The Stories We Need to Tell

Afrikaans: The Boer language. Adopted from Dutch when settlers came to Cape Town. Supported by the National Party. Used as a weapon to oppress and exploit black students during the Apartheid regime.

I couldn’t be more appreciative for the experiences I’ve had this past week. While we've been busy trying to put together the pieces of a story this week has helped complete the picture. It’s been amazing to learn about the history that has made citizens in the townships of Johannesburg proud. At first I felt uncomfortable being a tourist to someone else’s hardship but I realized that these stories among many others need to be told. There is pride in recognizing the history of a community. Each time visitors come to learn, one more person will begin to understand "black life". So I put my skepticism aside and went along for the ride. I'm so glad I did. 

Sharpeville Memorial Garden. There are sixty nine symbolic pillars.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of telling stories and I am realizing it is essential. This past week while we were traveling I was reading the book "Kaffir Boy". This autobiography recounts one family's story and experiences  through the perspective of Mark Mathabane as he recalls his childhood under the Apartheid regime. It was especially significant that I was reading this book in conjunction with our excursion because many of the places we visited were mentioned in the book. As I was standing at the Sharpeville Memorial Garden, I could recall the voice and the words of a young boy who didn't quite understand what his life really was about but he knew something bad had happened. On March 21, 1960 sixty nine people were killed in forty seconds when they were protesting the pass laws which were unfair. When we met people who had lived through that massacre I learned that everyone who was killed was shot in the back while they were running from the police. They did not press on or instigate the situation further but the police brutality was so harsh that many lost their lives and more were injured or imprisoned. I was shocked and disgusted to hear the less glamorous facts.  Similarly, when we learned about the tragedy of June 16, 1976 and the death of Hector Pieterson I was able to relate to the characters in the book. Mark also participated in the riots protesting the mandatory use of Afrikaans in schools and he spent a good portion of time in fear not knowing whether to be present at school or to hide in his home. Each were at risk of police raids and the chance of being imprisoned and there was nowhere that he was truly safe. The book chronicled a sequence of unbelievable, embarrassing events many of which were never publicized. This gripping story got me thinking about the thousands of people's stories which will never be heard because they live even to this day in fear or because they were murdered as a consequence of being who they were. Before meeting people in the townships we visited, I  felt like I already had a connection to a story and as I heard more stories and learned of more personal accounts something that once seemed quite easy to disconnect from became unavoidable. I had to stare history in the face and admit that these atrocities did occur and what was even more difficult was that I had to concede to the realization that this was incredibly recent. Many of the people we have learned about are an icon representative of something larger than one person. They depict the struggle of a nation, whether or not everyone felt they were struggling. The stories we are learning about and the deaths that we are remembering are of people who otherwise still would have been alive today and I realized that in a way this is everyone’s history. This is our lives.

It was overwhelming to recall the events that occurred during the struggle. We learned about Hector Pieterson who was only thirteen when he was killed at a protest that he wasn’t even attending out of political motivation. The students from Soweto and Orlando townships were protesting the mandated use of Afrikaans in their schools. They arranged to gather at one place and march forth in unity, peacefully to make their point. Hector was a child; he was curious and wandered off. His natural instinct caused him to be killed and for his actions and death he was called a hero. Hector’s sister commented that he should not be glorified in death when in life he was just ordinary. The mother of the boy who carried him away from the scene said he was doing "his duty as a brother".  The responses from the community shocked me and I gathered that this lifestyle was unfortunately customary to some and that made their statements “matter-of-fact” and also they were humble. Nobody protested to become famous. They wanted their voices to be heard. They wanted a change!

Outside the Hector Pieterson Museum. This photograph made history. 

They referred to Afrikaans as the “killer subject” and the language of oppression. Once again I found myself realizing the impact that language can have on a community or individual. Steve Biko said “It is through evolutions of our genuine culture that our identity can be fully discovered” and that holds true to language since language is a huge part of culture and expression. I learned that this issue was much deeper than language and language became the catalyst for protest on that particular day. Since I’ve been working at City Mission I have also encountered various forms of Afrikaans. The struggle came out of the use of “proper Afrikaans” which was forced on communities. This caused top performing students to earn failing grades and took away a sense of identity by stripping people of the right to learn in their own language. Instantly, language became a metaphor for oppression and the required Afrikaans lessons perpetuated class differences in schools in many townships even stretching to the Cape Flats. I realized that by having English as my first language I have a huge advantage in society because English is now practically everywhere. I haven’t traveled somewhere yet where there wasn't even a basic understanding of English by a majority of the population. That is a privilege which I never appreciated enough until I began to think about how language is deeply rooted in power. I wondered then, why isn't English the language of the oppressor?