Week Six: Realities of Reconciliation: Acknowledging complicity amidst a deafening silence

by Kitty McGirr & Emily Owens 

Between 1904 and 1908, German colonial forces conducted a massacre of 110,000 Herero and Nama people in Namibia—the scale and sheer brutality of which constituted the first genocide of the 20th century, and the practices of which laid basis for yet another genocide 30 years later in Holocaust Germany. More than a 100 years after this systematic extermination occurred, Germany has only recently agreed to recognize the genocide in a formal admission of historical guilt. 112 years for an apology. 112 years for acknowledgement. 112 years for no trials, no truth commissions, and most pertinently, no reparations for an annihilation order that wiped out 70% of the Herero and 50% of the Nama tribes’ entire populations. Our first speaker of the week, Uruanaani ‘Scara’ Matundu, a local lawyer and scholar on the Ovaherero genocide, shared with us his conviction that reparations remain the most suitable political response to the mass violence perpetrated by the Germans in Namibia. His was an advocacy radically inclusive in nature. Indeed, as a Namibian born in exile in Botswana himself, Scara was keen to underline to us the necessity of justice being instituted to all Herero and Nama people, irrespective of whether they were living in Namibia or were still residing further afield in the countries to which they had been exiled.

Mural displayed at the Independence Memorial Museum
in Windhoek— a space dedicated to the acknowledgement of
Namibian historical events such as the genocide and the
commemoration of Namibia’s journey to independence. 

As it stands, Germany is refusing to enter into discussions about the payment of reparations to Namibia, proposing that it provide developmental aid packages as an alternative form of redress for past atrocities instead. The allure of foreign aid has tended to quell any contributions by the Namibian government in furthering reparation initiatives on the ground due to the widely held belief that demanding redress in any other form would threaten the country’s preexisting dependence on foreign monetary support. To compound this lack of official support on an institutional and governmental level, Scara lamented the distinct lack of white, and specifically German, allyship in his and other Herero and Nama-speaking people’s struggle for economic recompense. I felt especially galvanized by the fact that not one German person sat on the reparations committee with Scara. Namibia, in contrast to its South African neighbor, chose to engage in a policy of silent forgiveness subsequent to the overturning of apartheid. No Truth and Reconciliation Project was conducted within its borders after independence. Instead, the common refrain has been one of unity and forgiveness, of inclusive rhetoric that asserts with the utmost conviction “we are all Namibians now.” Yet in spite of black Namibia’s almost supernatural capacity to forgive centuries of white racial violence, the majority of white Namibians have yet to truly earn that forgiveness by struggling to secure justice for their fellow citizens. I am struck by the audacity of white silence and inaction in the Namibian reparation struggle, but I am perhaps more confounded by the sheer consistency of complicity with injustice that whites continue to exhibit in other global contexts, including that of my own home.

As difficult as it can be to admit, we as individuals grapple with these same issues on a daily basis- and oftentimes, we fail to meet them with integrity. We lie complacent in our circumstances of relative privilege and comfort, while simultaneously remaining complicit as beneficiaries of a network of systems that deny so many others the same comfort we enjoy. Communities in the States, particularly white communities, equally fall into Scara’s categorization of inaction: we deny, we sometimes empathize, but very rarely do we act. What do long overdue reparations for communities of color mean for us on an individual level? What do our claims to support racial equity truly mean if our “support” is contingent on our own sense of security in an unwavering systemic advantage? What effect would recognizing the significance of these reparations for ourselves—to move past denial and empathy, into a trajectory of intentional action and solidarity—have on our communities, our societies, our national and global interactions? And beyond clear instances of marginalization and visibly unjust circumstances, just how often do we commit this disparaging complicity within our everyday lives?

Herbert Jaunch, an active force in the promotion of equity within Namibian trade and labor unions, provided our group with yet another avenue for critical thinking on this topic through his presentation on the influence of Chinese foreign investment on both the Namibian economy and labor force. Jaunch cited numerous instances of unethical wages, exploitative practices, and an overall lack of concern for the wellbeing of Namibian citizens enacted in the name of profit and economic growth. These human rights violations are not unique to the case of Chinese investment; when we choose to examine our own government’s foreign investments and even our individual purchases, we easily uncover an ongoing history of corruption- a history which we continue to write through our everyday capitalistic entanglements. Yet again, we are forced to acknowledge the significance behind our silence—while we can profess our disgust toward injustice and exploitation, we are concurrently supporting corporations and labor practices that drive this inequality through actions as simple as visiting the grocery store. 

