As this is my first attempt at writing a blog, consider it by way of an introduction. This is a brief journey through my life, a glimpse at my heart, and an introduction to my thoughts on an issue that has become quite relevant to who I am:My name is Charis. I’m not a racist.
I’m a white South African. If I grew up in Apartheid I was too young to remember its fall. I’ve watched the world change. And these are some of my experiences.
I was about 11 when I first became consciously aware of the difference between ‘black’ and ‘white’. That was the year that three black children were introduced to our school. They joined the more senior classes, and one of them became a good friend of mine. I’m sure I noticed that this was a new thing, that we had never had black kids in our school, but prior to that I had never questioned the status quo. I’d had no reason to. And even when things changed I never asked many questions.
I observed. I accepted. They even became my friends.
I had grown up in a typical white middle class suburban home. Again, I never questioned the absence of a group of people that I had never been confronted by. Sure, we had a maid who came in once or twice a week. Most of my friends did too. And I remember enjoying Saturdays, when she’d make pap and we’d sit outside with her eating it with our hands. That was normal. I never questioned.
As years progressed the number of blacks in our schools (and also in my church) increased dramatically. I still remember being a bit shocked when I arrived for my first day at high school, realising that I was no longer part of the majority. Of course, I never questioned their value or whether they ought to be there. I was simply overwhelmed because they were ‘different’. I also recall being irritated by them, because they were very loud. I still tried to be friendly to the black kids, but they seemed to prefer sticking around with their own, so I found myself also forming closer friendships amongst other Caucasians. Ironically, many of my friends were not of the same culture as myself. We ended up with a rag-tag group of all the foreigners and various other social oddballs, including girls from places as far as Russia, Bulgaria and Turkey. I never had a problem with people who spoke different languages and such. I figured it was just a case of some people being more similar than others in terms of common interests.
When I finished school I worked for a year as a manager of an ice-cream shop. There was at least one black girl in each of our shops employed primarily for the purpose of cleaning. I never questioned the lack of blacks in higher positions. As for what they did? It was their job. It wasn’t like we never had to do any cleaning. Because they were the full-time staff, they became our friends. We’d talk and joke in between customers. But this never extended beyond the workplace.
And so I proceeded throughout varsity and various part time jobs, assuring myself that I was not racist. I accepted all people on equal terms and didn’t look down on anyone because of the colour of their skin. By the time I went to Bible College I was proud of myself. I was a pretty good person. Not judging people. Accepting all people as equal. In fact, I could even list one or two blacks as my friends, or at the very least, acquaintances.
Sure, I knew of some of the stereotypes. And I would hold tightly to my bag if walking through a crowd of black people, because “statistically those crimes were more often perpetrated by a particular people group.” Whether my reasons were justified or not, I nonetheless convinced myself that I was merely being cautious and vigilant. After all, I had personally been affected by such crimes, and my bag had once been stolen by a crowd of blacks who had come into the shop together. But, I’d comfort myself, I judge each person on an individual basis. I would not hold all blacks responsible for those who earned them a bad reputation. After all, I personally knew a good number of 'decent' blacks.
Then Bible College happened. Because of the bursary I had applied for I found myself staying in the residence with over 20 other students, mostly also on bursary, from many different countries and nationalities, mostly African. Suddenly I was living with people whose culture was largely foreign to me, sharing meals with people whose first language was not English. And suddenly I was aware of the immense diversity that was around me, even from my own country. This, of course, led to some confusion, a real experience of culture shock, and many many misunderstandings.
Still, I prided myself on being fairly tolerant and was open to getting to know all these people, and I did manage to find some solid friendships. But even the deepest of these was tested greatly, as I had to look beyond my arrogance of expecting them to relate to me on my own terms. This led to some particularly painful experiences, as even those I considered close friends felt they could not talk with me about racial issues, since I would likely get defensive and even hostile when the subject arose. I kept saying, “Why can’t we just move on?” While they kept thinking, “Why can’t she just listen and try to understand where we’re coming from?” It has been a painful learning experience. And one that has greatly shaped me, and continues to challenge me, even today.
