Those who are dead are not dead they live inside my head

BaldOpinion 06

Dedication

For Thelma Elizabeth (89), a native from the Saint Helena island off the west coast of Africa - my mother.  Thelma continues to be concerned about my humility “Boy” she says, “Your writing is too indulgent man”  

…The transistor radio in the fisherman’s bag was concealed by the long protruding Eveready battery. The workers travelling in that third class train carriage must have found comfort in the old, but familiar sound.  Outside, the sound of the train wheels rolling over interrupted tracks, and on the inside the otherwise silence too is pinched by the intrusion sounds from the wheels and even more, that morning, by the tune from the grainy, but familiar sound… of “Smile” coming from the fisherman’s tog-bag.   

“…Smile, though your heart is aching.  Even though it’s breaking…Though, there are clouds in the sky you’ll get by…” [1]

Peter September was then a boy, maybe eight years old, on his way to school. He always had time to dream though. “When I am big I’ll drive a train like this one”. 

The burgundy and grey train wormed slowly along the sea from Muizenberg to Simonstown.  The first smell of salt on the always wind as the train leaves Steenberg Station for Lakeside, then Muizenberg and from there all along the sea edge, past Kalk Bay and Fish Hoek en route to its final destination, Simonstown; also  the Head Quarters for the South African Navy and location of Peter’s school. 

Ringing in Peter’s Head, “I want to drive a train next to the edge of the sea; across a big river, and; through a tunnel in the mountain, and if I cannot drive the train – if I can’t, even when I am big, then I’ll be a Train Conductor and clip the tickets quickly, so that I can look through an open window and see the sea…”.

Job Reservation 

Ten years on and Peter could not become a train driver!  He could be a conductor, yes.  He would wear a brown suit with matching cap. The other conductors; men at the first class end of the train; they wore black suits, white shirts and matching uniform black caps – not as smart as the South African naval officers, those who also travel on the train.   

Women were not conductors, nor were they train drivers…, but they were in the navy; smart, was what they were in those uniforms, elegant and smart…, swans that is what they are called, swans.  

“… If you smile through your fears and sorrow…” 

… Certain parents tell their children “Finish your studies. Go overseas… find a job there.  The colour of your skin is not right for you to find a job in South Africa…”   

The young adult is often away for a year; next it is two years, and soon six years will have passed. Back home the father tires from listening to the mournful shaky tone in the mother’s voice when she repeats the now familiar…, the one always ending in “… Peter September! Will our youngest boy, Robbie, ever come home? …”  “mmm” says Peter, “… he might, but I don’t think that he will stay for long …” Peter then turns, and with that silent faraway expression, clutching the lip of the kitchen sink with his thumbs and index fingers, he gazes over the nothingness that is the windswept neighbourhood; their home, their house, but now the place where they raised their four children – now living in other countries.  

Sydney Bikwani, the Head Boy in Robbie’s Matric year, also, like Robbie, became a Civil Engineer after graduating from The University of Cape Town (UCT). Soon after graduating, cum laude, Sydney was appointed against a position of General Manager. In the Annual Report the construction company, Sydney’s employer, boasted that they employ a dark-skinned person at a very senior level. Sydney was 28 years old.  Sydney was always a brilliant boy though; complete with presence and the gift of charm – a raconteur of note and a natural leader.   

Over the past six years Sydney was General Manager with four different companies - all different industries.  Today, at age 34 Sydney is the Chief Executive of an Investment Company.  

Meanwhile, Robbie wants to come home to where the sun shines differently, to where his earliest memories are rooted.  Instead, his posting is, this time, as Site Engineer to build yet another bridge – this bridge will cross the river Tyne as it slithers with polluted water past Newcastle upon Tyne in the North East of England en route to the North Sea. 

Peter often thinks about his train ambitions; but more about Robbie’s journey and compares it to Sydney’s. Peter is cautious, cautious not to have his silent pain consume him. 

“…Smile and maybe tomorrow you’ll see the sun come shining through for you…” 

A few wines later and on a Saturday afternoon is when Peter speaks softly and gently with Valerie. He says “…One has to be careful because we paralyse ourselves with wonder and wonder can become envy.  You know, I have difficulty forgetting about the past and, even the people who are dead are not really dead, but they live in my head; our children, though gone, they too live in my head; but why is it that I only remember the recent experiences? I remember the old experiences differently and then often only the good parts. For instance, I remember you telling the children to have confidence. You constantly reminded them that confidence is not something that they have, but that they give to themselves – I wonder if they apply your words there in the foreign lands?