So where does it ever end? How can we even begin to detach ourselves from what seems to be an inescapable network of chaos?

The reality of reconciliation is that none of us truly know the right way to reconcile. We glorify the concept of reparation without ever pausing to acknowledge or attempting to repair the broken perceptions that exist within ourselves. It is when we not only recognize, but push forward through our silence that we begin to combat our own complicity—in turn, ultimately coming to terms with the vital role we each must occupy in shaping a more just global society. 

Sources: 

Uruanaani ‘Scara’ Matundu, Namibian lawyer and scholar on the Ovaherero genocide; conversation on September 20, 2016 in Windhoek, Namibia. 

Herbert Jaunch, trade and labor union activist; conversation on September 23, 2016 in Windhoek, Namibia. 

Week Four: Hooked on Windhoek: Introduction to Namibia

by Jeremiah Chamberlin & Hannah Johnson

At the beginning of the week, the CGEE group had the opportunity to engage with students from the University of Namibia (UNAM) in an informal discussion. This became an invaluable experience; for many of us, it was the first time we were able to interact with Namibian peers and dually analyze some the experiences that have shaped our lives as students. The topics of discussion ranged from our favorite hobbies and involvement in campus life, to deeper issues such as racism and discrimination on campus.

One of the topics that emerged from conversation are the barriers to accessing education at the collegiate level. For many of us at CGEE, we echoed the idea that financial considerations present the largest challenge in the United States, compounded by the realities of institutional racism and economically diverse backgrounds. From the perspective of the UNAM students, race did not play as important a role in college choice and acceptance rate. However, they did emphasize the role of the education system in Namibia, especially concerning regions outside of Windhoek. It was surprising to learn that the quality of teachers and curriculums is low in many regions, and this has impacted the demographics of students that attend college. For example, particularly in the Northern regions, teachers are underpaid and schools are understaffed. From both the US and Namibian perspectives, we were surprised on how many similarities we were able to draw between education systems.

On Tuesday, our group spilt into subgroups to explore the various facets that Katutura, a former black township in Windhoek, has to offer. We received itineraries for the day and were accompanied by guides from Young Achievers, a local youth organization. On this ‘Katutura Quest,’ we visited a diversity of both government and non-government organizations and programs that are involved in the community. One such program is the Katutura Community Arts Center, which is open to the public. Within the arts center is the College of the Arts (COTA).

During our tour, we had the opportunity to sit in on a staff/student meeting where the changing financial policies of the college were discussed. Many of the challenges that small colleges face while moving forward are connected to some of the topics we discussed with the UNAM students on Monday regarding education. Among the concerns is the increasing cost of tuition as a government-subsidized college, which has put pressure on many students of low-income backgrounds.

In our interview with Joost Van de Port, head of the Media Department at COTA, he explained that the college and students need be able to gain more agency to receive national recognition from the state. Currently, COTA is not listed under the Ministry of Education, and therefore, not seen as a priority. As Van de Port explains, the college is in the process of gaining status to be listed under the Ministry of Education, which allows greater funding for the college, particularly from the National Arts Council. Van de Port claims that media literacy, particularly under the department of the Media, Arts, and Technology, is crucial for all Namibians to learn. 

Those of us with internships began officially on Wednesday, with a full day at our individual organizations. These included The Namibian Chamber of Commerce, Planned Parenthood, Namibian Women’s Health Network, Friendly Haven (for victims of domestic violence), along with a number of others. Because many of these organizations work with vulnerable populations, these first few days of interning were emotional for some individuals. For a few of us this meant hearing heartbreaking stories of domestic abuse; for others, it means coming face to face with the inadequate funding and understaffing of specific educational institutions. Naturally, it’s not all negative; there are organizations like Sister Namibia which are doing incredible work to empower Namibian women in surprising ways, while simultaneously challenging gender stereotypes. Collectively, these shared experiences are giving us a fuller, more complex understanding of the Namibian story.

