A white South African shares
his views on why he does not like black people.
NOTE - Names have been changed for safety reasons. For the
purpose of this story, our protagonist will be called
Paul.
Paul’s story in his own words:
People would probably call me a racist that is fine. I do not like most black people and will give
a detailed account on how I arrived to this conclusion.
Growing up in a relatively modest white area during
apartheid years, there were no luxuries or grand holidays. Our family was regular working class people, where the mother
had to work to support and contribute toward expenses. We were a happy family, six children blessed with loving parents and
understanding that God was always in
control. The family were not big on religion but respected the Word of God and
teachings of the New Testament. From an early age, as children, it was drilled
into our minds the two important commandments – Love the Lord your God with all
your mind, soul, and body and Love thy neighbor
as thyself.
Considering that our family grew up to respect and honor
these two commandments would probably cause people reading this to call me a
hypocrite. Yes, I thought about that and believe I can justify my dislike of blacks.
As a youngster, we had a black nanny, Anna, who was a plump woman
in about her thirties. I liked Anna; she looked after the children while both
parents were at work. Cooked us food, cleaned up our mess and even spanked us
when we misbehaved. It was never without good reason that she would hold the
wooden spoon and shout some foreign words to the naughty kids who did not
listen. Our parents respected and trusted Anna and Anna had their permission to
reprimand the children when needed. I believe Anna fulfilled the mother image
for the youngsters and will always remain grateful for the years of dedication
she gave to our family.
Anna was really the first black person I had contact with. Every
year end she would travel to her hometown
and spend the festive seasons with her family. We actually missed her during
that time. One year upon her return, she told my mother she was pregnant. My
mother a loving and caring person promised to help Anna and assured her the
baby could stay with her on the premises.
Anna gave birth to a healthy
baby boy and after spending a few days in
the hospital returned to our home. I was probably about six at that time
and utterly fascinated with the black
baby. Over the next few months, Anna allowed me to
hold the baby and sing to him. The child
was named Kenny and being the second black person I encountered in my life, I
felt bonded with this tiny baby.
Attending government schools was nothing out of the ordinary;
there were only white children, teachers,
and a small amount of black people who undertook the menial tasks of cleaning.
We never had contact with the cleaners and therefore never had the opportunity
to understand these people. Everywhere we went, black people were scarce, and
so I believed that the white people were the majority and black people were aides.
There were no computers, telephones or televisions in our
day. There was a radio but that to was
off limits and the children were only allowed to listen when the parents allowed
this form of entertainment. Our days were spent at school, playing sport,
visiting friends, riding our bikes and enjoying the wonderful, safe environment
we grew up in.
Crime was never a big factor and if there was an incident,
the efficient police dealt with it promptly and continued to secure our
communities. Occasionally we would hear the elders speaking about violence and
intimidation from black communities but as a child this had absolutely no affect on our lives.
I was unable to attend University upon completing my schooling as my parents were unable to afford
the additional costs. Jobs were plenty; it was an
entirely new world to explore. My older brothers and sisters were working
and loved the new found independence. My parents were aging fast and the
additional financial help from the kids was a blessing.
We now had television and the use of a telephone, that was
fun for awhile but so boring. I did not want an office job, or to start a
trade, I wanted more. I was inquisitive and spent most of my time in the
library exploring the history of our country. In school, we learned about the Boer war, the Zulu war and so forth but
there was so much more.
I turned eighteen and was enlisted in the South African army. The army was my home for the next two
years was the most adventurous, scary and enlightening
years of my life. There was actually a war, and I was part of this new formation.
I never knew there were millions of blacks that wanted the land. Army life was
grueling, but we were taught discipline, respect and the fear of God.
It was over; the apartheid government gave South Africa to
the blacks. Now I had to start a new life with people I had no knowledge of. It
was difficult, watching the infiltration of millions of blacks take over not only the white only residential
areas, city by city. The decline of service deliveries, the hospitals, and
the government departments’ rapid deterioration soon aggravated me to such an extent that I wanted to leave this
land. Yes, I considered emigrating, but that to was difficult for an ordinary
white family man, where would we find the money to leave our beloved land.
