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I’m a serial reader. The worst kind. I don’t even hide the evidence. In fact, I take great pleasure in displaying my collection of victims on shelves all over my house. I love being surrounded by them and my addiction is so powerful, that I can be found with my nose in a book for most part of the day.

My Modus Operandi is simple. I take every possible opportunity to escape reality and slip into another world where people get along, and bicycles are just bicycles.

It happens from time to time – your neck gets stiff and the letters start to blur. You simply have to perform a neck roll and a stretch before you can carry on reading. So you surface to the real world for a short while.

Boy was I shocked when I came up for air yesterday. Everywhere I turned, I was faced with Facebook pages urging people to sabotage an entire radio station. I started searching the internet, scolding myself for always having my nose in a book while life happens around me. I found some references to Tumi Morake and some bicycle.

Never having seen a comedian on a bicycle, my interest was somewhat piqued, so I dug a little deeper.

I listened to interviews, read articles, and scanned through some of the most disturbing comments on Facebook I have ever seen.

Is there a lot to be said about the entire debacle?

Sure.

Here’s what I know:

I still haven’t seen a comedian on a bicycle
The analogy Tumi Morake used to explain Apartheid is spot on
As uncomfortable as it might make any white South African, the bicycle belonged to the black South Africans. Why? This: If you are white and you live in SA, you will find that your forefathers are not originally from SA – you might be British, German, Italian, Dutch or Portuguese. If you are black and you do NOT live in SA, you will find that your forefathers are originally from Africa.
The bicycle was forcefully taken from black South Africans. If it wasn’t done by force, slavery wouldn’t have existed.
Democratic elections brought into power a new government – the bicycle was declared a SHARED asset.

 

This is where I stop agreeing with Tumi.

Here’s what I also know:

There was in fact retribution. The purpose of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was restorative justice. That happened. The commission chaired the amnesty applications for 7112 cases of white people that had committed crimes of abuse in the Apartheid era. Only 849 of these applicants received amnesty. That’s what I call retribution. Was the system flawless? No. No system ever is.
Affirmative action also happened. That’s a form of retribution.
Retribution happened in the past, Tumi. You talk about your struggle and I will never diminish that. However, I would like to introduce to you the struggle nobody ever speaks of. The struggled of being white while NOT being a racist. We get ostracized by our own white families for being too “liberal”. Because of the colour of our skin, certain black people also assume that we are oppressors or at the very least, the spawn of those oppressors. That struggle is also real.
When you plan to have a meaningful conversation with people, know your audience and don’t speak in anger
So much venom can be eliminated simply by acknowledgement. Don’t ever underestimate the power of acknowledging someone else’s frustration, pain, or loss.
Stop making children pay for the sins of their fathers. If you were born in 1994, you’ve had 23years of equal opportunity. That affords you ample time to go to school, graduate, and become employed. No more white privilege nonsense.
If you were born after 1994, stop apologizing for the abomination that was Apartheid. No more collective guilt feelings. If you were born after 1994, stop raising the issue of Apartheid. No more excuses.
If you feel you have to share your opinion, be respectful about it
If you are still pro-white or pro-black, do us all a favor and buy that ticket. We don’t need you here. This bicycle is pro-peace. This bicycle belongs to everyone and if it moves, it moves forward.

Now, I would like to thank humanity for reminding me why I prefer keeping my nose in a book where Poppy Jenkins strolls down a lane lined with summary flowers, with a beautiful old castle in the backdrop, with a song in her huge heart that knows no bigotry.