Through the Floods: A Cry for Empathy | #MyFridayStory №386
This week, I learned a hard lesson. It came through a LinkedIn exchange that stopped me dead in my tracks, forced me to confront deeply ingrained beliefs, and left me in tears of regret and remorse.
A person of colour in my network shared a heartfelt post about the tragic consequences of apartheid-era policies. She highlighted how people were forcibly moved into townships near rivers, where flooding now regularly claims lives — children swept away by relentless currents, families left devastated. Her post wasn’t just about the floods; it was about the systemic injustice that placed entire communities in harm’s way.
But I missed the point. I responded with frustration about the past 31 years under the ANC, completely disregarding the pain and truth in her story. My comment bulldozed over her words, trivialising her lived experience. And the fallout was immediate. From all corners — Black, white, coloured, and Asian — people called me out for my insensitivity and narrow-mindedness.
At first, I was defensive. But then, as I reread her post and the replies, the weight of my mistake sank in. I realised how wrong I had been. I cried for the hurt I had caused. I cried for not seeing the pain behind her words. I even tried calling her to apologise, to ask for forgiveness. But the deeper truth was clear: I needed to confront something within myself — a legacy of indoctrination and bias that I had inherited.
The Legacy of Superiority
I grew up in a world where being white was synonymous with being superior. It was unspoken and subliminal, yet always present and very real. This belief was baked into our systems, our education, our very way of life. We were told we were better. Even today, that legacy lingers. It’s easy to claim, “I’m not a racist,” but subtle biases can surface in ways we don’t even recognise until it’s too late.
Once, I heard an anti-racism activist pose a powerful question: “If you’re white and wondering if you’re a racist, ask yourself, ‘Would I rather be Black?’” The answer, for most, is no — not because of inherent dislike, but because we know the persecution and horror people of colour face daily. From birth to death, society tells them they are less-than. Society reinforces the false notion that whiteness is the ideal and everything else falls short.
The Weight of History
I’ve often heard white South Africans say, “It’s time to move on. Get over it.” But this is easy to say from a place of privilege, from the comfort of a life built on systemic advantages. For people of colour, the scars of 300 years of oppression and dehumanisation cannot be so easily dismissed. Generations were enslaved, displaced, and treated as less than human. Their histories, legacies, and cultures were dismantled.
How do we, as white South Africans, make up for that?
A Dual Truth
I love my Afrikaner heritage. Our language is rich and expressive; our stories are filled with resilience and faith. Afrikaners are tough, godly people who cherish their families, communities, and traditions. But alongside this pride, we must also acknowledge the grievous wrongs committed by our ancestors. For centuries, we wielded our supposed superiority like a sword, leaving a legacy of pain and injustice that still echoes today.
Acknowledging this duality is not easy. It’s uncomfortable and humbling. But it is necessary. We cannot hide behind the excuse of “I’m not a racist.” It’s not enough. We must confront the subliminal biases, the systemic inequalities, and the historical injustices that continue to shape our society.
A Call for Change
When I reflected on my comment and the subsequent backlash, I became scared to speak. I wanted to retreat, to avoid probing the difficult questions. But silence is not the answer. If we want to heal as a nation, we must be willing to have uncomfortable conversations — to stop and think, to take stock of our beliefs, and to align them with the truth.
We cannot start discussing the past 31 years without first addressing the 300 years that came before. The healing process begins with a simple but profound act: saying sorry. Sorry to the people of colour who have endured so much. Sorry for the systemic injustices we perpetuated. Sorry for the pain we inflicted. Only then can we move forward together, not as oppressors and oppressed, but as equals.
So today, I ask my fellow white South Africans: Reflect on your beliefs. Consider the legacy we’ve inherited. And before you say, “It’s time to move on,” ask yourself if you’ve truly acknowledged the pain and injustice that came before. We owe it to our nation, to our brothers and sisters, and to ourselves to do better.
Have a wonderful weekend, and remember — be generous! 😊
As always, thanks for reading. 🙏
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