So I just skimmed over my first blog post, and I was somewhat appalled by my naivety with regard to race and class issues in my first weeks here. Time to set the record straight (or at least expose more of my experience of the reality of this place).
Things look really good on paper. The constitution promises equality for all people regardless of race, class, background, language, all that good stuff, just like in the US. But the implementation fails in a lot of ways, despite some honest and some not so honest efforts (also just like in the US, but that’s a different conversation). Racism still exists in some discreet and some not so discreet ways, in personal interactions, cultural ideas and values, and in institutional barriers to success for oppressed groups. It’s like they have a lot of the same issues that we still do in the States, it’s just that they’re not as “pc” about it – what we push under the rug in the US is still out there in the everyday language and discourse of the people and politics here in sometimes shocking ways.
Stellenbosch, especially on and near campus, seems really nice on the surface. The buildings and culture maintain a lot of their European influence. The people are pretty; even the Blacks and Coloureds are the “acceptable” kinds of Blacks and Coloureds, the ones that are clean, well-dressed and educated, speak proper English and have conformed to upper-class White norms (I’m being facetious here, if you didn’t catch it). You kind of feel like you’re in a musical until a homeless person comes and asks you for money, possibly yelling at you in a language you don’t understand as you walk away. Race disparities exist. Some 90% of the Stellenbosch population consists of people of colour, and less than 10% of Stellenbosch University students are of colour. And then there’s Khayamandi, the local township, where 35,000 people live in unbelievably poor conditions, 10-40 people living in each of the single-room tin houses that are packed in on top of one another. It’s like Stellenbosch’s embarrassing little brother whom he tries to pretend doesn’t exist as far as is possible. I can see the very edge of it creeping up over the hill and extending off into the distance from the train station – these people literally live on the other side of the tracks.
The constitution promises language equity – of the 11 official languages, the most important governmental documents must be available in all of them, and other important documents and signs must be printed in at least three. Again, these are policies that are not perfectly implemented. The poorest, most disadvantaged people typically speak one of the (9 official) indigenous languages, not English or Afrikaans – those are the rich, educated languages, the languages in which most of political and public goings on take place. Someone living in a township may receive a notification that they cannot read (even if it is printed in the required three languages, it is likely in English, Afrikaans and one indigenous language, possibly not the one they speak), and wonder why some major change that deeply affects their lives takes place a week later without their knowledge or consent.
The indigenous languages (primarily isiXhosa and some isiZulu in the area where I’m living) are not yet considered languages of education. They are considered “real” languages because they have dictionaries and translations of the Bible, the typical markers of a recognized language, but they do not have the set of literature, etc. necessary to be used for higher education (scholars have said that it would be possible to elevate them to this level with some money, but apparently it’s not a cause worth the money at this time). Even for the few poor students who are able to receive primary education in their mother tongue, it does them little good as soon as they move into higher levels of education (not to mention that teachers who teach in indigenous language-speaking schools probably haven’t gotten the best education themselves – the only real requirement to teach a specific grade is that you have passed that grade yourself). For the vast majority of poor students, though, education comes in a language that they do not speak at home and that their parents cannot speak (Afrikaans and/or English), from teachers who probably do not speak their mother tongue. Extend this concept of language exclusion to the workplace (especially decent-paying jobs), and you start to understand just one of the many interconnected barriers to advancement. Keep in mind that language is tightly tied to race, which in turn is deeply entangled in class – the divisions between groups of people are enforced in multiple dimensions.
Education is also exclusive along monetary lines. The state guarantees public education to all children. However, the schools become exclusive by including fees: my (Coloured) children at Lynedoch Primary School (my service site/new home – more on this to come later) pay 5 rand per month in school fees, while the fees at the nicer (White) schools far exceed my learners’ parents’ salaries, making it impossible for my learners’ to ever attend them. The schools don’t explicitly say that they’re segregated, but they don’t have to; the money separates them. The White schools have both the monetary and social capital to provide their learners with quality education in a quality building with a vast number of resources, while the poor schools are lacking in many areas that we take for granted in the US. Then throw in the issue of transportation: the higher-income children have parents or personal drivers to take them to school; the poor children must go to schools that they can access by foot or by public or state-funded transportation (which is slim), further limiting their options.
And then there’s the issue of interpersonal relations and personal dignity. I only want to use one example to explain the problems that still exist: the service learning class that I’m taking was open to all Stellenbosch students last semester, but now it is only open to international students. Why? We work with Coloured primary school teachers, and when they worked with the White South African students, they felt inferior and poorly-treated, while White students from other countries (and let’s face it, almost all of my classmates are White) see them as figures of authority and treat them with respect. This seems to be one area where other countries of the world are doing a bit better, while many South Africans of my generation still grew up with apartheid ideals engrained into them. Our guardian teachers still freak out on a regular basis, overwhelmed by the way we treat them, by little things like asking their permission to do things or giving them hugs. I get overwhelmed when I realize that my white privilege even extends to my ability to make an impact in the schools – my presence there creates an amplified effect for the students and teachers simply by virtue of my Whiteness.
I know this is really harsh language, and it’s not like everything here is horrible. This is an incredible place of diversity; I have seen differences celebrated and love the milieu of cultural experiences I have been having. It’s just that issues of inequality are so entangled in everything here (South Africa has the greatest inequality of any country in the world), and I cannot escape thinking about them constantly. I know I will never be the same again, that I will never be able to ignore these kinds of issues again. But I suppose it’s just moving me toward the person I’m becoming and the career I’ll someday have. Keep in mind that this is my experience of reality and does not by any means encompass everything about this country. But it is very real and, at least in my little world, very important.
peace and love
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