By Nomfundo Walaza
I first questioned the notion of “keeping the peace” several years ago while I was still practising as a psychologist. A refugee girl, who was sexually abused by her adoptive parent, was referred to me for counselling. She believed that her adoptive “mother” knew, about the abuse, but did not want to confront the father who was the sole breadwinner. The girl insisted that I not report the matter to the police as she was terrified she’d be “sent back” and denied an education and the opportunities she had here in South Africa. I was thus being asked to collude in the silence of “keeping the peace”.
I continue to ponder this notion as I wonder about the declining moral values in our society. In trying to maintain the facade of the Rainbow Nation, we’ve allowed problems to fester and have swept many under the carpet. In order to “keep the peace” above all else, we’ve denied ourselves the chance to heal the wounds of the past and openly examine their impact on our society today.
This creates a discord in our national psyche that stretches around every aspect of our lives. We continue to ignore or turn a blind eye on questionable practices that happen in our government, businesses, neighbourhoods and families in order to maintain the status quo. Too many of us lack the courage to speak out for fear of being publicly reprimanded or marginalised.
The recent public-service strikes, the attacks on foreign nationals and the ongoing domestic violence are but a few examples of what happens when there is a collusion of silence around pressing national issues.
As a human-rights activist, I started asking myself what happens when we keep the peace for the wrong reasons. Isn’t that selling our souls and neglecting the basic rights of those we purport to represent as an engaged citizenry? What happens when the needs and expectations of thousands of our people are not met? What is our collective responsibility as a nation in transition?
Our leaders seem to have forgotten that particular wrongs have not been put right. We all know that the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) only went so far. The impact of the forms of brutalisation uncovered by that process cannot be underestimated, or ruled out, as we try to make sense of why we are where we are as a nation. Perhaps we have lost sight of the fact that the purpose of the TRC was to uncover the truth and not to silence it.
It is sad to see that instead of standing up for what is right and what is moral, good people remain silent. Why? Is it because they are protecting loyalties, their perks, their salaries or their jobs? Is being fearful of being alienated any way to live? Does keeping the peace mean keeping the job? At what cost?
Archbishop Desmond Tutu is revered the world over as a peace maker. He is a man who has learnt the delicate art of fostering peace through speaking out on injustices that afflict humanity, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. He continues to teach us about the values of speaking truth to power. He is willing to risk being alienated, marginalised and threatened in order to address the corruption and evil that has become so much a part of our daily lives. He exemplifies how we can approach difficult situations with understanding and compassion.
Last month as we remembered Steve Biko, who died 33 years ago, I asked myself if we have less compassion now than we’ve had before. I asked if the cost of keeping the peace has led to the loss of compassion. Are we now a nation of citizens who have lost the ability to feel for others as we defend the privileges gained in the last 16 years of our democracy? Have we devalued compassion, or are we so far gone that we are simply no longer in touch with what we should do or what we could do.
Are we able to learn from the lessons of those who gave their lives for the greater goal of the attainment of freedom for all? A columnist, Khaya Dlanga, recently reminded us that if Steve Biko were alive today he “would have spoken of the moral cowardice of South Africans, particularly the black middle class that has become too afraid to speak out because it fears losing its daily bread. You fear losing your bread, he would say, we feared for our lives, not mere bread”.
I believe we need to get serious about examining and talking about the sickness we’ve developed. The Rainbow Nation hasn’t yet reconciled all of us. We need to critically examine what ails us. We are such a great country; the World Cup showed how we can step up to the plate and become a proud nation. The challenge is to muster the courage to look at what lies beneath, so that we do not run the risk of colluding with our own suffering.
Perhaps we need to stand up as citizens and NOT “keep the peace”. Perhaps we need to scratch at the veneer of peace to see what lies beneath the surface. Perhaps we need to realise now, more than ever, that peace is something we have to fight for and that “fighting for peace” is not so much an oxymoron as an imperative.
To attain lasting peace for our nation and its citizens, we need to invest in a new breed of leaders who will understand that creating authentic peace and preserving the dignity of our nation may have nothing to do with “keeping the peace”.
Nomfundo Walaza is the chief executive of the Desmond Tutu Peace Centre
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