Afrikaners: Remember the story of your tribe

Recently a group of black theological students of the URCSA studying at UP visited the Hector Peterson memorial in Soweto together with some fellow theological students from the DRC and some visiting students from the USA. Some time after the visit, the students said (in a discussion) that the Hector Peterson memorial “is not a place to visit with white people” since “it only makes you angry”. What had made them angry was that the white students said at the memorial: “We were not even born when this happened”, without any acknowledgement of their connectedness with their parents and grandparents who had been  born at the time and without owning up to the fact that they had benefited from their “whiteness”, even though they were never in the position to support or perpetrate apartheid. The unwillingness or inability to acknowledge white privilege flowing from the apartheid system is a serious obstacle to reconciliation in South Africa, and it will have to be addressed in a reconciling mission praxis.

From a paper entitled “RECONCILING ENCOUNTERS IN LUKE-ACTS” delivered by Prof Klippies Kritzenger at a conference in Stellenbosch, May 2009.

More than once I talked about the Afrikaner tribe in a series of posts on Afrikaner identity written after Amahoro 2009. I’ve been thinking about a number of Afrikaans songs for years now, and the song which probably best formulate the thoughts of many young white South Africans is that of  “Nie langer” (“not any more”) by Klopjag, that shouts out that we won’t be saying sorry any more. It’s been bothering me ever since I first heard it.

The reason can partly be found in the paragraph above: it’s not acknowledging the fact that we benefited from being white, since we are connected to our parents and grandparents. But my discomfort has been growing ever deeper, and it’s more than simply the fact that we benefited from the past. What bothers me is the fact that we actually disconnect ourselves from our own history with this song, with these words. The URCSA students maybe have a much more natural understanding of belonging to a group, to a culture, to a tribe.

My thoughts on this found special meaning in an experience at Amahoro, really a conversion experience, where my Afrikaner identity suddenly found meaning for Africa, where I believe I became an African theologian in my own eyes. Not by forgetting the past. Not by disconnecting from it in the way that the story above tells. But exactly by connecting, by remembering, by saying sorry (not out of emotions of guilt, because I honestly can’t say I experience these emotions, but in a process of reconciliation), by admitting that my tribe was wrong.

My call to Christian Afrikaners is to join your tribe. Not in opposition to the South Africa of which you are part. Not on Loftus at a Curry Cup final. But by embracing your connectedness to the past. By visiting the Hector Peterson memorial and not distancing yourself from what it says, but by connecting, working through the pain and the hurt (and my non-Afrikaner and non-white readers must hear this, embracing the connectness is a really hurtful process!), so that we can find the reconciliation on the other side. Also, to find, as a white man, liberation within Africa:

After telling our story, the story of our people, proud at times, standing guilty at times, one of my new Kenyan friends said these words: “You need to come to Kenya and come tell your story! Our people need to hear that someone can admit that they were wrong.” Those must have been some of the most liberating words I’ve ever heard!

Quoted from How one Afrikaner became an African theologian

(and on a side-note, I was part of the group that visited the Hector Peterson museum from the story above)

Ecology: the cost of not feeding of the ancient rays of sunlight

The rising electricity prises in South Africa is costing me. Money. Twitter user talk about it. It’s in papers. And I’m getting emails every now and again about some petition I have to sign to stop Eskom from razing the prises. My response is always some table of electricity prises showing Eskom prises before the prise rise started. Everybody complains about the cost. And everybody complains about their CO2 output. But few seem to put together that a reduction in CO2 usage will be costing us money. And no one seem to welcome the prise rise as a possible means of reducing CO2, since this might be forcing people to use less electricity in South Africa. And no one seem to talk about what electricity actually should cost in South Africa if the cost to the ecology is taken into account.

South Africa has one of the highest CO2 per person outputs, meaning that my own community of suburban, upper-class, highly mobile, professional people might be the most CO2 intensive people-group in world (I have no proof!). I think it was someone in 11th Hour who talked about ancient rays of sunlight. The energy we use, coal, oil, or whatever, that was made over centuries, millenia, of sunlight, the only large energy source we have. And we are using it at a rate much faster than it is being made.

So we need to work with the energy as it’s being created real-time. Stop complaining about Eskom prises. It’s gonna cost money to stop or reduce your usage of these ancient rays of sunlight. Are we willing to go the ecological route if it’s gonna change our lifestyles? And it’s gonna. For the community in which I live it’s gonna. We will have to start using public transport, live in smaller homes, drive smaller cars, drive less, change our diets, eat less meat especially. Eskom’s raising prices should not bother you. If they made mistakes, let that bother you. But on this year’s Blog Action Day what should bother you is the fact that they aren’t calculating the cost to nature into you’re electrical bill.

