Whose blood is more red?

The truth that makes men free is for the most part
the truth which men prefer not to hear.
--Herbert Agar, A Time for Greatness (1942)

When walking into the Holocaust museum my initial thoughts were actually quite simple. “You might get emotionally touched, but this was never your battle so it shouldn’t make you distraught.” I already knew at the back of my mind that not many people would be able to walk through the Holocaust museum and not be moved by something but I thought I would be the exception.

As the elevator doors opened and I entered the first of three floors the museum had to offer, I braced myself for a picture that would immediately put the entire holocaust into context. Almost as if it read my mind the first photograph I saw was of a group of German soldiers nonchalantly smiling and standing in front of a pile of burnt human carcasses. At that point I knew that this museum would be harder to get through than I thought.

As I progressed from photograph to photograph each one telling its own unique story the emotional baggage that each one carried was placed upon me. From the clear struggle etched in the faces of those confined in the concentration camp to the emotional pain of recorded voices of those who experienced the brutal incarceration. It all built upon each other sending me through an emotional ride of frustration, anger, loneliness, terror, joy, relief and other emotions all mixed in a smorgasbord that eventually ended in a feeling of contempt for the visit.

I didn’t want to be there any longer than I had to be. I had seen enough. I wasn’t near the point of breaking down; rather I was closer to the point of wanting to emotionally numb myself to it all. Block my senses as if I had taking a dose of novacaine. I found it easier to block the feelings the museum challenged me with than to accept the emotional challenge it brought. My trip throughout the various floors culminated with meeting back outside with the rest of the SAWIP group and an opportunity to let myself feel again. Take my mind off what I had just witnessed and allow my mind to be free of all those thoughts. As I cleared up my mind a single thought kept recurring and almost as if it was stuck on repeat.

I kept telling myself how none of what I just saw made any sense to me. It just didn’t. Whether you try to rationalize it, logically justify it, interpret it in any other way it would still not make sense to me. The systematic eradication of not only the Jewish population of Europe but of all others who were “different” from what was considered the perfect race is something that doesn’t make sense to me.

Whose blood is more red between a Jew and Gentile, Christian and Muslim, Israeli and Palestinian, South African and Nigerian? Whose blood is more red between you and the woman standing next to you in the train? The killing and destruction of those who are different from you simply based on their physical appearance but whose heart beats to the same rhythm as your own remains to me as something that doesn’t make sense.

As we discussed as a group what we had experienced in the museum I felt a group wide reflection on their own humanity and that of the people on our own planet. When faced with the question of what would you do if you were a Nazi German, one is forced to raise the question of their own humanity and is forced to deal with their own morality?

We talk about how the world refuses to see something such as the Holocaust ever again yet we as the world fail to stop history from repeating itself. Death and destruction seem to follow those who search for a Darwinian response to the nature of humans.

I was recently asked why I see myself as black and not firstly as a human. Does the idea of me being black mean that I am different from a white person? Does my difference leave me better or worse off. The world needs us to see each other more as humans who have acknowledged their capacity of creating mass destruction but have chosen to be even more capable of creating a world for all to live in without fear or prejudiced. It is in a human’s ability to acknowledge the truth of our capacity to kill where we will find the power to speak out to such an act.

I was moved by the Holocaust museum. I was made to see the truth of what might happen in any society if we remain silent and complacent. Trying to make sense of what doesn’t make sense is a head bashing exercise but one filled with immense personal reward and gain when a solution is found. I was emotionally defeated into numbness by the Museum but renewed in my vigor to help restore and sustain the humanity of our planet.

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While listening to a panel discussion about the state of South Africa during the recent Woodrow Wilson event I couldn’t help but think that these world renowned leaders within economics have no clue about what is happening in South Africa. Listening to them set the scene of modern day South Africa made me feel nauseous.

It’s the same old same old story of the outside world projecting a grim view of the future of South Africa. Extreme unemployment running rampant, lack of infrastructure, tight labour laws, rampant poverty etc. seem to be the daily lexicon of outside economists describing South Africa. What many people from the outside fail to realize is that South African’s are not ignorant of their problems. In fact we are probably the foremost experts as well as our own biggest critics.