One of the highlights of this week would have to be Thursday’s ‘Community Day’, held at the Elisenheim Guest Farm. While we may have complained about waking up early, the day became an insightful opportunity to reflect on our experiences. The day also gave us the chance to get closer to those we are sharing our experiences with, especially other members of the CGEE staff (specifically Evelyn, Jenobie, Sarah, and Passat). Initially playing games like ‘Seven’ (learned from our Katatura tour guides), the day began on a relaxed, informal note. We shared simple secrets about ourselves, like facts about our families or our favorite memories. It was a welcome reprieve from the emotionally intense schedule of Johannesburg. 

Elisenheim Guest Farm on Community Day.
ables are set up for our various identity stations.

However, as the activities progressed, the subject matter became much more personal. Entering ‘identity stations’, individuals were asked to share in small groups their personal feelings on aspects of their identity, such as race, religion, sexual orientation or gender identity, class, and nationality. Many of us were reduced to tears in the process of hearing each other’s deeply held thoughts and emotions, yet the overall sentiment was one of openness and acceptance. 

Friday marked the first day of actual class: Race and Resistance in Southern Africa and the US taught by Albertina. This included a field trip to the Owela Museum, which records the lifestyles, cultures and practices of Namibia’s indigenous tribes. The museum also addresses some of the injustices faced by these groups, like those suffered by the San people. Dubbed ‘Bushmen’ by early German colonizers, members of the San were considered evidence of the ‘missing link’ theory connecting apes and humans. In an effort to record data on what they considered an evolutionarily incomplete group, German ‘scientists’ made molds and casts of San people’s faces and body parts. Skewed information was then published, propagating racist narratives of white supremacy which are sadly still influential even today.

Molds of actual San people created for the Germans'
racist interpretation of the 'missing link' theory.

Despite the tragic reality of colonization and discrimination, the Owela museum remains an important place for appreciating Namibian history and heritage. Named after a board game common among many Namibian tribes (similar to Mancala), Owela stands as both a tangible and symbolic representation of the larger Namibian identity. The shared story of the nation is as beautifully haunting as the unique communal experiences which are braided into its past. As we acclimate ourselves to this new environment, we begin our journey backwards in time to the tumultuous formative age of disillusionment.

Week Two: The Unseen Colors of the Rainbow Nation

by Imani Briscoe & Kitty McGirr

I remember waiting for my flight not two weeks ago genuinely envisioning what this “rainbow nation” was going to look like once I landed in Johannesburg. Now as we conclude our time here in South Africa, I am beginning to appreciate that what lays beneath this widely propagated ideal is much more complex, nuanced and problematic than the romanticized image I and many others with a similarly elementary understanding of post-apartheid South Africa would imagine this so-called rainbow nation to be. 

The varied nature of our activities and conversations on the program so far is indicative of the diversity of views and circumstances among the people of South Africa. However, while at face value this diversity supports the dominant narrative of South Africa as a rainbow nation, upon closer examination one begins to recognize that formerly institutionally separate racial groups are not suddenly coexisting harmoniously with one another now that apartheid has ended. In fact, the majority of what I have seen on the program so far suggests almost the opposite. Rather than achieving real unity and equity in the post-apartheid era, the many colorful identities comprising this so-called rainbow nation seem in some ways to be just as far removed from and unequal to each other as what was previously instituted under the apartheid system.  

In addition, it is very intriguing that, even with the acknowledged importance of the history of South Africa’s “Rainbow Nation”, discussions surrounding the indigenous people and colonization of what is now known as Cape Town rarely occur. Most of what we find in the American education history books regarding the changes Cape Town has gone through seems to focus on the racial issues of blacks and whites.  There is little to no conversation about the people who originally lived, loved and lost before the social constructs of race dominated the historical narratives; narratives such that influenced the process of colonization , which has very much impacted current day Cape Town. This past week we took a walking tour of the city of Cape Town with Lucy and Kadijah from Transcending History Tours, and learned a plethora of information about the way of life before and during colonial settlement and were given an opportunity to discover the untold story of Cape Town’s first people, the khoi-san.