Caster Semenya: a public theological response

I cannot say that I’ve followed the Caster Semenya with the neccesary commitment to be able to give an informed opinion. As a Christian theologian, and as a human being, I can say that I experienced some discomfort when I read some of the newspaper articles, and the graphical way they were discussing the sexuality of a young teenage girl.

On an Academic level I focus on Public Theology, which I like to define as the attempt to give a unique contribution from the tradition of Christian theology to matters of public concern. Public theology need to recognize it’s own limits. We always contribute in conversation with many other voices, but as a Public Theologian I believe that theology has a needed contribution to make.

When friend Reggie Nel mentioned on twitter this morning the idea of publicly saying something on the Caster Semenya conversation raging at this stage (it’s one of the top trending topics on twitter today, and obviously it’s a topic of discussion in South Africa generally), I started wondering what a responsible public theological contribution would look like.

I think caution is needed to not speak to fast on things which other partners in the conversation still need to talk about. I would caution against making medical claims until final reports, also I’d caution against speculation on the legal implications until the bodies responsible for this has spoken. I’d recommend the advice CNN published in the last two hours.

Theology has spent much time thinking about humanity and sexuality, about how we treat other people, about dignity, about fairness. On these issues theology has some unique contributions to make, and I think it needs to be made.

As a guiding principle I’d say that a public theological response should talk about public opinion and perceptions, and not address possible outcomes of tests.

• Theology, especially feminist theology, has helped the church to think about the way we talk about sexuality, about how we can do violence to people in the way we talk about their sexuality. Let’s contribute from this resource.
• I think much has been done by theology on questions of power, and that a public theological response should say something on the privacy of Caster, and the power that the public is taking over her by talking prematurely about possible outcomes of the tests, as well as by discussion her sexuality in an unworthy manner. 
• Theology has a lot to say about the sacredness of a person (created in the image of God), and about the sacredness of sex and sexuality, and when the sacredness of sexuality is taken away by the disrespect of public opinion, by the media taking the right to talk about that which is sacred in such a way that it is desacrilized, then theology need to speak out.

A public theological response should help the decades old process of adressing questions of sexuality in athletics to happen in such a way that the privacy and humanity of those involved is respected. Although this is a topic for another post, I think we are using Genisis 1 (created in the image of God) in an irresponsible manner in this conversation so far. But as a Christian theologian I’d like to stress that Caster is a spiritual being, meaning that she is linked to the sacred, that which we call God. Using the words of Jesus, I’d say we should remember that the transcendent, the sacred, God, is Caster’s father. Her value as “child of God” need to be upheld by the church.

This, I believe, a public theological response can say at this stage.

pray for Amahoro in my home town, Piet Retief

The little town in which I grew up, Piet Retief (google earth view), is experiencing serious problems! Although we struggle to confirm reports at this stage, it would seem like residents of the one township outside Piet Retief, eThandakukhanya, is “on a rampage” (to use the words of newspapers) because of corruption by the authorities.

I know very little, actually, most people seem to know very little at this stage, but eThandakukhanya is closed down, no one entering or exiting, two of the mayor roads out of town is closed down. Buildings and cars have apparently been burned down.

The words of the newspaper reports read that the residents said that they will make the town “ungovernable”. This is the same things that protesters said in the 80’s against Apartheid (I’ve been reminded of that again while visiting the Apartheidmuseum this weekend).

The following newspapers all gave the same report:

News24

South African Times.co.uk

Pretoria News

SABC news of June 29 on youtube (1:16)

Augustinian guilt and Apartheid guilt

I know very little of Augustine, I must admit. Same with Luther, Calvin, and most church fathers. What I know of them I know from second hand knowledge. Well, in reality I’ve met very few people who actually know the giants from the past first hand, so I don’t feel that alone, although I’d like to change this over time. Someone said somewhere in the past few months at a place that I attended (I think it was Scott McKnight), that Augustine’s confession was the prototype for a conversion that went together with extreme experiences of guilt. Luther’s was similar. And this has become the prototype for how conversion stories must.

This was the classical conversion story that I’ve heard in my life. The recognition of my own total depravity, my absolute guilt, my being a worm in the eyes of God, and God then coming to take away this guilt. Recognition of sin always lead to an experience of guilt over this. Then the sin was forgiven, and God never though about it again.