We haven’t swept the issue under the carpet hoping for it to be forgotten by society. We haven’t tried to hide behind the fact that we are a fairly new country with a constitution that has basically set the gold standard. South African’s know that we are a developing country.

The rest of the world seems to believe that we haven’t broken out of our shells yet, and that we are still in denial standing precariously on the edge. I was in a bookstore yesterday browsing around doing what I do best; reading as much as possible without having to actually pay for a book. I came across a book that told stories about the state of Africa with the foreword by Chinua Achebe but written by an American. My thought process was pretty simple at this stage. Chinua Achebe equals fairly respectable accurate depiction of Africa. As I read through the book and came across South Africa, what I found was utterly disappointing.

South Africa’s political instability threatens to undo the good of its past. Another African miracle looks to be on the horizon.

What could he possibly mean? Just like the outside panelists this author clearly had a single minded view of South Africa and that was it. The nauseating feeling I had while listening to the speakers came back with a vengeance while reading about South Africa. South Africa seems doomed to be constantly compared to first world developed countries even though we still have millions of people with no access to water. Those who criticize South Africa both inside and outside must learn to stop marking South Africa against a rubric for developed countries and Start marking South Africa’s like a developing country. To build an optimistic generation is no easy task. It requires patience, dedication, diligence, will power and the belief from the generation to defend their country when it needs to be defended and acknowledge the faults of the country a faults are apparent.

An optimistic generation is not one in which the standards are set by those who know nothing about the country. It is a generation that is willing to set its own standards because we know our country best. We know what’s needed and we are willing to improve our country.

I bear no ill will on the panelists. But I just wish people would do their homework more and appreciate just how wonderful our country is, defects and all.

Music Cures the Common Cold.

Yesterday I spoke in front of 30 people. Far from a large number but a number nonetheless, because sometimes you have to take what you can get. I remember while I was writing up my speech earlier in the day, I thought this could be either terribly ironic or extremely powerful if done right. I wanted to speak about student apathy, particularly student apathy in my institution.

Clearly, speaking in front of 30 people (which is a tiny drop from an expected crowd of 200) made the entire planned speech slightly ironic. In the moment, I decided to trash the speech and compare student apathy to the common cold. I started explaining how it spreads quickly and spreads without remorse. Infecting all those who come across its path with such ease and arrogance. It is passed on from person to person quite easily. In fact, you do not even have to touch a person to become infected. That person’s mere presence with the cold can leave an imprint on you.

Student apathy is like the common cold because even though most people know it is miserable, nothing of use will be gained from it and should be dealt with before it gets worse. Most people are willing to wait it out than to engage with it. Leave it be because it is going to be gone in a day or two anyway.Student apathy behaves just like the common cold. Infecting and spreading with most people deciding that it’s easier to deal with it than to tackle it head on. Instead of protecting yourself with any army of Pando’s, Disprins or Grandpa’s we ignore the problem and let it slide. Accept our fate and the hand dealt to us by society.

While speaking to the students about student apathy I noticed something quite profound. Instead of the yawns and sighs, I was expecting; they were listening. Not just listening but paying attention to every word that I was saying (or babbling depending on whose side of the fence you are on). I felt like the conductor of the orchestra swaying them left and right mentioning a phrase and watching them get excited. Moving my subject matter into the depths of my Apartheid knowledge, I lowered the tone of the room to a sombre harmony as I dealt with civil society’s rebellion against the system. How students should be able to mimic and ever better the civil movement of the 1980’s. When the symphony had died down and the violins had been packed away; trombones stored for the next chance to engage with people...the world ready to come back to the state it was in before the commotion. There was no applause, cheers, roses thrown onto the stage. There was no call for an encore from the crowd. All that was left behind once the music had gone were those same 30 people sitting in silence. As I took my seat and let the meeting continue. I felt pleased with what I had achieved. The message had been passed on. 30 people heard what I had to say and there was not a single sniffle to be heard from the crowd. No sneezing, coughing or heaving. The only sound coming from the room where the sounds of people tapping their feet to a beat.