Our tour took us through many notable areas including the first colonial settlement in the area, the Castle of Good Hope, Cape Town City Centre which holds some historic markers pertaining to the slave trade prior to the 1834 emancipation, and the well-known Iziko Slave Lodge which housed slaves from all over the world during the slave trade.

In every building we entered, every short filmed viewed, and every monument we paid respect to, I thought of Cape Town’s historical parallels to what was happening in the United States of America during the same time. It is illuminating to learn that on the other side of the world the same methods of racial division through systematic control and oppression were being implemented. It’s interesting to consider how both regions were shaped by the countless issues that colonization and devastation left behind. As a black American and proponent of black-consciousness, with no known blood relative connections to the Africa as a whole, I, Imani, have heard about the same kind of oppression and slavery time and time again on American soil and therefore felt like I shared a common history with those people who went through the same struggles as my ancestors did, just in another place of the world.

After leaving our homestay families in Soweto, we travelled to the University of the Free State in Bloemfontein, a city traditionally associated with and populated by Afrikaner people. Upon arrival we met with the deputy director of the Institute for Reconciliation and Social Justice, JC van der Merwe for a discussion on the history of the campus as well as the issues facing the institution at present. One detail that I found particularly striking was the fact that no formal pressure was placed on UFS or any higher education institution in South Africa to desegregate their campuses after 1994. In fact, according to van de Merwe, the residences of UFS were still racially segregated as early as 2007. I was moved by this information for two reasons. Firstly, I was immediately reminded of the parallels between South Africa’s failure to desegregate its educational system and the language of Brown v. Board of Education in the US whereby the Supreme Court only required schools to desegregate “with all deliberate speed”. Secondly, I was struck by how incongruous the politicized idea of a rainbow nation was to the reality on the ground in South Africa. Thirteen years after the ANC led the liberation struggle to overturn apartheid, white students at this university were still resisting administration mandates to integrate. 

The last activity for our day at UFS involved taking a tour around campus with two students we had met previously at a group discussion about our respective experiences as university students. One of our tour guides was keen to relay to me her experience being part of the first racially mixed female residence on the campus, which she described as a genuine “sisterhood”. However, the visual landscape of the campus was again at odds with the widely proliferated image of the rainbow nation, the narrative of unified racial integration and even the story my tour guide relayed to me about her mixed residence minutes before the tour began. Walking around the campus I did not see one mixed race friendship nor did I notice any white students present at a growing gathering of protestors demonstrating for higher wages for black workers on campus. Confused at what ostensibly looked like a state of enduring racial separation in the university community, I asked our guide if it was at all unusual that we hadn’t seen any interracial friend groups on our tour. Her response was a disheartening one: “No, it’s not unusual. People still don’t really mix”. These words, for me, were symbolic of the countless discrepancies I have witnessed in these two short weeks here in South Africa with regard to the romanticized ideal of a rainbow nation and the enduring reality of chronic racial inequality in the post-apartheid era.

Week Fourteen: Continuing on the Path of Decolonizing Our Minds

by: Ashly Brun, Molly Weilbacher & Sydney Wipperfurth

With just two final weeks left of the semester, it really sank in with the CGEE students that our time in Namibia is coming to an end. Most people said goodbye to their internships, co-workers and for the most part our classes. Last week we had two incredible learning experiences in our Development and History classes. For Development, we visited the International Organization for Migration (IOM) where we learned about the reality of refugee and migration issues in Namibia. In History class we had Mr. Forrest P. Branch, an economist, and Pastor Tyrone M. Cushman (both originally from the states) speak to us about Africa’s economy, the question of “why Africa is so poor,” the civil rights movement, what it means to be black in America, and the issue of race both in specifically Southern Africa and the U.S.

Our visitor passes when we went
to the International Organiza-
tion for Migrantion.