I met several black people
and honestly can say some are magnificent,
honest and intelligent. By the mid 2000s,
I was married and lived in a relatively decent area. Of course, we had black neighbors, but these people were like me, honest, respectful and courteous. I was impressed until I had the opportunity of
visiting big city centers. What a disaster, the filth, the overcrowding, the
stench was overbearing and upon trying to discover why, was told that immigrants
have nowhere to live and became refugees
in any open spot of land they could find. Why did the government allow this to
escalate into such a hectic uncontrollable position boggled my mind?
What horrified me the most was the ignorance of the majority
of blacks, the culture of believing that everything in South Africa was their
heritage. The disrespect and hatred for white people were perhaps still understandable,
but the blatant horrendous crimes committed against whites were unforgivable.
There are few white people I know that were not a victim of
crime, perhaps the lucky ones. The measures white people had to take to ensure
their safety was not usual. Expansion of
security gates, fences and alarms were the standard
procedure. Public transport was out of the question, there was none and the
small available amount was crowded with blacks. Government schools declined to
such a sordid state that the only option of receiving a decent education was to
admit your children to private schools.
Walking down the
street was a memory of years gone by, it was impossible to try only because the
chances of being mugged was against you. Life was terrifying for many and as a
man attempting to protect his family the
stress of survival became the way of life.
Over the years, the black population increased by millions
and the service deliveries decreased to such an extent that South Africa was
entering a slum condition. The fundamental
human rights of having water and electricity was becoming a luxury.
We have computers, internet, cell phones, games and more to
entertain us in our homes. Finding entertainment outside is a dangerous excursion
as you might just be a target for crime.
I wanted to know why and went on a mission to understand why
black people lived in conditions not fit for humans.
As I said, my
neighbors were intelligent and obliging to me upon my quest to understand black
people. I learned so much from these humble people. I liked these black people,
I could communicate with them, drink tea with them and laugh with them. They
told me about their struggles under apartheid and when South Africa became a
democratic country their determination to rise above the pettiness of the past.
It was their strength to get educated and live a purposeful life. I learned
that it was the education that gave them the opportunity to succeed. Indeed
they assured me there were many black people who had taken the opportunity to
get a decent education and live a peaceful meaningful life. I like these black
people.
My black neighbors told me they had an intense dislike for
the majority of their kind, based on the fact that their ignorance and
ungrateful nature caused the world to frown upon blacks. Their stories of cultural habits leaning toward
caveman ethics enthralled me. I began to understand that while some black
people cannot leave the past and focus on a healthier future was perhaps the
reason for the filth, sickness, and poverty.
Many times my neighbors invited me into their home, which my
no means were shabby, in fact, more luxurious than mine. I was
enlightened about the black culture tactics around Africa and the laziness of
many tribes. Perhaps the most alerting stories were the criminal elements that
stalked the black people into crime. I was told that it was a cultural thing.
Perhaps, I will never understand all the reasons for their behavior,
and trying to understand why raping a child to cure HIV/AIDS was beyond my intellectual
capacity. The love of money and material wealth was foremost the agenda for
most. I ask myself, was it the suppression during apartheid years that caused
the majority of blacks to steal, and plunder whatever they can. No, it is not, I was told that stealing is a
cultural thing, again?
How can a man whether white, black, pink or blue like and
respect one another when there is no open road to communication or understanding
or more importantly respect? How can I admire a person
who as no respect for his neighbor? How
can I like a man that has evil intentions and open hatred for white people? How
can I like the black government that plunders and destroys a country that once
had moral and respectful standards? How can I like a black man that cannot
string one sentence together without swearing? How can I like a black man when
the blatant open hatred is to target white people and who have no respect for
life?
Oh, there is so much more, and I can guess that most people know exactly how cruel it is to try and survive in South Africa.
Perhaps the most difficult commandant is to “Love thy
neighbor as thyself.”
All images from Wikimedia - with thanks.
Links to attribution of images.
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