are for Frelimo. When they were fighting Cubans and Angolans in Angola, then we were for those people they don’t like. The fact that they don’t like communism makes you think what communism is, and “no, I think I want this.” They are not aware that they are creating this type of thing. The system more or less made me what I am now because of their constant oppression. My character was built by the environment that I lived in. That is why I claim that I am not the only Tsietsi Mashinini – there are lots of other students who will become active because of what the system is doing to them.

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Koketso “Tsietsi Mashinini” Poho

Q. Because of the level of repression since June 16, do you think that the South African regime will be able to crush this movement?

A. I think they will ban the BCM and claim that they are behind all this. But a new liberation front will come up. They are going to drive the people underground, because the people are going to be afraid to act the way the BCM has done. A lot of underground work is going to be done without the knowledge of the system. They will only see various acts of underground work, but they won’t know who is responsible. The system itself has created so many enemies. There were people who sympathized with the BCM, but did not want to have anything to do with politics for fear of detention. The system was raiding almost fifty homes a night after June 16, looking for that person or this person. So many people were killed or detained. So many people have grudges against the system that they are prepared to do anything against the system anytime. So many mothers have lost their children. So many fathers have lost their children. So many husbands have lost their wives. That is because of the system.
In fact, I would say that the system has done more to heighten consciousness than SASO, SASM, and BPC have managed in their history.

Q. Do you see the struggle continuing for ten years?

A. Ten years? Five!

Q. You don’t see the present as a short outburst?

A. I see the downfall of the system in five years.

Q. Do you think that it is possible for the regime to do what it did after Sharpeville and crush the movement?

A. They cannot. If they want to stop Black Power they have to put every Black person in detention. Because as long as there are Black people outside, the struggle will go on.

Q. Do you think it will be possible to organize a powerful, political organization underground in South Africa that could lead a struggle for power by the Blacks?

A. I think there is already a strong, underground liberation movement, the BPC.

Q. Not people from the ANC or PAC?

A. I understand that the ANC has its own underground liberation movement. But there cannot be one underground liberation movement. Because say fifty people are active in this liberation movement, these people cannot come out in public to say, “We are doing this.” So they are acting on their own. Their results will cause people to say, “Such and such has happened. Let’s try do it in such a way.” So there are going to be a lot of underground movements. And I see them as the people who, in fact, are going to start the revolution in South Africa. That is if the people in exile don’t start anything before them.

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Q. What do you think of the Kissinger talks with Vorster?

A. We are aware of the role of Kissinger with his peace talks. The peace talks mean that Kissinger is representing the Western world in South Africa. The Western world has economic interests in South Africa. The Black masses are revolting against the racist regime. Kissinger has got to establish peace in South Africa such that their interests are not tampered with. The Black student is just beginning to realise his fight is not just against the racist regime, but that the racist regime has got its power resources in the whole of the Western world. And that is why they are rejecting people like Kissinger and so on.

Q. What attitude do you think the neighboring states should take towards the South African struggles?

A. If they could make military aid available to the South African struggle it would contribute a lot because that is the only language the people want to understand now. Armed struggle against the racist regime, that’s the only thing they see as possible to bring us total freedom. If you could look into the history of the struggle, you could see that all other means have been exhausted. The only thing left is armed struggle against the racist regime. When we protest in demonstrations, we are mad because we don’t have guns. When we try to negotiate, it is always said the government is still considering for indefinite period. And if anybody comes into leadership, they are detained for indefinite period. The racist regime created so many draconian laws to prove itself against the Blacks that if you obey the South African laws there would be political movement in South Africa.

Q. What about the credibility of Buthelezi and other chiefs?

A. They have much support from the hostel dwellers and people from their vicinities. But the Black students and Black parents in urban areas, where much of the Black population is, totally reject Homeland leaders because they are aware of the issue of Homelands and what it means.

Q. What do you think of the Bantustans?

A. Bantustans are supposed to be independent, but they cannot be independent when they are dependent on the racist regime. If the Bantustans have their own parliament, prime ministers and legislative assembly, the final word will always come from Pretoria. Whatever they want to do on a Homeland scale, the final word always comes from Pretoria.The Black people do not recognise any leader who is working within the system to try and bring about a change. All leaders of the government platform only speak that far and not further. Immediately they go over their limit, they are just sacked from their position. Homeland leaders and some new people are brought in. Pretoria is creating all the puppets – a dozen a day – because they are aware the political role these people could play to try and suppress the protests of the people. Now we do not recognise them, especially the students, who constitute a very powerful liberation front. As long as the students do not recognise the Homeland leaders, urban Bantu councilors, and so on, everybody within the government framework. Their independence shall be recognized by the regime only, not by the people.

Q. What message will you have for the people in Britain, France or the USA to help the struggle?

A. For one, by not recognizing the coming independence of Transkei which is just a political swindle as far as I am concerned, between Blacks and whites in South Africa. The people must understand that the racist regime is dependant entirely on Britain and other countries for arms and so on. And if they don’t support the racist regime it is entirely their duty to end to make sure that Britain cuts all ties with South Africa.

FOOTNOTES

1. Afrikaans is the Dutch based language of the Boer section of the white population.
2. Migrant workers in the urban areas generally housed in barracks like hostels so as to isolate them
from the rest of the population.
3. Nelson Mandela a central leader of the African National Congress in the 1950s and early 1960s. He
is now serving a life sentence on Robben Island.
4. African national Congress and Pan Africanist Congress.
5. South Africa’s Black population is composed of 17.8 million Africans, 2.3 million Coloureds,
710 000 Indians. The Indians were originally brought to South Africa as indentured workers,
and the Coloured are descendents of the early White Settlers. Indians, Malay slaves, KhoiKhoi,
San, and other African people.
6. Frente de Libertcao de Mocabique (Mozambique Liberation Front).

June 5, 2017

Vito Laterza on white people

Filed under: 2002 - western4.33,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 7:11 pm

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May 20, 2017

Everybody Dies!

Filed under: film as subversive art,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 11:12 am

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January 15, 2017

ANGELO FICK quoted from Metalepsis in Black

Filed under: 2016 - Metalepsis in Black,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 12:31 pm

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November 27, 2016

a kliye message

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 11:00 am

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September 20, 2016

hairy

Filed under: kagastories,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 12:28 pm

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August 24, 2016

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 3:31 am

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July 14, 2016

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 10:28 pm

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July 12, 2016

MOHAMMAD SHABANGU on Language and Exclusion at Stellenbosch University

Filed under: 2016 - Opening Stellenbosch,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 12:44 pm

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I should begin with a few opening remarks which will, I hope, anchor my overall argument as it relates to Language and Transformation at Stellenbosch University. Firstly, in response to the emerging critique following the memorandum of grievances and demands which was handed to the vice chancellor, it will be difficult to address some apparently ‘significant’ concerns since they are informed, however unconsciously, by apartheid era epistemic procedures which have always served to construct taxonomic racial and cultural diagrams. One such concern, often highlighted by those eager to jettison the ethico-politcal dimension of our argument, has to do with what is seen as ostensibly a paradox: ‘there is an amorphous number of black people who are also Afrikaans speakers’, therefore your demands are inattentive to the needs of many black students at Stellenbosch. Far from being a neutral objection to our demand for language reform, this argument, if that is what it is, reflects a profound and hurtful blindness to white supremacy. That is to say, such a contention simply gestures towards an inability to develop a critical vocabulary that can capture the mutating forms of racism in our post-apartheid context. A contrastive analogy, fanciful as it might seem, would be the post-Marikana debates which took place in many middle class circles shortly after the 34 striking miners were massacred in 2012. The assertion in these circles (black and white alike) was that, because the miners died under the watch of a black government, at the instruction of black police commissioners, at the hands of mostly black police men and women, the massacre cannot possibly be a racial issue, and we should therefore not conceive of it as such (it was seldom framed in racial terms). The simplistic reason: because there were black people involved in the incident, the racial and racist dimension of the episode can be set aside. This logic is clearly flawed and conveniently disavows the social determinations of human life together with the specificities of our racial past. On a far less visceral level, the objection to our demand for language reform takes on the same illogical thought pattern: because an amorphous number of black people are involved in instrumentalising Afrikaans, the charge of racism against the university and its language policy can be set aside, and the debate conceived of in neutral linguistic terms. As if to suggest that if x amount of blacks participate in a system, their mere participation indicates an ‘open’ ‘non-racist’ space. Time limitations preclude my going into detail about this logical fallacy, suffice to say that just because there are black people who speak Afrikaans, an obvious fact not even worth noting, it does not mean that Language (Afrikaans language in particular) does not function as an exclusionary tool at Stellenbosch University.