In conversations on Apartheid, there is a group which I’d call that “sal-nie-langer-jammer-sê-nie”-group (translates with “I-will-not-say-sorry-any-longer”-group). This is from a song by a well-known Afrikaans band in which they sing about how they won’t say that they are sorry about Apartheid any longer. It was in reaction to this that Tom Smith and some friends started a website which said that they are sorry for Apartheid.

Let me quickly put down my thinking and then ask you to respond. I wonder whether there is a link. In this classical tale of conversion, past sins need to be forgiven quickly and gracefully, if not they lead to feelings of guilt. For those caught in this approach, the wrongs of Apartheid will lead to feelings of guilt if they make themselves part of the people who did this, and if they consider this a wrong which still must be addressed.

However, I also see some who don’t consider recognition of past, and even present, sins to be a source of guilt, but rather a source of change. In this approach guilt do not lead to redemption, but redemption lead to recognizing sins. Moving closer to God will reveal my own wrongs, my own sins, which I embrace because in time this will help me change. It’s not something bad, something which should be gotten rid of, but something good. Maybe it’s this lack of Augustinian guilt that make it easier for some to continue being sorry for Apartheid?

What’s your thoughts?

Helen Suzman remembered… and this has made a difference

After visiting the Apartheidmuseum while at Amahoro I made a kind of a personal vow that I will for the coming months take people their, and let them reflect on what they experience. Saturday was our first such a trip, with 11 people in their 20’s, 2 in their teens and one in his 50’s.

The museum has just too much to take in in one visit, so I picked about 5 stations which I didn’t spend time on last time, and really worked through them. The first was the Helen Suzman exhibition. What struck me was the part where she said that the stories of Jewish oppression (I think in the Holocaust, but it might also have been some other, or a few other, instances of anti-semitism) which she remembered was a strong influence in her fight against Apartheid.

For 13 years Suzman was the only member of parliament wholly against Apartheid, but she kept on fighting. Remembering Apartheid, not in order to experience guilt, but in order to change the future, has become very important to me, so Suzman’s remembrance of Jewish oppression and how this influenced her fight against Apartheid is a story which I also think should be remembered.

Well, will visit the museum with another group of interested people again in about a months time. Let me know if you are interested.

Steve Hays shared some remembrance from Apartheid, he still remembers.

one Afrikaner’s Amahoro calling

Chris asked me today what Amahoro meant to me. My answer probably surprised the room: Amahoro called me back to the white Afrikaner people. Amahoro called me back to the Dutch Reformed Church, the white one. Linking with everyone from Africa was a great experience, and I look forward to joining the family next year in Nairobi, but for me the calling of Amahoro was not primarily to the worst suffering in Africa, but to a small tribe of people who are known for the efficiency with which we could oppress.

I probably need to explain.

This probably started when I seriously began digging into the missiology of David Bosch, and seeking for an approach to the emerging field of public theology which would take the work of Bosch into account. Up to now this haven’t really happened in the public theology conversation. Part of my discussion of Bosch was understanding his ecclesiology, specifically the way he used the alternative community concept of the Anabaptists, combined it with his own Reformed theology.

Bosch talked about the church as God’s experimental garden. The church is not only the community that is sent out to change the world, but also the place where we show the world what God’s dream would look like. For Bosch in the Apartheid years this would have meant showing an Apartheid government that black and white can live together, that the world isn’t going to come to an end when black and white share a meal.

What exactly all this mean to me I don’t know. But I do know that I pray for my people, and yes, I call the Afrikaners my people. I pray, and hear the voice of God calling this, that these people can in the years to come journey out of our heritage, and become part of Africa, of this continent with it’s struggles, with it’s African theologians and our beautiful way of talking about God amidst suffering. It’s like the way Bosch understood the reign of God, it’s here, but it’s still coming. The Afrikaner is part of Africa, but we are also still becoming part of Africa.

In different ways we responded to Amahoro. For me it wasn’t walking away from this church that still refuse to embrace Belhar, but embracing this church. Not embracing it as it is, but this deep feeling that I cannot go without them. I need to see these people transition. I cannot run and call them from afar, tell them how wonderful it is here on the other side, where we are wholly part of Africa. I need to walk with them. The world need us to make this journey, to show that yes, whatever you might remember about this group of people, through God even we can make this journey.

Nic said it at one stage at Amahoro. We pitch our tents out far, and then come back to the church and journey with them. Amahoro stretch the road to when my tent is pitched even further, but it also sent me back, I’ve seen something of the road, now I must go on the journey with others.

This is most probably not the last time I’ll blog on this. I just know that these words it not what’s going on in my head, but I need to start to try and formulate this truckload of thoughts that’s still racing.