Run Racist Run
Eusebius McKaiser
(Bookstorm)
Finally a writer has had the courage to tackle the racism demons that we have ignored for so long or pretended do not exist, and will simply go away if we buried our heads in the sand long enough.
Eusebius McKaiser’s Run Racist Run is long overdue.
In his third book (following A Bantu in my Bathroom and Could I Vote for the DA?), he bravely dissects the subliminal and institutionalised anti-black racism, using personal and anecdotal accounts.
It makes McKaiser’s journey, into the heart of racism, even more skilful because this is not – as he points out in the opening chapters of his book – about the obvious, in-your-face bigotry that sees a white racist beat up a black person in the street while hurling k-words and other expletives. Neither is it the naked racism variety of a Steve Hofmeyr.
Although the physical racism is deeply traumatic to victims, the “non-bloody racism” McKaiser describes in Run Racist Run is equally violent, he argues.
McKaiser bravely ventures into what lies hidden: the kind of acts that see a table open up at a restaurant for a white patron who calls to make a reservation when minutes earlier their black friend who called was told all the tables were taken.
McKaiser writes as clearly as he thinks. But it is his candid introspection about racism, and his own identity, thread through the collection of essays that make up the book, that takes the reader on a journey of emotions.
There are essays where you’ll nod in agreement, there are bits that will make you red with rage, other chapters you may disagree with, and parts still that will make you feel downright uncomfortable.
I subscribe to McKaiser’s definition of himself as “politically black” but “culturally coloured” for myself – although the author admits he is not entirely convinced by his self-analysis.
But my realisation only followed after reading the chapter dedicated to coloured people.
McKaiser tackles many touchy issues and themes, including black on coloured and coloured on black racism, the black professional’s constant need to prove self-worth, and the notion of white superiority and the myth of meritocracy where no one questions how a white chief executive was appointed in the position during apartheid when such positions were reserved for them.
He also hits for six those often used phrases like “get over it” and “stop playing the race card”, as well as the use of 1994 as if it was some magical wand that cured all our previous race relations ills – all of which denies the victims of anti-black racism their right to digest the abuse they suffer. In fact, it becomes a second wave of oppression for the victims.
Run Racist Run is a book for white and black. But mostly, it is recommended reading for all South Africans because it is a myth buster.
And boy, are there myths, like our perceived utopian South Africa where we claim not to see race. It’s like claiming we don’t have a rape culture and we’re not mysogenistic.
To blacks, McKaiser says it is okay to feel anger and to use it as a device to fight and deal with racism.
He says to black people that they need to stop using their white compatriots as yardsticks to measure their own achievements.
To whites, McKaiser says check your privilege. But more than that, he says there is little that separates the blatant racist from the subliminal racist in terms of their capacity to cause harm.
And to the white liberal, who he says is an ally in the fight against racism, he says don’t burden black people with your need to make matters right.
McKaiser gives freely of himself in this book. He speaks of the black writer’s burden to constantly write about race and how he envies white writers who can delve into frivolous material without those burdens.
But McKaiser can do frivolous too. To his doubts about his own coloured identity, McKaiser answers his own question with hilarious closing chapters that feature Judy Boucher, beetroot salad and black tax (too complex to explain here).
More than 20 years after we so desperately wanted to buy into the notion of a Rainbow Nation, McKaiser chips away at its fragile existence.
Perhaps it was within our reach, had we built on the nation-building moments that characterised the Mandela era. But it became diluted the more we bought into the dream and the less we paid attention to the reality.
McKaiser has started a much-needed conversation that may just put us back on that path of reconciliation.
We are indeed lucky to have the talent and intellect of a young writer like McKaiser in our midst.
He goes where many fear to tread.
It is the tonic to our apathy and indifference.