There are things we don’t say, there are things we are too scared to talk about. We tip toe around sensitive topics because we don’t want people to feel bad. Hey Mr White Man, I know you didn’t earn everything you have in your life but don’t think I’m trying to make you feel bad about it, it wasn’t your fault. We create islands of politeness and steer our conversations carefully around them. All the while we still seek acceptance, we fear the rejection that the truth will bring. Don’t treat me differently, I’m just like you Baas. I’m just like you. I’m just like you, apart from the fact that I’m actually not.
Had I been born White, I would have been born to a land that favoured me. I would have been born to a country who stacked the odds in my favour. In a country where over 50% of our population is poor, I would have been born to a race that doesn’t equally share that burden. As I entered the world of employment, I would know that of all the races in our country, I belonged to the only one with a single digit unemployment figure. I would have entered the world of employment never once having to prove that I was more than just the “employment equity candidate”. Had I been born White; my skin would have been the same colour as every single person I have ever reported to throughout my career. In meetings with my non-white counter-parts, people would turn to me for answers irrespective of seniority. Maybe when my non-white colleague tells me that prejudice exists and that even unconsciously, racial biases are prevalent in the workplace, I could chalk it down to an exaggeration. I mean, weren’t there more people of colour in the workforce now than 20 or 30 years ago? I may not get the point, but I may be eager to talk of how biases exist against white people in the workplace, providing a wealth of examples, all the while not realising that at it’s core, I am strengthening my non-white colleague’s statement.
Maybe if I was born White, I would tell you that Henrik Verwoerd was a misunderstood man because I had never really experienced Bantu education and somehow, I still fail to see the link between a crippled education system and who are considered skilled labour in this country. Maybe I would like to quote the exceptions; the young Black woman who excelled at school even though her mother was a domestic worker and she never met her father. Maybe those exceptions would make me feel less guilty to the plight of the masses in our country, it would make me feel less guilty because when I quote those exceptions, I would know that we live in a land of opportunity and all one had to do was to seize that opportunity. I would not always know that gaining access to that opportunity is open to the few and not the many, because like the generations before me, I have been part of the few. Maybe I would talk of progress and in same breath bemoan the fact that South Africa is not a place where “White men can work”. Maybe I would tell you of the incredible White candidate who my company simply could not hire instead of considering why everyone I interviewed for the position was White.
I am writing this now, irrespective of race, as a privileged person in South Africa. I was raised in a single parent home, I understood what an overdraft was, I knew what it meant to buy groceries using the budget facility on a credit card and I started working, as early as I could, so that I could worry a little less amount money, so that I could help my mother out. But make no mistake, I was privileged. I went to a school where I had resources at my disposal; we had toilets in my school, we had books and desks, we even had a library. I never went hungry, neither my older sister nor I were the first in my family to get a tertiary education and my mother had a car so I never had to take public transport. So, I live with that privilege and I live with everything that privilege has afforded me. I live with the knowledge that while I feel like I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve earned, my fight was not the same as a significant portion of young people in our country. I see that. I see that my path may have been easier and that because of that ease, and because I believe that South Africa belongs to all of us, “united in our diversity”, that I acknowledge that I am part of the solution that our country needs. I do not write this now as a plea for White people in our country to see me or to see our Black and Coloured brothers and sisters. I write this now instead, for my White brothers and sisters, I write this now for you to see yourself and for you to see your place in the solution.