Now, no right thinking person can deny that Stellenbosch is a space of deeply entrenched structural and institutional racism and patriarchy. So, the language question cannot be separated from the question of ethics, and ethics in turn cannot be conceived of outside of the process of developing democratic intuitions. When talking about the language issue, we – members of Open Stellenbosch – are driven by a will to social justice. To attend to this, we are working together to bring about critical change at Stellenbosch University, a change that can only be realised by addressing the language question. Open Stellenbosch is an anti-racist, anti-sexist, non-partisan movement that recognises our location in the belly of the beast of Neo-apartheid infrastructure.

I should begin by highlighting an obvious fact, that is, the idea that the post-apartheid present is mediated by historical discourse. If Language is itself the bearer of discourse, then it is also central to ideology. Language, both as a means of communication as well as a process of meaning making, can be and has been manipulated to subjugate black people in general. The typical conception of collective and individual power dynamics, a way of understanding ones existence as arising ex nihilo, creates a false history which further implies that ‘cultures’ and peoples are at different places on the timeline when, in truth, they are merely different. And one way the university has successfully managed to minoritise blacks is by presenting Afrikaans as ‘a developed academic language’, in contradistinction to Xhosa, for instance, an indigenous language still needing to be systematised, or invested with scientific and academic value. Apart from the absurd notion that systematising indigenous languages is an unquestioned good, this discursive strategy nevertheless works well for Afrikaner nationalists. Hence, I want to suggest that we commit ourselves to unlearning the naturalised and commonsensical ways of accounting for disenfranchised groups. To this extent, we must refute the notions of ‘diversity’ or ‘inclusivity’, in favour of comprehensive Transformation of the space sine the concept of ‘inclusivity’ relegates black people to mere appendages of a white, specifically Afrikaner dominant culture and mode of being. I’ll explain this further as it relates to language: The idea of diversity, of languges, of people, and of class and various other subject formations, belongs to the terrain of cultural studies within which the discourse of ‘minorities’ is located. The language policy, the discourse about diversity to which it gestures, may in fact be complicit with the minoritisation of cultures in, and people at, SU. By rethinking some of Homi Bhabha’s early formulations in postcolonial subject formation, I want to relocate culture within the diversifying processes and therefore highlight the benefit of historicising the discursive construction of social reality which is in turn reified in the form of the policy. I want, thus, to advance and develop the late twentieth century proposition that such historicism is only possible if one “relocate[s] the referential and institutional demands of such theoretical work in the field of cultural difference – not cultural diversity” (Bhabha’s italics, 32). If Transformation is a true objective of the institution, then this distinction between difference and diversity must be accentuated and accounted for in the language policy. It is important for my undertaking since ‘cultural diversity’ is concerned with epistemological objects and is therefore constituted by treating culture as “an object of imperial knowledge” (34). Hence, the usefulness of cultural difference within cultural studies (in contrast to cultural diversity) is that difference, in fact, lies in the very idea that the enunciation of cultural difference “problematizes the binary division of past and present, tradition and modernity” (35) and so forth, and therefore disrupts the very homogenising symbols that one will find in ‘cultural diversity’: the idea of a fixed and single ‘community’ or a stable system of reference. . I am suggesting here that we move our attention elsewhere in search for an opportunity to rethink our understanding of Transformation more generally, so that we think of it as has having to do less with notions of inclusivity or any comparable compensatory gesture, but Transformation as beginning with the work un learning our epistemological procedures, and doing the ethical act of giving up our privilege (white, male, heterosexual and any other positions of domination) in order to create the enabling conditions for a spontaneous abrupt kind of newness in the space. Such a newness is characterised by co-ownership of the space.

As far as language, then, black people do not want to be taken in by the narrative of inclusivity, because such a narrative, by the very definition of the term ‘inclusive’ reaffirms the position of white power by establishing a minority/ majority dichotomy which itself is a distortion of reality in South Africa. Once we see Transformation functioning to as undo this insidious myth, ‘inclusivity’ (as well as the resultant fallacies of it; multilingualism etc.) falls away and the space is cleared for the emergence of true reconciliatory work. I mention this, however inchoate, because it seems to me that the university has consistently talked about transformation in quantitative terms that have been negligent of the material realities and lived experiences of black people at Stellenbosch

Now, taking the language policy as a point of departure, we are fighting for substantive and comprehensive Transformation which is attuned to the lived experiences of black people, a political category which for us is not only a matter of pigmentation, but also includes those people who have a shared experience of discrimination and dehumanisation in this space. We challenge the privileging of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction, not simply on the grounds that it is necessary if we are to bear the full fruit of ‘inclusivity’, but on the grounds that it belies the university’s own vision statement. In addition, the university is largely funded by a post-apartheid and democratic South African state which means that it is thus intended – inherently – to be a public space. It follows that such a space should be one to which all students should feel able to lay equal claim. We have noted how the privileging of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction translates itself to a privileging beyond the classroom. It extends into the social fabric of our residences and other shared spaces, wherein black people are consequently marginalised and maligned

It is interesting too that management’s response to our movement has thus far been predictable: defend Afrikaans as the language of instruction by insisting on ‘multilingualism’ and repeating that the use of Afrikaans as a primary medium of instruction is constitutionally valid. Ironically, the University Council, the Vice Chancellor and Vice Rector, who are supposedly key overseers of transformation, have failed to recognise that the achievement of equality is one of the founding values of the Constitution. The right to equality is entrenched in section 9 of the Constitution. This right is elaborated on in the Promotion of Equality and Prevention of Unfair Discrimination Act (PEPUDA).

We have noted that the problem with the University’s current approach to Transformation has to do with a deliberate equivocation of key terminology, a convenient mistake on the part of management. For instance, their uncritical understanding of ‘racism’ is taken to mean different things at different times. This equivocation works well for those who do not recognise the need to account for the injustices of the past. Such people will often claim that any differentiation on the basis of race should be deemed ‘racist’. Related to that, what is also often conflated is the distinction between direct and indirect discrimination. Indirect discrimination can, and often does, amount to unfair discrimination. Indirect discrimination as exemplified by the language policy, includes any discrimination which is framed in terms of ostensibly neutral criteria, but that none the less has the effect of marginalising a particular group. In a landmark case on indirect discrimination is the Constitutional Court, the decision in City Council of Pretoria v Walker, was properly summed up Langa DP in noting that he problem with cases of indirect discrimination is that “there is almost always some purpose other than a discriminatory purpose involved in the conduct or action to which objection is taken”. As far as Stellenbosch University is concerned, that purpose is said to be the ‘protection’ of the language rights of the Afrikaans minority. The calculated actions of the university amount to the protection, not of Afrikaans culture, but of the white Afrikaans culture. Staff demographics are the most striking and measurable indication of this, but they are by no accounts the only indication.