As defined on the United Nations Namibia website, “the IOM is the leading inter-governmental organization in the field of migration and works to help ensure the orderly and humane management of migration, to promote international cooperation on migration issues, to assist in the search of practical solutions to migration problems and to provide humanitarian assistance to migrants in need…” The IOM established their in-country presence in 2011 after a flood displaced a significant number of Namibians ("International Organization for Migration." Namibia. ). We learned that there is a refugee camp in Northern Namibia which, at this time, is home to about 5,000 refugees. Originally, there were about 25,000 refugees, but the majority of those has been either relocated or repatriated by the Namibian state and incorporated into Namibian society. Although, we did learn that because of some xenophobia in the country, resettling of refugees and migrants into Namibia can be a difficult and lengthy process. After learning about societal difficulties with migration in the Namibian context, we learned more about the legacies of racism and the difficulties experienced by those during segregation, in our history class. 

History class challenged all of us to face the reality and legacy of racism and resistance. Forest Branch, our speaker, told us he moved to Africa when he was 25 and has lived here for the past twenty years. He spoke to us about what it means to be a black American in Africa: that while he is not African, he feels more at home and at ease here than when he visits the States. He spoke specifically about how he feels safer to be black here, with an especially chilling remark: “If I get shot here, or put in jail, it won’t be because I’m black.” Hearing about his experiences here really brought home what we have been studying in our history class in terms of the difference of race relations in North America and Southern Africa. 

Furthermore, Forest is also an extremely successful economist and business owner. He spoke about the history of colonization in Africa and how it set Africa up for its current day problems: for example, how Africa went from over 6,000 diverse kingdoms to becoming consolidated into 53 countries, creating false borders and conflicts. Because of Africa’s history of colonization and oppression by foreigners, Forest argued, the “biggest thing that has impacted Africa is the lack of self-confidence," the self-confidence to run companies, to be employees that take initiative, and the self-confidence to exist in the public sphere. He spoke a lot about foreign aid to Africa and the question of where does it go and who does it actually serve. He spoke about foreign trade agreements, saying “80% of problems we have in Africa are imbalances in trade, 20% is with political instability, and half of those instabilities are caused by interference from the U.S.” He spoke about how absolutely rich Africa could be if it didn’t have an imbalance in paternalistic trade agreements with Western countries who extract Africa’s natural resources for purely their own benefits. It was so important to hear someone speak critically about Namibia’s economy and situate that in the larger economic issues of African countries. The narrative Forest offered was integral for us to hear as it is vital to deconstruct the common narrative and myths about Africa’s economic status. 

Forest brought along his friend and mentor, Pastor Kushman, who spoke to us about his experiences in the civil rights movement, race issues in America, and what it means to be black in America versus Africa. His speech brought home our whole experience at the CGEE. The room fell silent as we attentively listened to Pastor Kushman. He described how he marched alongside Dr. King in Michigan just a week before his “I Have a Dream” speech. He read passages from his book in which he explained how he felt as a black American who fought in the Civil Rights movement when Pres. Obama was elected for his first term in office. We all had goosebumps–you could feel the energy in the air as he so passionately recounted history. He spoke about the church’s role in combating racism, and how "the worse racism of all is the racism that uses God as the cover." He called on white people, specifically white churches, to take cue from fellow black churches to combat racism. He spoke about how "in order to get to the root of change we need to deal with cause and effect, we need to deal with cultures and the good and bad," and the difference in the upbringing of a black child versus white child. 

The radical voices of both Forest and Pastor Cushman commanded the attention of the whole room, and really made each student reflect upon the reality we are re-entering at home, after spending four months studying the reality of race in Southern Africa. We had experienced people opening old wounds to share their story of oppression, and people who were willing to share their culture with us. We were called upon to remember our duties are not done, that we still need to fight, and decolonize our minds as the issue of racism in America is rampant. We need to feel equipped to stay alert and challenge issues of racism, economic, and social inequality back home. 

In order to challenge issues of racism and inequality back home, it’s vital that we recognize our position as anti-racists. In order address racism, we need to recognize racism within ourselves. Recognizing racism within yourself requires introspection and a capacity to critique oneself. However, recognizing is not enough. Here is where we call for anti-racism. Being anti-racist requires that you actively oppose racist actions, structures, and institutions and recognize your position of power in those institutions.

Week Seven: To Swim in the Storm

By: Annie Dierberger

The view from standing on the dock.
The desert lying just beyond the ocean in the distance.

