After a year and half of being the white facilitator in Consciousness Café, a pop-up dialogue café in which people of all races, nations and cultures, come together to examine their own feelings – and consequently actions – on the topics of racism, privilege and injustice in South Africa, I started to wonder if an additional conversation was needed.
I had noticed a growing call from black South Africans for white people to “do their own work”, “cry their white tears somewhere else” and “to stop asking black people for the solution”, and so when someone called and asked if I would host a dialogue, in Cape Town, for white South Africans, I agreed. I titled it “An Uncomfortable Conversation” and invited people to email to request an invitation.
We met this past Saturday afternoon in central Cape Town. The keys to the venue we normally use had not been left in their hidey-hole, so we began the dialogue in the lobby of a nearby hotel, ten white people, sitting in throne-like chairs, the gold curtains drawn against the glare of the afternoon sun. The irony was not lost on us.
We had just agreed on the topic: “What do we need to give up in order to have a more equitable society?” when someone arrived with the key to The Bookery and we decamped to worn chairs in the room where people work tirelessly towards to correct the unjust educational legacy of the past by building libraries in schools. Poetic justice.
I used the same format of transformational dialogue that we use for Consciousness Café, a method developed by the South African NGO, the No-Name-Initiative. As with every café, we began by flipping the topic, and began to dream what a truly equitable society would look like.
“I would no longer cut the price tags off my new clothes so that my domestic worker wouldn’t see how much I spent,” said someone with brutal honesty. The kind of thing a white person would never say out loud in a mixed space.
“Land and resources would be distributed fairly.”
“Our appearance would just be information and a subject of curiosity, not equated to our value.”
“Suffering would be a tool for personal growth, not everyday survival.”
South Africa’s inequalities were not lost on anyone in the room. They saw them daily with wide-open eyes, but until now the only emotional response they had was guilt and shame, shame and guilt. Plugged, blocked and stuck, shame and guilt were fuels that ran out early and took no one anywhere.
And so we probed deeper. How else would this equal society be?
“It would be a gentler world.”
“I would no longer be disconnected, from myself, my body, the earth, humanity.”
And what would it feel like to connect? Why is it not happening?
“If I connected my life as I know it would end.”
“All of South Africa would come flooding in and I couldn’t bear to feel it.”
“If I connected I would feel my powerlessness in the face of South Africa.”
“If I connected I would become unsafe.”
“If let go of that belief that I am in some way better, then I have to face up to the fact that it’s not fair that someone lives in a shack and I don’t. There by the Grace of God go I.”
“I am scared. I am scared.”
One man in the room told us how he had radically tried to connect. He had given away all of his material possessions and moved into a township. So desperate for an authentic connection where money was no divider, he had left his safety net and tried to throw off his privilege. And what had he discovered? That he could not shed his white skin and that which others associated with that skin. He could not shed his family who, despite finding him an uncomfortable presence, still have him over for Christmas, and who would throw him a safety net if he needed it. That once those he tried to get closer to realised he had no resources, they turned their backs
On the wall of The Bookery is a poster that reads: “Learn from the mistakes of others. You don’t have to make them all yourself.”
Realisations were budding. Privilege wasn’t something that a human being threw away. It was tied to survival. Someone with fresh water doesn’t pour it into the sea because others are thirsty. Privilege is a resource, something both within us and without, and for a more equitable society, we need to share privilege, not destroy it.
The insights were poignant because they echoed realisations that I had heard earlier in the week at the Consciousness Café we held at Constitution Hill on Human Rights Day. Then, 65 people of all races, cultures, nations had chosen the topic: “How do we use privilege to influence change?”
On that day in Joburg, the group began to interrogate our narrow definition of privilege.
Privilege did not just describe economic resources, it described everything of value, they said.
And what else has value?
Culture has value. People have value. Networks have value. Insight has value. Throughout the afternoon, the wisdom of the group revealed that there is more value and power in each and every one of us that we are admitting to. And if we just see privilege as “establishment power”, and then expected it to fix things, then we are just re-empowering old power structures, and that was not what we want.
So what do we want? We want a better society where everyone matters. We want a better country where everyone can recognise their value.We want a society in where privilege isn’t an elite and exclusive good, but a network of value that can be tapped into by everyone, not just old elites.
A week later, in Cape Town, similar realisations arrived like the first rains. For a more equitable society, it is not that we have to give up our safety nets, rather we have to extend them, widen them, share them. We have to stop hoarding them for themselves.
Every conversation ends with the partcipants choosing a personal action, something that they would like to do differently, based on the discussion. These are some of the actions from these two separate, but related cafés:
“I am going to build our organisation of young urban women, and let the Born Frees understand the weight of African knowledge.”
“I am going to listen to myself.”
“I will give up my privilege of only using and knowing English and Afrikaans. Even if I only do it quietly and for myself – ie. not for the affirmation of being a ‘good kind of white’. I will make sure I can understand and speak isiXhosa on an intermediate level.
“I am going to make a podcast that talks about these things.”
“I am going to take this discussion into my school.”
“I am going to urge my peers in the Indian community to think about their privilege, and I am going to write about it.”
“I will start a project in my community for young girls to realise their power and use that to better themselves.”
“I am going to develop my name so it will be an inheritance and privilege for the generations to come.”
“I will ask my domestic worker if I can visit her in her home, which I helped her to purchase but have never seen.”
“I am going to continue to support black business and grow black money.”
“I am rewriting and investigating my family history.”
“I am going to going to get my Masters in Law so I can continue to fight for others for equal pay for work of equal value.”
“I will never employ anyone again without a contract, and will pay the best I can – everyone deserves security.”
“I need to discuss with my spouse and engage with what we can do as a family to bring other people into access to opportunities. I will sit in the discomfort of this country openly.”
What could you do?
This was first published on UnpopularEssays.com. Follow me on Twitter @writerclb