Desmond Tutu’s concept of a rainbow nation just doesn’t match up to reality, writes Lizeka Mda
If ever there was any doubt that the notion of a rainbow nation is unravelling, President Nelson Mandela’s speech at the African National Congress’s 50th conference laid those doubts to rest.
For almost four years as the president of the country, he has been the champion of reconciliation, even being accused by large sections of the black population of bending over backwards to accommodate white arrogance while completely ignoring the unchanged plight of the suffering black masses.
There he was mentioning that four-letter word, race, and referring to “sinister forces”, “the advantaged”, “white privilege” as “a counter-revolutionary network” that is undermining democracy.
Evidently when he was telling us that Thabo Mbeki was already running the country, he was preparing us for the shock of hearing him sounding so much like his successor.
Obviously as we go into the last year before the elections of 1999, the euphoria born in April 1994 has somewhat dissipated, and the rainbow has been frayed at the edges for a while.
How absolutely pleased we were with ourselves then, when the whole world — even Cuba’s Fidel Castro — arrived on our doorstep to give us a pat on the back. We had averted a catastrophe, and when it did not materialise, CNN reporters rushed home because there was “no story here”.
The Arch was driven to describe us as the rainbow people of God. Presumably he meant all the peoples of South Africa, in their cultural diversity, had enough things in common to work towards a common goal of building a new country.
The vehicle was to be the Reconstruction and Development Programme, which disappeared in a flash, leaving unfulfilled expectations, particularly in relation to employment. In its wake were pockets of alienation.
Whites find their colour no longer assures them automatic employment and read that as meaning they are irrelevant in the new South Africa. Black graduates, on the other hand, who cannot find jobs think nothing has changed; their colour still means they are the last ones to be employed. They have even formed an association of unemployed graduates.
The future is decidedly bleak for black and white who feel they are being excluded from making a contribution to the government of the country, without the requisite struggle credentials, or at the very least, membership of the ANC.
The rest are chasing yet another tender, preferably with a dial-a-previously-disadvantaged group in tow.
Over three centuries of racial discrimination cannot be airbrushed as easily as that, and clearly, the prospect of integration holds no appeal for the majority of South Africans whatsoever. Splashing some colour on to our landscape has not changed the way we view things: in black and white. Okay, there is some fuzzy grey in between, but regardless, some are more equal than others.
Africans are lazy buggers who would not get anywhere without the assistance of affirmative action. And that is racism in reverse, isn’t it?
Coloureds — of course they are not “so-called” anymore — are drug runners and prone to forming gangs which shoot each other. Indians will rob you blind if you dare set your foot on the pavement in front of their shops. And whites are thieves, liars and in charge.
Anyone left out? Chinese? But everyone knows they are invisible and will change their allegiances faster than a chameleon to suit the occasion.
We may live in the same suburbs, to some extent, but we may just as well be on different planets for all the interaction there is. Beyond Castle Lager ads, “They” still hang out in theme bars in Sunninghill, while “You people” can be found at pretentious shebeens in Dunkeld.
When the Two Nations concert was staged in Johannesburg in November, it was clear the two nations were not just on stage, but in the audience as well. As soon as The Spice Girls finished their two songs, half the stadium filed out, leaving those of a darker hue to listen to the world-famous reggae star Lucky Dube, and the platinum-selling Rebecca Malope.
The two nations concept is reinforced every time there is a sports event. The national anthem, a cop-out that is really two songs — Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika from the struggle camp, followed by Die Stem from the apartheid establishment — finishes with Sechaba sa Heso for the spectators at Soccer City, while it only begins with Uit die Blou at Loftus Versveld or Newlands.
Nelson Mandela can be as stern as he likes, no one really takes any notice. We should just dump this long hybrid and go for Shosholoza as the new anthem.
The 1995 rugby World Cup launched “Amabokoboko”, an affectionate name for the national rugby squad from the same Sowetan sportswriters who named the soccer team Bafana Bafana, but rugby remains a white game. Taped conversations have exposed racist sentiments, by a rugby coach and allegedly by a boxing promoter. Which just confirms that behind our sunny smiles lurk dark thoughts about The Other.