From its inception, Open Stellenbosch has impressed on the student body the simple message that we wish to hear their stories. “I remember sitting in a lecture once, when a student raised her hand to clarify something with the lecturer in English.” So begins one of the hundreds of stories that have been sent to Open Stellenbosch. What the student describes next is a several minute long monologue in which the girl was personally attacked for having even dared to ask the question: “You people come to our university, and then expect us to change!?”

The stories that are the most revealing are often more subtle. One student recalls that way his lecturer, while following the language policy, would none the less make all of his jokes in Afrikaans. Jokes told in this way are not funny – they are a sign of the systematic exclusion of black students and, through that exclusion, a way of securing white Afrikaner culture which was founded and since kept in place through symbolic, systemic and physical violence in the present.

Filed under: 2016 - Opening Stellenbosch,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 12:36 pm

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June 23, 2016

Sabelo Dludla on the South African “nation”

Filed under: politics,race,sabelo dludla — ABRAXAS @ 6:08 am

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June 14, 2016

HENDRIK FRENSCH VERWOERD on the race question, Stellenbosch University

Filed under: 2016 - Opening Stellenbosch,race,stellenbosched — ABRAXAS @ 3:09 pm

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PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE RELATION BETWEEN POOR-WHITES AND NON-EUROPEANS By Professor R. W. Wilcocks, University of Stellenbosch

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June 13, 2016

Rato Midfrequency on Nelson Mandela

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 8:49 am

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June 10, 2016

Pastor Xola Skosana declares war

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 5:11 pm

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first published here: http://blackopinion.co.za/2016/06/10/take-battle-spaces-privilege/

Jared Sexton on miscegenation

Filed under: race — ABRAXAS @ 12:13 pm

“If miscegenation is ‘what existed in the archaism of pre-objectal relationship, in the immemorial violence with which a body becomes separated from another body in order to be’, then it is not simply a potentiality or a possibility within the social Weld of white supremacy, an external obstacle. It is not a threat from the future, something that could change the mythically preconstituted faces of the earth, the purported dominion of white civilization. It is, rather, an archaic threat from the past, a perpetual, structural danger related to the catastrophe of what has already taken place, what is always in excess, the return of the repressed, or more radically, a mythic origin foreclosed from the Symbolic that returns in the Real. What this leads us to conclude is that, contrary to assurances offered to white supremacy by its loyal opposition, there is nothing for which to apologize. Whiteness cannot be annihilated. It can only be reminded of the oblivion from which it came, the insignificance from which it continues to construct itself by decree. The myth of ‘the black hole into which the non-‘black’ ancestors of these people get sucked’ is a defense against the mystical foundations of this authority: a myth that inverts the structures of racial oppression, reverses the relations of captivity, and converts the external force of confinement into the self-generated force of gravity.” (p 225 – 226)

Jared Sexton, “Amalgamation Schemes – Antiblackness and the Critique of Multicultralism”

June 9, 2016

UCT RHODES MUST FALL MISSION STATEMENT

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 4:31 pm

We are an independent collective of students who have come together with the aim of subverting white supremacy and institutional racism at UCT. This movement was catalysed by Chumani Maxwele’s radical protest action against the statue of Cecil John Rhodes on Monday the 9th of March. This has brought to the surface the existing and justified rage of black students in the white supremacist space which is cultivated and maintained by UCT, despite its rhetoric of ‘transformation’. In our belief, the experiences seeking to be addressed by this movement are not unique to an elite institution such as UCT, but rather reflect broader dynamics of a racist society that has remained unchanged since the end of formal apartheid.

This movement is not just about the removal of a statue. The statue has great symbolic power – it is a glorifying monument to a man who was undeniably a racist, imperialist, colonialist, and misogynist. It stands at the centre of what supposedly is the ‘greatest university in Africa’. This presence, which represents South Africa’s history of dispossession and exploitation of black people, is an act of violence against black students, workers and staff. The statue is therefore the perfect embodiment of black alienation and disempowerment at the hands of UCT’s institutional culture, and was the natural starting point of this movement. The removal of the statue will not be the end of this movement, but rather the beginning of the decolonisation of the university.

CENTERING BLACK PAIN

At the root of this struggle is the dehumanisation of black people at UCT. This dehumanisation is a violence exacted only against black people by a system that privileges whiteness. Our definition of black includes all racially oppressed people of colour. We adopt this political identity not to disregard the huge differences that exist between us, but precisely to interrogate them, identify their roots in the divide-and-conquer tactics of white supremacy, and act in unity to bring about our collective liberation. It is therefore crucial that this movement flows from the black voices and black pain that have been continuously ignored and silenced.

We want to state that we adopt an unequivocally intersectional approach to our struggle against racism. An intersectional approach takes into account that we, as black people, experience different forms of oppressions. Our understanding of race is informed by recognising other forms of oppressions such as gender, sexuality, disability, and class, so that no one should have to choose between their struggles.

With regard to white involvement, we refer to Biko:

“What I have tried to show is that in South Africa, political power has always rested with white society. Not only have the whites been guilty of being on the offensive but, by some skilful manoeuvres, they have managed to control the responses of the blacks to the provocation. Not only have they kicked the black but they have also told him how to react to the kick. For a long time the black has been listening with patience to the advice he has been receiving on how best to respond to the kick. With painful slowness he is now beginning to show signs that it is his right and duty to respond to the kick in the way he sees fit.”

We support the White Privilege Project and encourage white students to engage with that. They can contribute through conscientising their own community on campus. We also welcome their participation in radical action as a sign of solidarity, so long as that participation takes place on our terms.

ON ‘REVERSE RACISM’

In line with our positions, we reject the policing of the responses of black students to their violent experiences. We want to add that we feel that the Constitution’s conception of racism is fundamentally racist because it presupposes that racism is a universal experience, thus normalising the suffering of those who actually experience racism.

“A derivation from the word ‘race’ is ‘racism’. The mere definition of the word race does not amount to racism. Racism is a set of attitudes and social mores which devalue one race in order to empower another, as well as the material power to deploy those values in the devaluation or destruction of the lives of the devalued race. Therefore those at the receiving end of racism cannot be racists. They may develop counter values which despise racists, but precisely because of racism, they lack the material power to implement those values” – Yvette Abrahams, UWC Women and Gender Studies Department.

The Constitution’s conception of racism has systematically been used to deter irrepressible urges by black South Africans to challenge racism and violence. An example of this was the Human Rights Commission ruling against the Forum for Black Journalists, when white journalists were banned from the organisation in February 2008 and this was declared unconstitutional and racist. An examination of South Africa’s political history reveals the necessity for black people to organise to the exclusion of white people in the fight against racism.

It is laughable that UCT has a building named after Biko, when Biko himself said “Those who know, define racism as discrimination by a group against another for the purposes of subjugation or maintaining subjugation. In other words one cannot be racist unless he has the power to subjugate. What blacks are doing is merely to respond to a situation in which they find themselves the objects of white racism. We are in the position in which we are because of our skin. We are collectively segregated against – what can be more logical than for us to respond as a group?”

STUDENT LEADERSHIP
We have noted that the UCT SRC has supported this movement, and we welcome their solidarity and appreciate the strong stance they have taken. However, we are wary of the contradictions inherent in the SRC taking up such a cause. Given that they are a structure specifically designed to work with management, having them lead puts this movement in a compromised position in which we would have to negotiate with management on their terms. To be clear, we see SRC involvement and support as crucial in this movement, but believe leadership and direction must come from students themselves. Any attempt by the SRC to co-opt the movement will thus be rejected.