A simple example might illustrate how one such cultural misunderstanding can hamper the growth of genuine relationships. In my Westernised culture making appointments is a way of being considerate. Just showing up on my doorstep may inconvenience me and would be considered rude. So, if you value a friendship with me you would invite me over for tea or a meal, and I would do the same. At the very least, call first, to check that I won’t be busy. However, in most African cultures an invitation is a way of keeping a relationship formal and at a distance. If I really care about you I am expected to show up uninvited. It is this becoming a part of your everyday life, and having you involved in mine, that shows that our friendship is real. So for many months I suffered incredible loneliness. Wondering why none of these friends ever wanted to do anything with me. While they, on the other hand, were wondering why I never bothered to just drop in and why I kept the relationships so distant and impersonal.
As I was growing in my cultural understanding I came to another realisation. I had compartmentalised my life, as far as other cultures were concerned. It was fine, I thought, to be friends with black people, to work with them and go to church with them, and even to meet with them socially. But really, I thought, you should still date and marry within your own culture. After all, we can’t deny that there are differences between us.
One major turning point in this was when a classmate of mine asked me out… and I was confronted with the reality of my reaction. I had to seriously consider whether I had turned him down because I really didn’t like him that way, or if it was because he was black. I won’t deny that I had thought he was good looking. I had even once joked with a friend that if I ever dated a black man, it would be him. But, I had concluded, I was certain I would marry a white man. Well, God tested me on that one. And after I determined that I really wasn’t romantically interested in him, I was a little more open to the possibility of cross-cultural relationships.
But that was not to be the end of that story. In my second year I found myself confiding often in another black friend, and the two of us became really close. I think I had felt able to open up to him, minus the masks, because on a certain level I was certain that there was no risk of me becoming romantically interested in him. To a large degree, because he was black. Once again God called me on that one. It was only after he had asked me out and I had said no that I began to seriously consider the possibility. We spent a solid month talking about it before we actually started dating. Discussing the implications of doing something like that and where it could lead if it ends up in marriage. It was no easy thing, and we entered our relationship with a feeling of the sober reality of our decision.
Not that it has been without blessing. But it has been a hard road that we have travelled. Sometimes because of our different cultures, other times simply because relationships expose our selfishness and sinfulness and this leads to inevitable conflict. But I have no regrets. Just seeing how much I have learnt and grown because of this relationship, and how it has brought me many times to my knees before God, has really changed my perspective on life, ministry, prejudice and God himself. Racial harmony is a Gospel issue. It is half of why Christ died on the cross. He died both to reconcile us to himself, as well as to reconcile us to each other, people of every nation, tribe and tongue, who have been bought by the blood of the lamb.
And now we are engaged and planning to be married. We know there will be many trials and obstacles ahead. Many people will not understand. Indeed, we have already experienced that there are those who do not understand. But God has brought us both on a journey that others have not yet experienced. We have been through the fires of self-discovery, and through that have learnt to see and discover one another, and God, through different eyes. We have had to confront our own sinfulness and to humble ourselves and confess where our own prejudice lies.
The fact that I’m planning to marry across the colour and culture line doesn’t suddenly mean that I no longer have any issues with race. Sin is a stubborn thing, and I still have the last twenty-five years worth of bad habits and discriminatory thinking to unlearn. I still get suspicious of blacks before whites, even though I know it’s wrong. I still think from a position of privilege and struggle at times to understand and empathise with those who are scarred from a history of being convinced that they are somehow inferior on account of their race. Even I still have a long way to grow. And where I am not transformed, I know I will subconsciously teach my children through my life and attitude. But by God’s grace I know he’s leading me in the right direction.
We are all prejudiced. It just takes different forms and guises. Some obvious, some subtle. But we all need to go through our own journey of self-discovery, to understand where we are coming from and what has influenced and shaped our own perspectives, to find our place in the history that has formed us, before we can humbly listen to others and try to understand their perspectives and struggles. Before we can truly see and appreciate each person for who they are. May God help us.
My name is Charis. And I am a racist.
