The other day I spoke to a friend of mine about how often people say that South Africans should “get over” apartheid and move on, just like they did in Europe after World War II.
This bothered me for a long time, but I think it is starting to dawn on me. As a child in The Netherlands, I grew up with stories of World War II: the concentration camps, the trains full of Jewish people having been pulled out of their houses, their shops looted and possessions stolen. Once in the camps, they would be separated according to age, gender and fitness levels. They were either pushed into gas-chambers, had to work in pyjama-like garments in the snow or were experimented on by cruel doctors.
We watched movies at school and took trips to what is left of those camps. We had books full of pictures of the mass graves, the trains stuffed with people like sardines in a can. One could argue that it was traumatic for a child, but I never experienced it that way. It was our history and there was a very clear purpose for having these horrible images and stories being part of our education.
We don’t even really know how many people died during those years of war. Some speak of tens of millions of people losing their lives, while others estimate between 50 and 70 million senseless deaths.
On May 4, every single year, my entire country goes quiet for two full minutes. Public transport comes to a halt, national TV goes quiet. People get out of their homes to visit a monument and lay flowers or meet friends to be silent and stop everything for 120 seconds. We accomplish a few things by this gesture: We remember what happened and make sure it will never happen again.
Recently, AfriForum chief executive Kallie Kriel said apartheid was not a crime against humanity, as it “wasn’t like the Holocaust”. The reason was very simple: not even half as many deaths occurred by the hands of the apartheid government. This caused a lot of uproar and it caused me to think beyond my instinctive outrage. The fact that the government didn’t manage to kill enough people during those years doesn’t make it a crime against humanity? Really?
Imagine for a moment you being the parent of a few children. From one day to the next you have to leave your neighbourhood. You are pushed into “camps”, according to the texture of your hair. A pencil test determines whether you would be classified as black or as coloured. If the pencil sticks in your hair you are black, otherwise coloured, and you are moved to another neighbourhood. Families are ripped apart, your shops looted and possessions stolen, never to be returned to you. The dreams you had for your children are shattered and you have no hope for your future. A few generations later, you hear: “They must get over it.” But how can you get over something that isn’t over?
When last were you in a government school in a township (or shall we call it a camp)? Toilets aren’t functioning. Classes are overcrowded. There is one teacher for about 40 learners with little or no resources.
Do you know what it is like to have to fetch water so you can cook breakfast, wash yourself, and your siblings, in the middle of winter with ice-cold water, while your mommy has already left for work, because she needs to take two taxis to get to town? This is the life of many 10-year-old children in our city. They walk to school through dangerous areas. They have seen family members die of curable diseases. Two-year-old children are raped because the ones that were supposed to protect them had to leave home early to clean somebody’s nice house or to feed their children. This is real stuff and it is happening on a daily basis.
How can you get over something that isn’t over? When you go to the concentration camps, they are empty, except for huge glass containers filled with shoes and garments from mass graves to remember those who once wore them. The townships are not empty. They are more crowded than before. Death of dreams and hopeful futures continues to this day.
Yes, things have improved. “They” can now vote. “They” can go to university. When “they” are late for class, there are frowns and grumbling from those that lecture. One of my fellow students was late one day and apologised. “They were shooting at the taxi rank and I needed to wait until it was over.”
No one ever got over the Holocaust. Every year people cry in those two minutes as we remember what happened. It might be a starting point for South Africans.
* Sytske Peterson is an Associate at Cornerstone Institute in the Ethics, Philosophy and Religious Studies Department.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.