Africa-Press – South-Africa. Robin Binckes writes that he is ashamed of being South African as he was under apartheid.
In 1969, I attended some of the Springbok rugby teams games on their tour of England and witnessed the hate and anger of the English people towards South Africa as they protested against apartheid.
Living in England at the time, I wanted above all to watch the Springboks play. At the game against Midland Counties in Nottingham, watching 10000 English demonstrators fight against mounted police because of the policies of my government, I was ashamed to be South African.
In 1976, I travelled to New York on business. Excited at being in the capital of the free world for the first time, I made my way to one of the many upmarket bars to meet some locals. It wasn’t long before a group of three or four, including an African American, struck up a conversation with me and bought me a few drinks. I discovered they were exactly like me.
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I was astonished when one of them dropped the bombshell question. “Say man, where are you from with that accent?”
“South Africa”, I responded proudly.
All four looked at me with expressions akin to horror.
“You are kidding, aren’t you?” said Al, the African American. I shook my head and smiled wryly.
“Forget it pal. We aren’t drinking with you,” the African American said as he turned his back towards me and hunched over the bar, followed by his three friends shortly after. I was on my own. Suddenly the shame of being South African washed over me. I had never thought that other people would hate me because of my roots. I was ashamed to be South African and the cause of so much anger and hate.
Shame
Some years later, I was in the Caribbean in the Virgin Islands with my family on a yacht. We were about to go ashore to spend the evening at Rhymers Beach Bar on one of the islands.
Our skipper warned us in advance.”If anyone asks you where you are from, don’t tell them South Africa. South Africa is not very popular here”.
I cringed slightly, but nodded in understanding.
Later that evening, at Rhymers Beach Bar, with Bob Marley music pounding out making speech difficult, a shirtless local, who had been casting eyes at my 13-year-old daughter, swayed across to the table we were sitting at and said in a broad Carribean accent. “Say man, where you be from?”
Remembering our skipper’s warning, I answered, slurring my words as much as I could while still telling the truth. “Safrica” I responded, too ashamed of where I came from to say it out loud.
“Antartica ?” he said. “It be pretty cold down there this time of the year”. I nodded, relieved at not being correctly associated with a pariah state. I was ashamed of my country.
In the 70’s and 80’s, when arriving in another country, passport officials would usually give a cold welcome once the green passport was presented. The passport was stamped with an air of “If it was up to me I wouldn’t be doing this” and shoved back at me as if to get rid of an unpleasant smell as soon as possible. I was ashamed to be South African.
In 1981, I like many other South Africans, climbed out of bed early in the morning to watch the last test against the All Blacks on the Springboks tour of New Zealand. To our horror, a light aircraft flew over the field and began to drop flour bombs on the players- all because of the policies of our apartheid government. Despite my loyalty to the Springbok team, I felt ashamed at being South African.
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In 1994 we basked in the sunshine of our new democracy. Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu and the Rainbow Nation made us all proud to be South African for the first time. What a delight that was. We danced, we sang, we held hands and we all believed that the real new dawn had come.
Now when we travelled, we produced our little green passport with a proud flourish. “Aha!” The passport official would exclaim, usually with a smile. “Sout Africa. Nelson Mandela!”. I would smile proudly and nod in agreement, proud of my country.
Today, I doubt even whether a Russian passport official would greet us with a smile. More likely a cynical expression while he thought of what lily-livered people come from a country that chooses to get into bed with a partner guilty of murdering hundreds of defenceless women and children.
Today I am as ashamed of being South African as I was under apartheid. I am ashamed of a country where the government lies to its people about concern for human rights while not having the guts to stand up for the human rights of the people of Ukraine; I am ashamed to be from a country which protects despots, wanted by the International Criminal Court for war crimes like Omar al Bashir and who protects despots like the late Robert Mugabe and others who are recognised as corrupt and evil.
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I am ashamed that our President deceives the people of this country with promises which are never delivered. I am ashamed at the poverty that still exists and is worse after 28 years since democracy. I am ashamed of our political leaders, and businesses who have betrayed our country by feeding at the trough of corruption.
I am embarrassed and ashamed of the government’s antipathy towards the west- happy to receive support and aid, but too weak to shake their hands in friendship.
I am ashamed when I produce my little green passport when entering a country and see the expression on the officials face as they recognise where I am from.
In December, I plan to visit my son and family in the Cayman Islands for Christmas.
“Dad, because of Covid you will have to go into quarantine for a week when you get here”, he said.
“No, I wont” I said smugly, “Margie and I have both been vaccinated and had our booster.”
“That doesn’t matter, you still will. The Caymans doesn’t recognise the South African vaccines”.
“Which ones?” I asked.
“Any” was the reply. “They don’t trust any vaccine administered in South Africa.”
That’s how much credibility our government has built internationally. It is a time of déjà vu.
– Robin Binckes is a historian and author. He company Spear of the Nation conducts historical tours. He is the author of seven books including “
Great Trek Uncut”.
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