Upon entry to the apartheid museum in Johannesburg, I was handed a small laminated card classifying me as a non-white. It was at this point that I suddenly began to see the “city of gold” through a different set of eyes. The segregation that ruled society under the laws of apartheid began to have an impact on me before I even entered the actual museum; I was told to enter through the right door, while others who had received cards classifying them as “whites” entered through the left. This type of segregation among other various methods were used during South Africa’s history of apartheid government to legally impart severe psychological oppression on the natives of this country between 1948 and 1990.
Steven Biko was one leader in the anti-apartheid struggle who recognized the importance of overcoming apartheid by changing the mindset of the oppressed people. He spoke of black consciousness, a movement that inspired his people to take pride in who they were and to recognize the greatness that they were capable of achieving. Only those who were able to persist and overcome the severe psychological oppression such as individuals like Mark Mathabane stood a chance in overcoming the system as a whole including political and economic oppression. As I walked through the apartheid museum, passages from Mathabane’s book Kaffir Boy flashed in my mind. I began to imagine how he would have felt as a child in this world where signs and pieces of paper not only ruled where he could and could not go, but also told him where he did and did not belong. Mark and other non-whites belonged in the school that had no desks or supplies. They did not belong in the restaurants whose signs read Whites Only boldly across the top. I cannot imagine that anyone would have the inspiration to do something great with their lives as they are living in a world that is constantly telling them that they are different, and they cannot aspire to anything.
Pass books were another major form of segregation that contributed to this psychological oppression during apartheid. The museum displayed an entire wall of various examples of passes. These papers contained slips of paper with permission that non-whites had to carry in order to do almost anything. They had papers that gave them permission to move, papers that gave them permission to be in a certain area at a certain time, papers that gave them permission to have a job at a certain place where the boss signed off on the hours they were present each day, and even papers that basically gave them permission to have an identity.
Of course, pass books were just one of over a hundred apartheid laws that enforced the segregation between whites and non-whites from the time that Malan took control of the government in 1948. When I saw the extensive list of these laws covering a back wall of the museum, I was shocked. How many ways can there be to ensure that one group is treated as superior? Laws that separated public facilities from restrooms to park benches were grouped into one law that was often referred to as “petty apartheid.” There were many more laws that made life extremely difficult for non-white Africans. For example, the Bantu Education Act of 1953 was created to prevent non-white children from reaching high skill levels so that they could not take higher skilled jobs away from white workers.
As I browsed through the early sections of the museum displaying art and other artifacts from the original inhabitants of South Africa, I wondered how different things would have been if Europeans who came to South Africa had embraced and respected the culture of the country’s natives. I wondered what it would be like if the National Party had not gained support by capitalizing on the material interests of its supporters: cheap African labor, protection from black competition in the job market, and other advantages that come from the oppression of others.
Apartheid has given South Africa a tragic history, and its effects are still lingering, especially in the economic disparities between the very rich and the very poor living side by side. I have seen proof of this in my own experiences on this trip. Today, for example, we spent the morning distributing uniforms to children whose families have to decide between paying school fees and buying their next meal. In the afternoon, after we left these kids in a harsh world, we proceeded a few miles away to Gold Reef City, a casino that looks like a palace, for lunch.
Nevertheless, South Africa has come a long way in a relatively short amount of time. None of it would have been possible without the work of whites and blacks together in the anti-apartheid struggle. Desmond Tutu, Hugh Maskela, Nelson Mandela and many others took action to make a difference through spiritual activism, art, defiance, and other means. Many suffered, and we owe them a great deal for their sacrifices. One quote by Solomon Mahlanga in the exhibit on solitary confinement read, “My blood will nourish the tree which will bear the fruits of freedom.” Tribute is given to these wonderful individuals throughout the museum; they were among the first to start building a new South Africa that advocates freedom and equality for all people.
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As I exited the apartheid museum, I felt hope for this country to continue in the construction of a South Africa that offers the same quality of life for every one of its people. The last thing that is displayed at the end of the exhibit is a wall of words including democracy, freedom, respect, reconciliation, etc. The two words that stood out most to me were equality and diversity side-by-side, able to exist in harmony when joined by all of these other ideas. Much unlike the way I entered the museum, I exited alongside whites, Africans, Indians, and many other people—all different, and all equal.
Question to consider: In what ways have you experienced a new South Africa in the post-apartheid years?