It was the first Thursday we arrived in Swakopmund, a beautiful city on the coast of Western Namibia, and our frantically absorbing eyes matched the tapping excitement of our feet. For the previous two weeks we had been daydreaming about our trip to Swakopmund, an escape from classes and a routine that we had yearned for at the start of the trip but now craved the absolute abruptness of adventure. That night for dinner we sat in Jetty 1905, a restaurant that sat on the edge of a long wooden dock amidst the ocean. Through the glass of the wall behind us the waves crashed violently below a sky of grey that seemed to disguise itself into the ocean. The weather was dark and ominous and being seated in the middle of the mayhem while classical music played around us felt like someone picking flowers in a warzone. I followed by gaze back to the murmur of conversation within the guests and then up to the bustling movements of the waitresses and waiters. There was a different kind of pandemonium happening inside, a one thickly veiled in misconception. The bright lighting and clinking of glasses seemed to assure me that the roaring ocean just below us was just a figment of my imagination. I swiveled behind me and sure enough, there it was. I looked around the room to see if anyone else was noticing what was happening just outside of the thin glass but there eyes seemed stuck within the confines of the luxury around them. It wouldn’t be until Sunday afternoon until I thought of this night again.

Within the next couple of days we would take full advantage of our fleeting vacation around us. Many people in Windhoek had told us about the town’s stunning beauty but seeing the startling contrast of the vast ocean on one side and the blazing desert on the other was truly magnificent.

Us climbing Dune 7

On Saturday we ventured out and climbed Dune 7, no let me rephrase that, we crawled like confused infants up Dune 7 and then continued to act like children at the top. As we all tumbled down as ungracefully as possible and acquired what seemed to be most of the sand of the desert in our hair and mouth, life at the moment was playing our own sorts of classical music. Sure it was mixed with our shrilling shrieks and belly flopping grunts, but it was a song of bliss nonetheless. As I looked around and saw all of my friends, once tentative strangers in the airport but now close companions, all laughing with giant grins on all of their faces, I couldn’t help but feeling fortunate for our friendship. The tune continued playing as we went ATV’ing the next day in the dunes. All eight of us traveling in a line through miles of sand, and our R.A. Attila trailing dangerously far behind with his scarf billowing through the wind, his upright posture and slow speed making him look like an elderly person on a motorized scooter, weaving through the streets of Paris.

That night we all went to bed smiling from a satisfactory day, a day that was filled with events offered on the front page pamphlet of Swakopmund. The following day we would experience things that weren’t commercialized for the average visitor, things that required a detour off of the main road. It began with a tour through Modesa, the main township in Swakopmund. For those who are unaware what a township is, I will regretfully inform you that they are a commonality throughout Africa. Townships were segregated areas of living for basically everyone who didn’t have white skin during the Apartheid era and yes, they still exist today. The houses consist of three or four rooms and the farther in the township you venture, the smaller the houses become till your eyes are squinting from both the sun and the reflecting tin of shacks. SWAPO flags fly proudly and people greet you warmly, but viewing the conditions that were emplaced forty years ago still continue in the present brings a certain sadness that melts into anger. We were shown the empty houses that sit in the distance, substantially larger and according to the people, substantially so far more expensive that no one can even afford to live in them. How cruel that an empty promise can be your next door neighbor and how different the music can begun to be heard. Unfortunately, throughout this trip, it’s been the same realization: that while there is beauty that surrounds us, there is immense despair in both the history and the present. That here, like in life, you can choose to ignore the harsh reality of things if you wish, and listen to that classical music while completely avoiding the storm outside. And that the sad truth is... many people do.

That Sunday afternoon I thought back to the first Thursday we arrived in Swakopmund, sitting in the restaurant we sat stretched on a long dock amidst the ocean. I thought about people and how they differ. How there are those who choose to ignore the storm that is roaring just beside them. How there are those who intensify and add havoc, and those who see it but only talk about it. William Blake once said, “Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.” I believe it’s a bit like sitting amidst the ocean studying the waves and their intricacies and then doing the same within the scorching desert. They are there to show the gap of difference between their existence and it’s up to us to bring these places that act as two different worlds together. That instead of having one road that shows the pleasant and another which shows the pain, we must walk the same one together. That there is a song that all should hear and it is the song of justice, so please excuse me while I stop talking, unplug the classical music from the wall and dive headfirst into this ocean instead.

Week Six: Unifying a Separated World

By: Grace Corbin

I am sitting here trying to figure out what to write for this blog post, because I have too many topics I want to/could write about and I can’t make up my mind.  For goodness’ sakes, I should just pick one, right?  Unfortunately, I’m very indecisive.  For starters, this was a regular week (if you could ever call spending a week in a foreign country regular) of classes, going to Zumba, hanging out with each other and people we have met in Namibia, and finishing the reading and homework we have been procrastinating on until the night before. A pretty regular week.

This is what it looks like to be trapped in a world of separation.

Well, during this “regular week” of classes, I found myself reflecting on divisions between people quite often. Learning and discussing about apartheid and race all of the time has me bogged down about how people perceive differences to be bad. And I continue to ask questions, because, as my classmates in Namibia have learned, I love to ask questions. Questions I ask do not have an easy answer, but I will discuss them anyway because they are important. These are some of the questions I have been dwelling on.  What causes divisions?   Why do we focus on our differences?  Why can’t we see that everyone has similarities, but we are not the same, and that our differences are beautiful anyway? 

One thing I’ve noticed is that we like to put things into boxes or categories. White, black; red, blue; good, bad, etc. Apartheid put people into boxes, for example. During apartheid, people were forcibly put into different areas based on the perceived color of their skin. White Europeans got away with separating people of different skin colors into sectioned off places of the world, hoarding what they could, and leaving the leftovers for people of color. People were put in one of three categories: black, colored, or white.  But, as we know, there are not only three skin colors. Putting people into racial categories allowed people of white skin color to say that they are better. Apartheid legally enforced divisions, but skin color is not just black, white or colored. The world is much more fluid than some people perceive it to be or try to make it.

There are many things in this world which are not black and white (I would argue that most things are not), but sometimes it seems like the world is insisting that things are black and white. Class, gender, religion, ethnicity, are some examples of labels that are imposed on people either by themselves or others; labels that are treated as if you can only be one or the other, but that is many times not the case. Things are much more fluid.  An example of fluidity in religion is a woman we met this last week for classes who is a traditional healer and a Christian. For those of you who do not know, a traditional healer is someone who is a doctor and pastor to a sick person. Traditional healers call on their ancestors for help to cure the sick person. The woman we met with, Lesego Edith Movshosi, is, what I consider, a strong Christian woman whose love for Jesus radiates through her. She relied on Jesus to help her call her ancestors who would then show how to find a solution for her patients’ problems. She also believes prayer is an integral part of healing for her patients. This beautiful way in which she unites two religions together shows that there is no need to compartmentalize ideals or beliefs into boxes. Why do we put things like religion into boxes? Why do we put things in boxes when they only separate us further?  

My attempt at an answer is this: it’s easier. Associating with people who look, speak, act just like you is easier than truly getting to know someone who doesn’t have the same characteristics, or beliefs as you. I think of a story Annie told after she came back from her urban home stay. She was walking around with her host family at a mall, and they found people looking at them. Her host family told her that it’s weird for a white girl to be walking around with black people. In many places here, I have felt that segregation between race is still very present. Segregation by differences is easier for people.

Now, how do we overcome that? My answer comes from my experience in yoga class. Yoga, for those of you who do not know, is not only the act of stretching your body in crazy ways, but also, and mostly, a spiritual practice. Yoga is about unity of your body, the Earth, and the Divine. Isn’t that beautiful? I believe the goal of yoga is to realize that we are not separate bodies, but energy connected to the whole universe. We are all one: one with each other, one with the universe, one with the Divine. Even if you do not agree with that statement, I hope you appreciate the beauty of it. How can differences separate us if we are all one?

Laughing: something that happens every night in the CGEE house.

You might be thinking, ‘that’s nice, Grace, but come on, that won’t happen.’ But I’m allowed to dream, aren’t I? Even if it’s hard to see ourselves all as one, I know that I find glimpses of unity in everyday life at the CGEE house. We’ve had many nights here spent laughing and laughing at each other, without a care in the world. We find solidarity in each other: a small group of U.S. students who look similar, but who have all walked very different paths in life, and if we can come together, maybe, just maybe, the world will find unity someday too.