ENGAGEMENT WITH MANAGEMENT

We find the way in which UCT management has ‘engaged’ with this movement to be disingenuous. At no point have we been engaged directly by management. Management has responded to various media houses and has made attempts to isolate individuals from within the movement to divide us. Black outsourced workers are used to deal with protests, despite their own exploitation at the hands of the same institution, whilst management keeps itself unseen. Their releasing of statements reflects the way in which the university prioritises pacifying public opinion and defending its public image over the interests of its own black students. Our expectation is that management makes a genuine attempt at meeting with us, on our terms, which involves the removal of investigations that frame us as criminals. Meaningful engagement cannot happen if one party is under duress.

We also find it infuriating that management is attempting to open up a process of debate through their ‘Have Your Say’ campaign. Alumni have been emailed and asked for input, and notice boards have been put up near the statue to allow for comment from the broader student body. This is not meaningful engagement of black students by management, and in fact shows a complete disregard for the black experience. Management is making clear that they are not interested in alleviating black pain unless the move to do so is validated by white voices. It is absurd that white people should have any say in whether the statue should stay or not, because they can never truly empathise with the profound violence exerted on the psyche of black students. Our pain and anger is at the centre of why the statue is being questioned, so this pain and anger must be responded to in a way that only we can define. It must be highlighted that the push for dialogue around the statue reflects the disturbing normalisation of colonisation and white supremacy at UCT. That the presence of Rhodes is seen as debatable shows that management does not take seriously the terrible violence against black people historically and presently. Finally, it is revealing that while black protestors are threatened with and are facing investigations, the racist backlash from white students has been met with silence by the university.

OBJECTIVES OF THE MOVEMENT

Our immediate demands are that we receive a date for the removal of the statue from campus grounds, and that the university investigation of student protesters be withdrawn. We find it unacceptable that management has presented a date on which council will discuss the statue; we reject the notion that the university has any decision to make here. Our position is clear and will not be hampered by bureaucratic processes which management hides behind. Our pain should be the only factor taken into consideration, and therefore the statue’s removal from UCT must be a non-negotiable, inevitable outcome.
Our long-term goals include:

1. The removal of statues and plaques commemorating racists; The renaming of buildings from names of racist or average white people to black historical figures; The re-evaluation of artworks which exoticise Africa, poverty, and the black experience and are predominantly done by white artists; The recognition of suppressed black history relevant to the institution such as slave graves on campus, and black people who have contributed to the development of the university.

2. The implementation of an Afro-centric curriculum. By this we mean treating African discourses as the point of departure and only examining Western traditions in so far as they are relevant to our own experience; Financial and research support of black academics and staff; Radically changing the representation of black lecturers across faculties; Revising the limitations on access to senior positions for black academics.

3. An admissions policy which explicitly includes race and which prioritises black applicants; Improved academic support programs; A meaningful interrogation of why black students are most often at the brunt of academic exclusion; The development of an improved financial aid system; Improved facilities which deal with sexual assault, as well as facilities which help black students deal with the psychological trauma as a result of racism.

4. The end of victimisation and intimidation of workers; Challenging the system of outsourcing which diminishes UCT’s accountability towards workers and gives rise to worker vulnerability; The implementation of support structures for workers similar to those offered to students for sexual assault and mental health, as well as access to services dealing with labour, family and housing issues.

In solidarity,

The Rhodes Must Fall Student Movement
Posted 22nd March 2015 by Clifford Ncube

first published here: http://uncensoredvoice.blogspot.co.za/2015/03/uct-rhodes-must-fall-mission-statement.html

May 24, 2016

the free black on fallism

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 7:00 am

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first published here: https://thefreeblack.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/damage-to-property-v-fallism-the-hypocrisy-within-the-movement/

May 18, 2016

the no tipping point has been reached

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 10:49 pm

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May 16, 2016

on the projected invisibility of whiteness

Filed under: race — ABRAXAS @ 8:54 am

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April 27, 2016

MILISUTHANDO BONGELA

Filed under: race — ABRAXAS @ 1:30 pm

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colour blind?

Filed under: race — ABRAXAS @ 1:14 pm

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April 22, 2016

BOND PLAATJIE interviews ATHABILE NONXUBA

Filed under: politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 12:43 pm

Athabile Nonxuba ‪#‎FeesMustFall‬ Interview

1. Who is Athabile and what defines you, tell us your life story?

Athabile Nonxuba is my name, I am a 23-year-old Public Policy and Administration student and was among the first group of students who defaced the statue of Cecil John Rhodes on the University of Cape Town main campus. The defacing of this statute sparked the ‪#‎RhodesMustFall‬ movement a year ago. I decided to attend UCT because it offered the best financial aid package of the two universities that vied for me when I finished high school. I live in the Cape Town township of Delft but hail from the Eastern Cape in a village called Centane. It was in high school that I realised that my family history and personal beliefs meant that I was, am and always will be, a Pan-Africanist. I am currently the founding chairperson of the Pan Africanist Student Movement of Azania (PASMA) at the University Of Cape Town. My life is a form of protest and black pain is the nightmare that keeps me on my knees. This pain has also urged me to live a life based on serving my people with love and passion. In the pursuit of this, I founded the “Let’s Build Institutions” NGO. This organisation unites descendents of democracy, who have entered South Africa’s education system, and subsequently experienced its inadequacies. “Let’s Build Institutions” calls upon critical thinkers, the owners of resources, those dissatisfied with the neglect which children face at school, and those who are passionate about inclusive education and access to facilities for all, to aid in the building of institutions in South Africa’s most socio-economically handicapped communities.

2. What is your vision in the next 10 years?

I hope to see Africa liberated and united. I hope to see African people taking back their land, their God-given gift, and thus restoring their dignity. It is my dream that, in the next 10 years, we will form an African government. This would be a government by Africans for Africans, within which we are vested with full ownership of the continent, all the way from the Cape to Cairo, and Morocco to Madagascar. I dream of a world that is full of love for all humans, regardless of race, class and gender. I dream of a society that does not normalise and glorify the abuse of women and children. I wish to see the ideas of Professor Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe manifest; “an Africa reborn, an Africa rejuvenated, an Africa recreated, a young Africa.”

3. In your opinion, what is the bigger narrative behind #FEESMUSTFALL ? Is it merely a movement about fees? (please expand as far as possible)

For centuries, universities have been sites of white supremacy and opulence. In 2015, for the first time, black working class students disrupted this privilege by bringing their lived experiences to the fore. On the 9th of March 2015, Chumani Maxwele threw human faeces at the statue of the colonial master, Cecil John Rhodes. Together with other UCT students, I joined the #RhodesMustFall movement. Out of this, the philosophy of Fallism was developed. This philosophy recognises the collective suffering of African people and attempts to assist them in reclaiming their dignity from Europeans. Fallism involves a commitment to the decolonial project and attempts to expel European imperialism from the African continent. The calls for the expulsion of European history from the intellectual and ideological cultures at universities are an example of Fallism. Fallism is a philosophy which caters to all Africans regardless of political affiliation. It is a response to the continued domination of society by European ideals. #FeesMustFall is the economic wing of the decolonial project and calls for free, quality, socialist education.

#FeesMustFall provides immediate support to poor African children and hopes for free or subsidised education in the midterm. The ultimate goal, however, is free, Socialist education. Free education and Socialist education are separate concepts. Socialist education cannot be realised while the rest of society is governed by capitalism. Socialist education emphasises the needs of the oppressed. Capitalism, on the other hand, caters for the needs of the few at the expense of the exploited black majority. The current education system places the burden of paying for education on the over-exploited working class. This is a form of racism as education is guaranteed to those who can afford it. These are the same people who already own the means of production. We believe that education is a right and not a privilege.