“Light up your face with gladness

Hide every trace of sadness

Although a tear may be ever, ever so near

That’s the time you must keep on trying”  

Nonetheless Valerie, time is a good healer. It heals the way we feel. That is why we forget the bad experiences, but we never can forget what those experiences felt like; the bad experiences, I mean.  Like the time when my mother was marched off the beach.  She watched over me while I stole a quick swim.  It was a hot Wednesday afternoon.  I had the Wednesday afternoons off in lieu of my work on Saturday mornings.  That Wednesday we decided on Fish Hoek Beach – there’s a fish shop there too. I remember those men, the one who dragged my mother because of her dark skin from the bench she was not supposed to sit on. I also remember her calling whilst being dragged, “Boy!” she shouted “Don’t swim too far, go back to the beach…” and later she said, “Those men were doing their jobs because they also have families to feed…” - strange how we could buy fish at the beach shop, but could not swim in the sea.

Yes Valerie, amnesia is a funny thing. 

“… How every good is tinged with a measure of bad? Look at our children.  They worked hard at school, achieved at university; they never stop studying, learning and becoming better at what they do.  It is a real pity that they cannot find suitable employment here at home where their skills are needed more. I think that to have a fair skin in South Africa is a curse.  In the past, to have a dark skin in South Africa was also a curse. 

Job reservation is for people with darker skins. In the past job reservation was for people who had fair skins. Why are we not having job reservation for people who have the better ability, the better skill, are more passionate and committed to their work? Instead we obsess about the damn past, correcting the past. Who can correct what was done; who can unsay what was said?”

BBBEE (B³ E²) 

The motive is to redress past imbalances.  The importance of this is widely agreed upon. However, the method applied is warped and onerous. 

Will B³ E² policies remain relevant?  The quick answer:  “yes, in part.” 

Will these policies as applied in South Africa be relevant for businesses to prosper and compete favourably with the rest of the world? The quick answer: “No.” 

There will come a time when Robbie and others like him come home to the air they know.  They will be revered for having persistently grown their experience in chosen industries and professions.  Business requirements in this ever increasing global economy will necessitate that those skilled persons be identified and appointed irrespective of their skin tone – lest we want to lag further behind the rest of the world… 

Whoever shares this view is dreaming. In South Africa we will continue to lower the standards of our education and lower entry requirements will favour dark-skinned people.  Fair-skinned people will have to comply with the higher entry requirements. We will insist that dark-skinned people remain preferred employees – after all, the employment of dark-skinned people in South Africa remains synonymous with equal employment. In the rest of the world equal employment means the employment of people without prejudice. In England there are currently concerns that women are not given sufficient opportunities in the world of work. The British Government will not facilitate this correction by lowering education requirements for women, even if they are forced to bring about correction by legislative means, as is the case in South Africa. No, academic entry levels for women will not be reduced and neither will women be able to secure positions without a demonstrable ability. The same criterion is not applicable in South Africa. Instead, no matter superior skill and ability, it is us who are born with a dark skin who will be classed as the better employee – the so-called equal opportunity candidate. 

When the fruit of this South African discriminatory employment fiasco is realised, then those who have moved from one job to another on the back of their dark skins, but without developing provenance through honing their ability, these people will be rendered less employable.  Talented women and men, like Sydney, will be retired or forced to take jobs less senior than those against which they are currently appointed; but which are more in keeping with their ability and experience.   

Will the reason for B³ E² policies have attained its objective? The short answer here too is, “no”.  

When this is realised then the accusation, “RACISM”, will again be levelled. Apartheid will be blamed; global warming perhaps; Yes, even the extinct toothless ferret of the North Pole could become a likely candidate for blame, but never will we look at ourselves, this dastard policy, and admit to how damn stupid we are to inflict our past at the expense of our future prosperity as a world contributing nation. No, instead we will persist in correcting the past by replacing one form of oppression with another, whilst expecting a different outcome from what those who have done so previously expected, but who have failed embarrassingly - Ben Franklin. Will the Chinese increasingly do in South Africa what they so vigorously are doing in Angola and other African countries? A new scramble for this Africa we call home…perhaps that is what South Africa wants? 

But then, how are we going to restore an expectation of entitlement caused by the form of affirmation herein discussed, and; how do we build a conducive environment for education when teachers are increasingly seen gyrating in the streets, often during teaching time, and at the expense of those whom they have to instil the discipline of learning for?  

“…Smile, what’s the use of crying…you’ll see that life is still worthwhile”

How easy it is to criticise!  In seeking an alternative I fail to see a quick fix.

 “…If you’ll just smile.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmw1yYRdDOM
Taken from the silent film, Modern Times, 1936 (Sir Charles Chaplin); sung by Mr Michael Jackson

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[1] Interlude – “Smile” by Sir Charles Chaplin. The music as we know it, is composed by John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons