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In the aftermath of mass violence or genocide, what happens when positive political reforms do not necessarily lead to economic justice and equality? And what role can “ordinary” citizens--individuals--play in helping to foster such justice?
The wounds caused by years, decades, or in some cases, centuries of oppression do not instantaneously heal after a genocide or period of violence ends and a new group takes power. Underlying issues, such as racism, antisemitism, high unemployment rates, and segregated living conditions, may remain even when the new government takes actions to reform the old systems. Part of the definition of transitional justice is an understanding that “we're not there yet, but we’re trying.” Sometimes the only ways forward come from individuals with the courage and conviction to, as Gandhi said, “be the change you wish to see in the world.” |
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Apartheid has officially ended, but the effects of segregation continue. During apartheid, laws such as the Population Registration Act of 1950 and the Group Areas Act of 1950 created segregation based on race: black people living only with black people, coloured people living with coloured people, Indian people living with Indian people, and white people living only with white people. Challenges to these laws by judges such as Richard Goldstone began to transform South Africa in the late 1980s. But apartheid’s grip remained strong. Any opportunity for blacks, coloureds, Indians and whites to be together would be limited to workday hours only. Pass laws forced the majority of the population back to their “homes“ in the evenings; areas far removed from the white residential sections.
Today, although people are legally able to live in the area of their choice, economic conditions greatly limit the choices available to the majority of South Africans. Fears of violence have also shaped where and how people live. In many of South Africa’s white neighborhoods, there are large security walls and fences, guards standing at gates at the entrance to neighborhoods, and dogs in homes.
Jan Viviers, a white lawyer, his wife and three young children have found one way to contest South Africa’s newest form of separation. They have moved into a formerly black township, an area called Kayamandi.
Jan first went to Kayamandi when he was in college in the 1980s. While a freshman at Stellenbosch University, he joined one of the country’s few multiracial churches. One day, he and a small group of whites decided to visit the church members who lived there. Before going, the group gathered together to “clear our minds of the preconceived ideas we had about townships and their inhabitants. We had all been raised on a diet consisting of fear of townships and black people. These fears were only outweighed by the belief that we were doing the right thing.”1 After several months of visits, Jan was faced with “a challenge that would change [his] life.”2 As he stood chatting with a group of men in Kayamandi, one of them said, “It’s easy for you to come here and talk to us about God and how much He and you care for us. But when you are finished here, you'll get in your car and drive to your safe suburb where you'll forget about me. You don't know what it's like to live in a township where poverty and crime surround you day and night.”3 At that moment Jan knew that if he ever “really wanted to reach out and build relationships,”4 he would have to move to Kayamandi.
In November 1998, Jan, his wife Karin, and their three children, Daniel, Louise and Christine moved into Kayamandi. That first evening, as they unpacked boxes, they were greeted by about fifteen community members who came into their living room. The spokesperson of the group told the Viviers that they had seen them move in and had prayed for the family. He also said that the group would “look out” for the Viviers so that “the people from Stellenbosch could see that the people of Kayamandi are not a bunch of baboons or savages.”5
Three and a half years later, reflecting on that evening and his life in Kayamandi, Jan writes:We have come to realize that that group of people's attitude is not reflective of all the people in Kayamandi, nor do we expect it to be. Kayamandi is made up of individuals, all with their own thoughts and views on issues ranging from economics to politics, sport, religion and race…We do not regard the people of Kayamandi as one group of people who should all hold the same views or should all subscribe to the same value system.
We have built relations with individuals, from those who are pillars of strength in society to those who live from the proceeds of crime. Kayamandi is no longer “a township” for us. It is home now. Somebody once asked Karin whether she would continue living there if something happened to me in Kayamandi, to which she replied, “Of course. It is our home. Where else should I go?”6
Connections for the Classroom...
- The Institute for Justice and Reconciliation asserts,
Reconciliation depends on creating spaces where cultures and races are free to express themselves and where they can meet, engage, explore and create ways to co-exist and reconcile. These free spaces would be greatly enhanced by an architecture of freedom that would encourage ownership of public spaces and eliminate hostile, neutral territories. Reconciliatory architecture would neither oppress nor domineer as many apartheid buildings and monuments did, nor would it be slick, exclusive or self-enclosed like the walled properties that many wealthier South Africans inhabit. Architecture of “freedom would have to speak to us, instead of feeding on our deepest fears," says a young architect. “Sometimes you have to work at maintaining your humanity.”7
Explore your neighborhood, school or city. Does it reflect an “architecture of freedom” or one of fear? If you were to challenge or enhance that architecture, what changes might you propose? Reflect on your town or city's structure; where people live, where they shop, where they work and so on. Are there separations by color, class, ethnicity, religion? Should all of these separations be challenged to promote reconciliation among the wider community? If so, why? If not, why not? If you believe that these separations should be challenged, what kind of actions would you advocate and how?
- What do you think of the choice that Jan Viviers and his family made to move to Kayamandi? What are the potential short and long-term effects of such a choice? In a situation where whites have more economic power and therefore a greater number of choices in terms of where they will live, is the burden on them to make choices like the Viviers family? How do people who cannot afford to or who are not interested in moving challenge these patterns of segregation?
1 Learning to Live Together Again: Practices of social reconciliation, compiled and edited by Fanie du Toit (The Institute for Justice and Reconciliation, Cape Town), 2003, pp. 60-62. Source.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
6 Ibid.
7 Ibid.
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