#FeesMustFall structured its demands by addressing both the National Question and the Local Question. On a national level, the movement appeals to the ANC government to implement free education, from primary to tertiary level, as they promised to do in 1994. This would mean that no person would have to experience the trauma of financial exclusion. Locally, #FeesMustFall calls on tertiary institutions to do everything within their power to commit to the movement’s cause. This would involve the universities taking the following action:

1) Releasing all degrees despite the degree-holders being unable to pay their fees;

2) Allowing all financially excluded students to return to university;

3) Cancelling outstanding student debts which prevent students from reregistering;

4) Assuring that there will be no more financial exclusions from 2016 onwards;

5) Cancelling all registration fees from 2016 onwards; 6) Reforming of the NSFAS policies.

The student struggle is inherently linked with the struggle of university workers. We have called upon universities to ‪#‎EndOutsourcing‬. This is because we are the children of workers and as such, when our parents are outsourced, we are too. We completely reject capitalism as it treats African people as commodities and emphasises profit over human dignity.

– Athabile Nonxuba

originally published as a facebook post
re-published here with kind permission of bond plaatjie

April 21, 2016

FEZI MTHONTI on #RUreferencelist and the grammar of white feminsim

Filed under: politics,race,sex — ABRAXAS @ 9:05 am

There is no doubt in my mind that Mabizela is a deplorable man, but (and I mean this sincerely), he and his small cowardly management are acting in the direct lineage of Cecil John Rhodes.

Rhodes was a homophobe, a racist and crude capitalist obsessed with plunder and disposing of the black body. Rhodes was also deeply anti-intellectual, a fundamental feature of Rhodes University discourse at the moment.

That is why the grammar of white feminism is not helpful in our context right now. I’m not being race reductionist here, I mean the kind of feminism espoused by systemic white middle class actors who oppose the interventions of intersectionality and queer theory in their praxis.

None of these people are redeemable in my opinion. None. But we might need to think about how we move forward after this moment. How we quantify excellence from here on out and how we develop tools for justice.

first published as a Facebook post.
re-posted here with kind permission of the author.

April 12, 2016

MOHAMMAD SHABANGU – Precarious Silence: Decentering the Power of Whiteness in South Africa

Filed under: Mohammad Shabangu,politics,race — ABRAXAS @ 7:33 am

Unpacking the habits of “whiteness”, Mo Shabangu responds to Samantha Vice’s 2010 article “How 
do I live in this Strange Place?”. In so doing, he argues that Vice extends rather than unsettles the parameters of white entitlement.

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Sometime before Samantha Vice published “How 
Do I Live in This Strange Place”, I had encountered and been moved by the narrator-protagonist of J.M. Coetzee’s Age of Iron – Mrs Curran – an old white woman living in interregnum South Africa. Mrs Curren, true to Vice’s proposition, feels a deep sense of shame as a result of her being a white woman in divided Cape Town. As she suffers from a terminal disease, the novel is in the form of a confessional letter which Mrs Curran writes to her daughter in America. In this letter, she exposes the meretricious role of the apartheid state and the condition of being white in post-apartheid South Africa.

It is important to stress that I proceed by reading Vice as a rationalist, who would sympathise with the Kantian philosophy of the individual.[1] This, it seems,
is by and large the liberal predisposition that favours a suspension of judgment upon encountering the Other, that to which one is different. It brings to mind the dichotomy that inevitably emerges when one considers the notion of the good and moral community. This idea has its roots in the Kantian philosophy which,
 on the one hand, privileges equal recognition on 
the basis of individuality and a form of autonomy that is capable of formulating neutral principals 
which lead to the construction of an enlightened community. On the other hand, the idea that cultural difference has to be recognised and acknowledged since, in our interactions with others, we habitually conceive of difference between communities by making use of stereotypes, thereby constituting our own communities oppositionally or dialectically and in relation or relative to the Other. It makes sense, then, that proponents of such a notion, premised on the need for recognition of cultural difference, would accuse the former Kantian conception (which is founded on equal dignity) of universalising its claims, since the notion of the individual or the celebration of reason is in itself a form of cultural particularity. What must be understood is that an individual is located in community, rather than somehow transcending it and, therefore, supposedly occupying a position that
 is instinctual and unmediated (326). Vice’s argument is that the white person should seek to redeem herself. Coetzee’s, through Mrs Curren, is different. One can only redeem oneself by forfeiting what one is, what one has been made to be by the social context in which one is located. One has to become other than what one is. In a sense, one has to die. In other words, his argument is not as self-directed as Vice’s, and this is because she adheres to the notion of an internal core of selfhood.

One of the main arguments that continues to permeate South African discourse around race is
 the notion that the country, having emerged from a debilitating system of institutionalised racism, has become a ‘home for all’, in which a dynamic ethico- politico equilibrium has been achieved, twenty years after democracy. This idea of inclusivity – first conceptualised by Archbishop Desmond Tutu as ‘the rainbow nation’- has become axiomatic in contemporary South Africa, where both black and white citizens claim a position in a country in which individuals and members of groups identify their similarities and differences as a means to unity. In what follows, I examine the manner in which this rainbowism has limited explanatory power in the
 face of empirical evidence in the form of the lived experiences of black people who come into contact with a white world, and South African non-whites[2] in particular, who continue to experience their blackness (non-whiteness) relative to a hegemonic whiteness.

In recalling critical conceptual frameworks within which the debates concerning race are conceived, particularly the Hegelian dialectic of ‘master’ and ‘slave’, I argue that black people in South Africa have been made to feel alienated by the white culture that has produced them. I take, as a point of departure, Samantha Vice’s “How Do I Live in This Strange Place?” and explore some of the appropriate reactions white people may have to shame, guilt and regret. I conclude that white South Africans need not feel guilty per se, but should rather convert any feelings of guilt towards an ethics of responsibility to the re- negotiation of the country’s image in an attempt to curtail the unfortunate experience that is the result of whiteness being rendered invisible. The suggestion, then, is that ‘whiteness’ as it stands has been, and continues to be, unmarked and transparent to white people themselves and that its ontology needs to become perceptible and recognised as a state of being that does not exist ex nihilo, but one that has been constructed in order to establish and maintain white supremacy. The two responses of ‘silence’ and ‘humility’ that Vice calls for, consequently, serve only to reinforce the invisibility upon which such white privilege is founded.

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THE NEED FOR RECOGNITION

The thesis of the ‘need for recognition’ finds 
its relevance particularly where the construction 
of whiteness is concerned. Whiteness emerged, 
as Melissa Steyn correctly intuits, as a ‘master narrative’ long before European colonial expansion, when encounters with the ‘non-white’ world were cast merely in terms of difference, and not inferiority (4). However, the self-interest of European colonialists meant that they were “fiercely competing for the world’s economic spoils [and] recognised an identity in this competition which they baptised ‘white’ ” (5). Steyn suggests that the more European expansion and conquest prevailed, the more whitened Europeans became, developing “a common identity by using Africans as the main foil against which they defined themselves” (5). To risk stating the obvious, it is not only that is race a construct, but that it is one that has been established relationally. Steyn mentions how blackness and whiteness “can only be understood as a pair […] European colonists became white only
 in parallel with their identification of those they colonised as blacks” (5). This notion finds its roots 
in the Hegelian dialectic that aims to describe a specific form of human relation in which domination, and the power to define, have a central role to play. The dialectic takes the form of an analysis of the machinations of self-consciousness and delineates the manner in which the self can only become conscious of itself “by the presence of, and recognition of itself by an-other” (Villet 40). This process, however, must necessarily take place at the expense of the Other, thus Steyn comments: “whiteness brought the power to define both self and other, a power that whites could wield” (8). As Hegel pointed out, the dialectic must be understood as that moment in which the self becomes conscious of itself, “declaring itself as an ‘I'” and thereby negating and destroying the Other as an-other (Villet 40). Both the self and the other, then, engage in a process of self-consciousness which results in a relationship of strict opposition. The irony, of course, is that both the master and the slave are in need of each other’s recognition in order to exist and, subsequently, survive. This implies that, since the master:

[achieves] his recognition through another consciousness (the slave), and in so doing becomes dependent on the thing for his own self-consciousness [,..] the chains of the
 slave become that of the master as well. As a consequence, there exists no manner of freedom, only mutual enslavement to the thing. The slave is dependent on his thinghood and thus on his definition as the thing by the master. (41)

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This irony, as Steyn mentions, can also be analysed in terms of the Lacanian split subject, or Derridian deconstruction, but the end result will be the same – the (psychological) dependence of “the oppressor on the oppressed for a sense of identity” (Steyn 16). Hence the difficulty of conceiving of whiteness in isolation:

It is the black condition, and only that, which informs the consciousness of white people. It is a terrible paradox, but those who believed that they could control and define black people divested themselves of the power to control and define themselves […] The purer white the identity, the more dependent it is on its black other. (16)

The paradox, of course, is that ‘homogenous 
white identity’ is constantly seeking to disavow
 that on which it is dependent. For this reason, the construction of an ‘Other’ more degenerate and less virtuous emerges out of the self-hatred and guilt that lies inherent in the construction of whiteness. However, as Fanon seems to suggest, while the need to recognise difference is important, it serves us best only when the white ‘master’ is willing to see difference as simply dissimilarity and not inferiority. To acknowledge difference, to know one’s whiteness or blackness, is an affirmation of difference that
 is significant in a sense that knowledge of the ontology of whiteness or blackness is invested with epistemological certainty about one’s identity, an identity which is thus constructed oppositionally. The difference between the two, however, should not lead to an idea that there is only difference, but that, between the two racial groups, the need to recognise the different enterprises means that we do not allow for a forgetfulness of the atrocities of both colonialism and racism because we simply desire to elide the specificities in our heterogeneous and conflictual history. The starting-point in recognising our differences is accepting that it has become the centre of dominance where one group is advantaged and privileged at the expense of another.

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WHITE PRIVILEGE IN ACTION

In his semi-autobiographical study of racism, The Heart of Whiteness: Confronting Race, Racism and White Privilege, Robert Jensen describes
white privilege as a facet of white supremacy, by which he means “a society whose founding is based in an ideology of the inherent superiority of white Europeans over nonwhites, an ideology that was used to justify the crimes against indigenous people and Africans that created the [American] nation” (Jensen 4). While, at a juridical level, white supremacy has been destabilised, the concept of ‘white power’ and privilege is still very much alive in South Africa today. If to many white people this seems preposterous, it is perhaps because of the lack of absolution that many people (both black and white) desire from the mere existence of the new constitutional imperatives which have allowed for all South Africans to be viewed with as ‘human’. ‘White power’ continues to be contested, since it is generally accepted that vestiges of racial inequality do indeed exist, and that, additionally, racial tensions can be felt, and that many white people still take recourse in on a sense of apartheid nostalgia. If we analyse the national statistics since, at the level of collective experience, they are generally taken to be a regular barometer of the social condition, we begin to take the first step towards making whiteness visible. This is because whiteness is tied up with a privilege that necessarily is impossible to overlook. Consider, for instance, that “one of the key ways of theorising whiteness is as a global norm that is invisible, working in the background as a standard, not of one particular being in the world, but as normalcy, as universaliziblity, of just being ‘the way things are'” (Vice 324). Through such a system, whites are positioned advantageously since this way in which ‘things are’ is simply invisible to them and so is not seen as an advantage.

The latest census results released in October 2012, for instance, revealed that the average income of a white household is seven times the average income of the black household (Statistics South Africa: Census Results ). This points to the reality of the disparities between these races, which, if continually denied, compromises the very notion of the ‘rainbow nation’. What does it mean, then, to say that whiteness needs to be made visible? Commensurate with
Steve Garner, I proceed from the notion that the invisibility of whiteness stems from never having to consider itself as ‘raced’ and, therefore, of never having to define itself explicitly in comparison to ‘non-whiteness’ (39). As a result, whiteness is represented as normality, the universality of humanness: whites are not simply a certain type of race, they are the human race. Anything that is not white is, accordingly, deviant from the normative[3] code (35).

The argument, in fact, would be better encapsulated if we were to use the term ‘unmarked’ rather than ‘invisible’, since whites are indeed visible but, in their eyes, whiteness has become unmarked for the majority of whites under the weight of privileges bestowed upon them (35). This project of marking whiteness means that white people need to ‘see their particularity’ and to ‘make whiteness strange’ by recognising that the state of whiteness occupies a privilege bearing position, notwithstanding the different contingent privileges attached to it and the contextual differences that exist (39). Hence, to acknowledge whiteness is to admit that “one is inherently tied to structures of domination and oppression, that one is irrevocably on the wrong side” (Vice 326). It means, as Vice would argue, that whites have to see and conceive of themselves as “a problem” that is constituted
by “moral offenses” (326). The project of visibility begins, apparently, by disabusing oneself of the notion that things simply happen to individuals and that whites cannot bear a collective burden
of responsibility on the grounds of those who are only implicitly involved, or are involved by association with a group, that is, by virtue of the fact that they are born white. This is why, for instance, the much-cited essay by Peggy McIntosh, “The Invisible Knapsack of Privilege”, deals with the common responses of white people to their privilege, which responses, according to her, stifle the project of particularising whiteness. On the face of it, one may term these responses “denialism”
but I want to suggest that it is far more complex in the South African context, and that, this ‘denial’ or passive reluctance to acknowledge and particularise the white race is seen by well-meaning liberal whites as a polite and constructive means to negotiating identity.

When Robin DiAngelo develops the neologism “white fragility”, she seeks to account for the systematic processes through which the black experience is delegitimised by an irrational sensitivity of whiteness. Quite often, this sensitivity is concealed within silence as well as within the universal platitude that whites use in response to the assertion that black lives matter. Such a universalism insists that ‘all lives matter’ and that, as result, the question as to whether or not black lives in particular matter, is not significant since the matter can be set aside by invoking the abstract equality of all lives, regardless of the socio-politico specificities of our moment. Could it be that the silence whiteness presumes in such an instance, evades the very question; do black lives matter?
Is it not the case that attempting to answer that question opens whiteness up to be revealed as
the moral and political scandal that it is, since of course, when such a question is asked, the asker
is simultaneously invoking the Hegelian Other by implying another question: for whom do black lives have value? Of course, to ask the question, or to pronounce the aphorism “black lives matter” is already to lodge an appeal to whiteness. So, to ask the question is simply to show that, in the spaces where the value of lives is adjudicated, there is no consensus on the matter, and that in these valuing communities, the question can be asked in the first instance and that this should not be the case. A white fragility, in the first place, cannot respond to such a question since it is ever in a defensive mode, a mode which vacillates between audible assertions of individualism (we are not all the same) or universalism (we are all the same, humanity – no colour), or simply in the form of a precarious silence (we ought to be silent, this is a black issue a la Vice).

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SILENCE AS REIFICATION

While Vice’s thesis of ‘habitual white privilege’ acknowledges that the white subject is born into
a world that is not directly controlled by her, she finds it easy to “disentangle guilt from any direct relation to actions one has performed” (328).
She argues that it is difficult to avoid feeling
guilty, since one is “a continuing product of white privilege and benefiting from it, implicated in and enacting injustice in many subtle ways” (328). Vice concludes, therefore, that “feelings of guilt are appropriate” when one considers the unfortunate positionality of white South Africans who do not choose to be in the privileged situation in which they find themselves. However, the problem associated with the use of the term ‘guilt’ is that
it does not take into account the extent to which white people are involved in white privilege,
since it suggests that the one from whom the
guilt emanates is implicated and stained by the privilege as if she was directly involved in the act of oppression (328). under these circumstances, Vice suggests that we instead turn our attention to ‘shame’, since it is the one feeling that is often met with a defensive approach on the part of those who are said to bear it. Shame, a suitably fungible term, is therefore marked by its difference from guilt to the extent that it is “directed towards the self, rather than outwards toward a harm one brought about” (328).