Those who dare cross the line and fraternise on the other side of the divide become subjects of scorn. Look at the way we still stare at mixed couples. Black male waiters feel obliged to bond verbally with a black woman who is so daft as to dine with a white man. Rude? Hell=20no. After all, the white man confirms his inferiority by not understanding what the waiter is saying in an African language. And all he wants to know is what she sees in her partner anyway. Because, as everyone knows, white men can’t jump.
You can see we are in deep trouble when a newspaper lists people who helped shape our culture in 1997, and only two out of 10 are black, both not South African, and one not even resident in the country during the year in review.
You have to know who you are before you can be part of the rainbow. Simply put, South Africans have no clue who they are. For four centuries our identity has been defined by a ruling class that has been imitating some outdated idea of what a European is. The current ruling class may be black, but they, in turn, do not know how to be themselves as they continue to imitate whites and end up being neither, and even more confused.
Africans in particular have been remarkable for not taking the hint in the pursuit of the philosophy that if it is white, it is good. Whites have demonstrated they prefer to be alone. We are talking about one-way traffic here, to the previously white suburbs. There certainly has been no reciprocal influx by white masses to Umlazi, Gugulethu or Mamelodi.
Yet, as whites have retreated, blacks have followed: to Eastgate and Hyde Park Corner, to Bruma Lake and now to the Rooftop Market in Rosebank. In the process, they have inadvertently been driving whites into the sea because, after Cape Town, what’s left?
This breed of wannabes behind the wheels of Audi 4s with ears glued to cellular phones has added another word to our vocabulary: the coconut. As in the fruit, these people have a brown appearance, but just a layer underneath, the principles, values, emotions, interests are white.
So what is a South African?
The French have cultivated a reputation for their cuisine and for being superb lovers. We can’t even compete with them with our accent, which will never be described as sexy.
The Italians are known to love their children and to live for football. The entrepreneurial skills of the Nigerians are admired or feared worldwide. Even the British can lay claim to a stiff upper lip.
What do we have? Van der Merwe — with his khaki safari suit and comb stuck in his knee-high socks? Whichever way you look at it, he will never hold a torch to the affection with which we hold Australia’s Crocodile Dundee. You wouldn’t even want to be lost in the bush with our Van.
South Africa may be ethnically diverse, but it is far from tolerant. We simply do not have a history of pride in our cultural diversity. We may be the most attractive country on this continent for the visitor, as a recent survey declared, but, alas, we do not have enough self-confidence to boast of anything.
Science? The world has not heard from us since Chris Barnard’s heart transplant. Our advances in archaeology are not widely known beyond the National Geographic Society, as there is no vehicle through which we can blow our own horns.
Music? When a radio station can complain that a 20% quota for local music is too high, Desmond Tutu should be praying for us. Even after Paul Simon did a superb job in raising the profile of our music internationally, visitors to this country constantly struggle to find South African music, while the music stores have no shortage of The Rolling Stones or Oasis.
In four years the only thing that has come close to giving us a national identity is crime. We commit it against each other, against visitors to our country, and the rest of the time we moan about it. One thing about crime, though, it’s a great equaliser. Criminals do not discriminate. Everyone is a target.
How important is a South African identity anyway? The past has shown that the assertion of a single identity has precluded the assertion of others.
The melting pot, as represented by the United States, does not work either, as decades of racial integration policies have failed and separation has become increasingly entrenched with two Americas, divided and unequal.
What is wrong with our diversity? For one thing, it is expensive, and the state has no resources to maintain it. Look at how it has failed to get 11 official languages off the ground.
We do need to open the debate on what it means to be South African. The concept of a rainbow is essential in the South Africa of today. As an acknowledgement of the existence of us all, our memory, identities, knowing the past and our right to be here and to benefit equally henceforth from the bounty of the country. Otherwise the dream of a non-racial, non-sexist, democratic society will remain just that — a pipe dream.
ENDS