[yt_dropcap type=”square” font=”” size=”14″ color=”#000″ background=”#fff” ] T [/yt_dropcap]he divine meeting of the class system in South Africa, the failure of our curriculum, the failure for the 2016 matriculants, the fees must fall campaign that attempted to set wrong right.
So many failures. So little time. So little freedom, right? With freedom in Africa came the unity of the people, independence, a sovereign state, and a more humane humanity.
Those kinds of stereotypes, of racism, fighting affirmative action still speaks to all of us in significant ways, regardless of whether we are black or white.
The collective ‘us’ having a tribal enthusiasm for the establishment’s gravity that we worship at will will speak to us all forever whatever kind of folk we are.
We must now find our freedom in decolonising the mind. In the second African Renaissance. It is not up to us anymore and perhaps it is easier if we look to our artists. Say ‘it is up to our artists’. Our musicians, visual artists, writers, and poets.
Human lives are the stakeholders here. There is always talk of that most primitive war (revolution) when a country has no growth in unemployment. When the consciousness of the people is troubled.
When the political way is not there we must turn to distinctions and not moral ambiguity. I want to remain innocent in the face of speculation and not fear isolation.
Now we must cross gender boundaries effortlessly, and take corruption in our stride as if it has never happened before in history.
We must secretly develop our own solutions to war, to climate change, to the global recession, to the Trump dynasty that is playing itself out in the media. That we all are living vicariously through whether we want to or not.
I want to believe in a non-sexist Africa. A non-judgemental Africa but I did not know where to find this Africa. I was looking for a ‘free’
Africa but I am afraid that freedom comes with labels and a price tag.
It made me feel quite sick at one point in my life when I realised that people around me were more educated than me. Knew more about their own culture, heritage and traditions than I did.
Women were more articulate. Other mothers progeny had more profound dreams than I did when I was young but this is my happiness, this is my freedom.
That I had to discover that entering the life of a country (South
Africa) means something quite different than to inhabit a continent’s
(Africa) frail desire to be an emerging world power.
I want to be free. Free from the constraints of being a woman, thinking like a woman, talking like a woman, dressing like a woman.
Those are much more simple freedoms than just being a compatriot.
When I look over the lake near the stadium nearby where I live I am reminded that everything in life is temporary. Transitory. There is a change for every year, every season, every cadence in a troubling and harsh reality.
In the end, everything is relative. Everything is suffering. To suffer is to become like Buddha or Jesus Christ. To suffer is existential.
Freedom comes out of suffering. Certainty comes out of suffering.
With suffering comes the policy of fear. That misconception that can make you leap across a bridge or fall on the flat edge of normal.
We all want space. It is something that has a holistic meaning to all of us. It means ‘freedom’ in so many detailed ways. In a democratic South Africa we still believe that we are free from radicalised thinking.
We believe that we are free from an onslaught of racism at any given time. When our personal space is overshadowed, when we are given a glimpse into racist thinking, there is a paradigm shift. This is still home but it does not mean that we are free. Far from it.
Tribal alienation came first to Africa (or was it fear?).
Indoctrination came a close second. Mission schools with their missionaries. Religion. Church. Scriptures.
Did we have freedom as Khoi, San, Xhosa or did we barter for it with the Settlers? Here we are thinking that ‘freedom’ was a synonym for ‘safe’ in those bygone days.
The stigma was there too informed by behaviour, the language of alien nations. I speak of freedom now because (truth) I can. It has become important to me. I know of its power. That is its strangness.
I didn’t know of freedom as a child. I knew of shelter, abandonment issues, and loneliness. I spread my wings, fell in love, understood the stigma of chronic illness, disability early on in adolescence.
With that kind of stigma, came my own freedom.
Your ‘freedom’ might come differently. I don’t pretend to fully understand ‘freedom’ and her life choices. ‘Freedom’ came late to me in life. I was late to bloom but there was a reason for that.
Freedom should prepare us for all eventualities in South Africa because our freedom came at a price. We must be aware of this now more than ever. The wheel of hate is turning, turning, and turning.
It is not a comforting thought but an important one that we must take cognisance of. The success of our emotions or the success of art lies in the fact that we are able to traverse boundaries, have empathy with anyone that we choose, and that is where the cornerstone of the foundations of our democracy lies.
We must anticipate freedom before we are stuck in the foot traffic in everyone’s head! People have paid the price for our freedom with their lives. Steve Bantu Biko’s ‘Azania’ was meant for everyone.
Consciousness is consciousness.
We have challenges but we also have hope if we believe in freedom.
Every simple little thing needs breathing room to grow, to be processed, for us to follow its progress articulately.
The world keeps ending, the light at the end of the tunnel flickers (it comes and it goes) but freedom keeps showing up like a dance or a wedding reception in a church hall marking vows forever and forever.
Freedom cannot exist without us. Our life choices. Our kind of artists. Our bodies. Our words.
Just remember that. We are all here because of spirit, burden, worry, care, need, spirituality, and of course ego, and ‘freedom’ too.