“[W]hite silence will only serve to sustain white privilege, whereby those perceived as occupying towering positions over the rest will continue to do so, without taking opportunities to engage meaningfully and learn from the ‘diverse’ cultures within the ‘rainbow nation'”.

The feeling of shame, then, is the causal result
of failing to meet the self-imposed standards that
we accord ourselves, as opposed to the result of an unpleasant feeling that is associated with what one has done (328). Shame, as Vice correctly observes, is concerned, first and foremost, with whom one is. This is a radical thesis insofar as the responses to white privilege are concerned, because it acknowledges that while not all white people were directly involved in the oppression, they still benefit from a system that relied on their whiteness in order to survive and, consequently, they must undergo a deep emotional and cognitive dissonance between their inherent whiteness and the oppression of those who were used to sustain it.

This is akin to Albert Memmi’s notion of “the coloniser who refuses”, a proposition that presents a white person who is not complicit in the environment in which she finds herself, since it is understood in light of the ‘white master’ who comes to dwell among the ‘black natives’ but is “astonished by the number
of beggars, the children wandering about half-naked” (63) and the scandal that is racial domination. On sight of this, the ‘white master’ then refuses to indulge in the systems of oppression, naive to the fact that his complicity in the oppression means that “what he is actually renouncing is a part of himself” (63) since the individual is located within the community and does not occupy a type of acosmic position, transcending her surroundings and freed from the burden of skin colour. For Memmi, the ‘white master’ who refuses the conditions under which blacks are subjugated is in fact complicit insofar as her skin enables her to “participate in and benefit from those privileges” in which the master revels:

Does he receive less favourable treatment than his fellow citizens? Doesn’t he enjoy the same facilities for travel? How could he help figuring, unconsciously, that he can afford a car, a refrigerator, perhaps a house? How can he go about freeing himself of this halo of prestige which crowns him and at which he would like to take offense? Should he happen to rationalise this contradiction so as to come to terms with this discomfort… (64)

The white master is clearly cast into an inherited world and must therefore choose to accept or refute the machinations of such a world. In feeling shameful, the white master rejects the oppressive – and indeed constructed – superiority of whiteness. It would seem, then, that the feeling of shame is correctly identified, by both Memmi and Vice, as an appropriate response to the question of white privilege, since it shows some inclination towards a responsibility not for the past systemic oppression, but for being the by-product of a system which aimed only to benefit white people and distance them from the sufferings of others. It is common to hear whites in South African declare that they do not feel ashamed of the past, because they are not to blame. The presumption of innocence and worthiness are part and parcel of the privilege that is bestowed on white people – the knowledge that they were not involved directly or even collectively in creating a system of oppression and marginalisation absolves them from responsibility. However, to say this is to miss an opportunity to take on a responsibility not for the past, but rather, a responsibility to the future. This is primarily because white people have inherited a legacy and, as such, cannot merely deflect the shame that comes with the horrific past as if to suggest that their innocence means that, even accidently, they played absolutely no role at all in maintaining subjugation. For this reason, Vice argues that the “sense of historical innocence is often self-serving and not merely ignorant” and must therefore result in further shame (331). I would argue, though, that once white people begin to see the evidence of the past as ever more prevalent, in other words once the pathology of whiteness begins to be marked and made visible, the indifference to the historical implications will at that point be enough to generate another kind of shame, resulting in an instance in which shame stems from their shamelessness! Ultimately, white people may have to confront feelings of shame once whiteness is made visible, and will therefore have no recourse in the silence that Vice suggests is necessary in order to take seriously the ethical primacy of the individual moral self. Thus, white silence will only serve to sustain white privilege, whereby those perceived as occupying towering positions over the rest will continue to do so, without taking opportunities to engage meaningfully and learn from the ‘diverse’ cultures within the ‘rainbow nation’. To retreat, therefore, is not to take a feeling of shame and use
it to direct an ethical impetus: it appears to me that silence is to be so guilt-ridden that one is reluctant
to speak out, fearing that a disagreement with non- whites may be conceived as a demonstration of white supremacy. For Vice, the prescription is to

Live as quietly as possible, refraining from airing one’s views on the political situation in the public realm, realising that it is not one’s place to offer diagnoses and analyses, that blacks must be left to remake the country in their own way [because] whites have too long had influence and a public voice; now they should in humility, step back from expressing their thoughts or managing others. (335)

While Vice notes the limitations of silence on a personal and professional level, citing the Platonic relationship between self-knowledge and dialogue with those different from you – the idea that one finds oneself only through earnest interaction and engagement with other people divergent from
oneself – her ‘silence’ prescription has limitations beyond those which she so readily acknowledges. Vice’s resolution that “the relevant kind of silence is therefore a political silence” (335) has inadequate explanatory power in a country that vowed never to silence the voices, political or professional, of any
one group. Hence, the suggestion that whites should exercise “silence in the political realm, rather than a professional silence or the stifling of all conversation with others in which race or privilege, for instance, is the topic” falls nothing short of a pipe-dream. How, in a country in which everything is so highly and overtly politicised, can it be suggested that whites retreat and withdraw from the political realm? At once, the notion of politics which Vice invokes seem reductive at best and derisive at worst since the professional realm is political as Vincent so carefully demonstrates in her analyses of the institutional at Rhodes University. The personal, what is termed the ‘private sphere’ is also political, mediated primarily by that in which the individual is located.

One of the first public respondents to Vice’s prescription was political commentator and associate at the Wits Centre for Ethics, Eusebuis McKaiser, who argued that it is deeply problematic for a country to argue that the idea of silence, political or otherwise, would be the morally correct course of action for white people, even if shame and regret are appropriate feelings for those who have benefited unjustly. He mentions, therefore, that the project of making whiteness visible does not necessarily mean that blackness replaces it. Thus McKaiser:

It is not black South Africans’ turn to be political. It is all South Africans’ duty to engage each
other as equals both within the public and private spheres. Whites need to engage their whiteness publicly […] I do not want to be shielded from whiteness I want to be given the space to rehearse my own full personhood as a black South African by engaging […] publicly; it is the only way healthy relationships between blacks and whites can develop. (para. 18)

It would seem that the political is personal and the personal is political; whiteness is not merely the pigmentation of the skin, but also involves the systems of power and privilege that are sustained in the professional realm. Remaining silent simply means that these systems are reinforced in ways that would otherwise not be possible had there been earnest ongoing dialogue between whites and non- whites. The problems with whiteness in the political realm need to be approached in the same way that the problems with whiteness are approached in
the personal and professional realm, specifically, by making whiteness visible and, by virtue of this visibility and the resultant shame with which it is coupled, changing the ways in which white people interact with the structures that exist from a white supremacist discourse of the past, to a self-reflexive discourse of humility.

The South African media is plagued with examples of whiteness, be it print media, radio or television. Whether it is the unproductive and racist comments that can be found daily in every response to an online news article, or the disgruntled white people who mobilise whiteness as a signifier of “clean governance, reliability, and competence” (Steyn 128) on talk radio, incessant illustrations of what Steyn calls “White Talk” need to be replaced with talks that seek to negotiate an identity of South Africa that is not insensitive to the damage caused by the audibility of white talk. This is something which can only occur once whiteness is made visible, a visibility that cannot be obtained through silence. To repress oneself into a state of self-flagellation seems to me an exercise that reaffirms the ontology of white domination in that the characteristics of “White Talk” are not elided, but merely suppressed even though they exist in the minds of white people. Bearing in mind the overarching nature
of white supremacy, a forced white silence seems tantamount to arguing that racism is fine so long as it is lodged in the hearts and minds of those from whom it emanates. Genuine non-racist encounters with people of different backgrounds may never occur, since the sentiments held by white people would be silently repressed under a pretentious humility! McKaiser, then, rightly recommends to Vice that the way to confront whiteness is not to adopt a strategy of silence, but to engage black people while being mindful of not presenting whiteness as a normative standard to which they should aspire (para.18).

Steyn contends that ideas around European superiority “are strong enough to ensure a certain amount of ‘buy-in’ from some African people” (127) who would then be made to beg for white people to break their silence by participating in the political realm. Writing against this inevitable legitimation by reverse, the black Mail and Guardian journalist, Mvuselelo Ngcoya, captures the cognitive dissonance engendered in him by this proposition quite neatly when he says:

Reading Vice, I was caught between two reactions. The first and most flagrant and visceral was: I don’t flipping care. I wanted to meet this white threat of silence with a black silence of my own. The second reaction was more measured, but I hated it more, because it requires that I say: “Please speak, baas!” (para. 17)

Ngcoya’s aversion to his second reaction to the ‘threat’ of silence must be read as a disavowal of the meretricious role that silence plays, disguising itself as the manifestation of an ethical impulse,
 but in reality, inconspicuously requiring the 
black subject to beg for validation from the white master by asking her to break her silence, if only
 for the black subject’s need for recognition. In conjunction with such a meretricious role, there 
are a number of white supremacists who are hell-bent on maintaining the status quo, and therefore leaving whiteness the invisible entity that it is.
Such individuals are outspoken in public forums
on a daily basis, and persistently enlist to their supremacist agenda like-minded white people who have no qualms about living in a white supremacist society. Let us take, for instance, the likes of Andre Visagie, the former secretary general of the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB), who became infamous for violently storming off a live television interview with a black woman political analyst who challenged him about the ideology of white supremacy shortly after the murder of his leader Eugene Terre’Blanche. Here, Visagie, too, was exercising a certain kind of silence when he refused to engage the black woman, whose argument was that black South Africans continue to be subjected to macro-structural antagonism: “whites versus us [blacks]” (Maroleng 2010, Interview). For the most part, the limitations of this silence imply that well-meaning white people, like Vice herself, would not be able to influence morally depraved whites, and would thus pave the way for racists such as Visagie and his sympathisers to continue to dominate the discourse by obstinately claiming a position of victimhood and subsiding into silence when that position is challenged.

“The problems with whiteness in the political realm need to be approached in the same way that the problems with whiteness are approached in the personal and professional realm, specifically, by making whiteness visible”.

In response to the commotion that Vice’s paper created, the F.W. de Klerk Foundation released a press statement asking her to withdraw her “witless” comments on whiteness and refrain from aiding the ‘reverse apartheid’ to which white people are subjected in a democratic South Africa:

We must challenge Ms Vice’s views because they are dangerous. They will be eagerly grasped by a new generation of black racists who will use them to justify their increasingly aggressive campaign of anti-white stigmatisation and exclusion. (para.12)

What we have is a discursive strategy that attempts to reconfigure whiteness as disadvantageous
and not beneficial. Whites such as F.W. de Klerk would argue, as he is known to have argued on international platforms, that whiteness in South Africa has become a liability. The suggestion conveyed by the press release on Vice’s paper was,
in the first instance, a flagging of the possibility that whites were increasingly becoming an unprotected minority in the country. This idea stems from the view that whites consider the slate as having been wiped cleaned by the new dispensation and political reforms that have come into place in a post-apartheid context – Affirmative Action (AA) and Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) to name a couple. The proposition, it seems, is that even talking about race is itself racist, since we ought to see people for their individuality rather than as members of a collective group.

I return to the conceptual framework which earlier adumbrated Hegelian the need for mutual recognition. Since Vice’s silence would ensure that, yet again, the political discourse swings into a fixation with whiteness: it perpetuates and endorses its invisibility and continues to deny black people an opportunity to negotiate their own identity. It therefore lends itself quite neatly to the master narrative that suggests that the relationship between the master and the bondsman is dialectically established. The silence, then, functions merely as a self-indulgent, narcissistic tool that serves to keep white people in a state of heedlessness about the unearned privileges that they simply take as entitlement, privileges which are in fact built on the dependence on blacks. It is safe to conclude, then, that the critical theorising of white privilege has become a cornerstone of whiteness studies in South Africa. So, while white privilege manifests itself in many different contextual ways, it is accrued to white people by virtue of their being born into a white supremacist society. Since hegemony is relationally established, there is not only an epistemological frame within which to understand the Other, but also a power structure that locks both the master and the slave so that they can only exist at one another’s behest. The importance of this dialectic is pivotal to our conception of race in the first place, not least the ideas around superiority and servitude. Only once we recognise the irony of this relationship, that the chains of the slave are those of the master as well, will we be able to understand the arbitrary nature
of race, while at the same time realising the need to make the racial distinctions known. White privilege operates in a deceitful way because part
of the privilege is the freedom from the burden of knowing one’s whiteness, or thinking of oneself in terms of colour. The danger, then, is the normative nature whiteness assumes, making it invisible and therefore difficult for its group members to recognise.

Upon recognition of this whiteness, however,
action rather than inaction is indispensable, and Vice’s prescription of silence seems to me, although unintentionally so, insidious. While the type of silence recommended is intended to de-centre and disempower white privilege, the inadvertent result is that it ultimately re-centres and re- inscribes the very whiteness it wishes to silence. The notion of silence is not silent; it is as loud and boisterous as any overt attempt at maintaining white supremacy.

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ENDNOTES

1. See Michel Monahan’s response to her argument.

2. Throughout this essay, I use the term non-white deliberately to emphasise a point. I want to put whiteness at the centre, but not in the sense of valorising or claiming it as the norm. Contrarily, by using ‘non-white’, the concept of ‘white power’ is highlighted and shown only
to be vested in one category – whiteness. One may argue, indeed following Steve Biko’s decentring of the term, that the focus is then placed on white people. But in an essay about making whiteness visible and ‘marketing’ it, the term can be useful only as a rhetorical strategy since I
wish to accentuate the political nature of the struggle and indeed point towards the dependency of whiteness on ‘non-whiteness’.

3. In the context of ordinary South African discourse, this brings to mind a poignant point raised by Louise Vincent in her paper “The Limitations of Interracial Contact”, in which she argues that Rhodes University, attempting to be all-inclusive and liberal, has provided a variety of dietary options in its residence menus. However, “the options
are labelled ‘African’ and ‘normal'” (1433). She concludes, there can be “no more explicit exemplification of Richard Dyer’s point (1997) that to be white is to occupy the position of privileged normalcy” (1433).

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Garner, Steve. Whiteness: An Introduction. New York: Routledge, 2007.

Huisman, Beinne. “Don’t Touch Me On My Studio.” Times Live, April 7 2010. Accessed
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Memmi, Albert. The Colonizer and The Colonized. London: Souvenir Press, 1974.

McIntosh, Peggy. “White Privilege and Male Privilege: A Personal Account of Coming to See Correspondence Through Work in Woman’s Studies.” Wellesley College (1988): 1-15.

McKaiser, Eusebius. Mail & Guardian. 1 July 2011 @ 25 October 2012. http://mg.co.za/article/2011-07- 01-confronting-whiteness

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first published here: http://jwtc.org.za/volume_10/mohammad_shabangu.htm

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