Digital Immigrant

Dear world

Please help: I have a little problem, which is actually far bigger than it sounds. I notice it whenever I’m reading something, whether it is online or offline, in the ‘real’ world. It matters not whether I’m reading the NY Review of books or Jezebel; I encounter the same problem every time.

Let’s say that I’m reading an article about X. The article describes someone but doesn’t mention gender or race. My first reaction to such an article is to — subconsciously — think that the subject is a white man. So there’s nothing wrong with white men, I promise, but can you imagine just how surprised — never mind angry at myself — I am when I discover the subject is actually a black lesbian?

So I want to know how to overcome this. What do I do?

Love,

Ekke

Why should anybody want to define himself by what he is not? — William Safire

I recently received an email from Jason, one of my readers, who wanted to know what POC and WOC are. So I gave him a short explanation. And then I wrote that if he doesn’t know the terminology, I might have to do a post about the two acronymns’ meaning.

I remember my introduction to the term in 2006. I was on a date with an older guy who is a Kenyan expat. He called me a woman of colour. Something in the phrase made me uncomfortable. I have no idea what it could have been. But I didn’t like it and for that week I kept introducing myself to my friends as  –  “Hi, I am Joy-Mari Cloete and I am a woman of colour.” We thought it was funny.

Fastforward to 2009, only 3 years later, and I have done a 360° on this phrase. I now realise that the word black isn’t always descriptive of the majority of people in this world — many are something else: Creole, coloured, Jews, Latina/o, Indian, Native American, Aboriginal, Inuits. And the term ‘black’  has negative connotations in many parts of the world. So it makes sense to call myself a woman of colour instead of coloured when I’m speaking to my Canadian friend who flinches when she hears what she calls the C-word.

POC means either person of colour or people of colour, depending on the context. Similarly, WOC means woman of colour or women of colour, depending on the contex.

No-one can safely say when the term was first used, nor do linguists know who had used it first. But an 1818 pamphlet, ”Report of the Committee, to Whom was Referred the Memorial of the President and Board of Managers of the American Society for Colonizing the Free People of Color of the United States.”, may be one of the earliest known usages of the term. French colonies have used gens de couleur liberes to speak of emancipated black people. And the oldest known usage is from 1781, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. But I’ll be damned if I can find a credible link on that piece of information.

And yes, immigrants and refugees could be people of colour. The term has expanded since it first became en vogue in the late 20th century, when Frantz Fanon and Martin Luther King Jr used it.

Activists created it as a counterreaction to ‘non-white’. Why do white people [get to] set the standard? And we have to define ourselves on what we are not? But perhaps my initial dislike of the term stems from yet again being ‘othered’. White people are just that — white. They don’t seperate themselves into categories, as they did with people of colour: quadroon, mulatto, quintoon, octoroon, Eurasian.

I have incorporated the words into my vocabulary but am still more than a bit reluctant to call myself black, even though I can identify with Steven Biko’s definition of black as everyone who had suffered under Apartheid.

I only realised I had curly hair when I was 10 years old. Really. I remember being envious of my cousin’s curls. I remember being envied because I had a gladde draad hare. I even remember asking one of the older girls at my primary school how I can get curls like hers.

So imagine my shock after I had had my hair cut. Suddenly my hair had volume. Suddenly my hair minces when it’s humid. Suddenly my hair is like theirs.

Yes, I know I’m not alone in this. I know there are many other WOC who wish they could have straight hair.

But I’ve had some strange happenings with my curly hair. I once walked into a Kloof Street hairsalon to find out whether I could be one of their hair models. This was years ago. Probably in 2002. One of their stylists had recommended I try something new — a different colour or a new style, or something — for free.

So I nearly cried when the lady — dunno whether she was a stylist or whether she was the hair salon owner –  told me “Sorry, we don’t use people who have ethnic hair.”  She hadn’t even touched my hair; she just assumed my hair is too coarse. And that none of the stylists will know what to do with my ‘ethnic’ hair.

So, yes, I was confused for a long time. I used to date a guy who wanted to believe I’m not coloured. I saw it as a compliment, by the way, back then. So he kept dissing my hair. And he kept telling me I should blow dry it so that I can look ‘white’.

Walk into any hair salon in a coloured neighbourhood and very rarely does someone walk out with curls. The women who do are mostly older; the young women prefer straight hair. You’ll find many women walk out with pin straight hair that had been relaxed or GDH’d to death. Oh yes. Ask one of the hairdressers for advice on curly hair and you’ll probably be greeted with silence. Or a frown. And a “you gotta suffer for beauty, luvvie.” Most of them just don’t know. Curly hair is not in fashion.

So what followed was 5 or so years of blow drying my hair straight. It isn’t painful nor does it take long — 15 to 20 minutes max — but eeep, why did I do it to myself?

These days I spend perhaps 5 minutes on my hair in the morning. I am no longer afraid of going to the beach. I like rainy days. And I’m saving money because I’m not buying all those haircare products that the media wants me to buy: I wash my hair with conditioner once every three days. And that’s that.

These days I see [more than] a few of my fellow WOC in Cape Town are embracing the natural look. I nearly always want to walk or run up to one of them and congratulate her on making such a good decision. And then I check myself. So I don’t. But I spoke to a WOC in Woolworths V&A — hi, Janine — recently about her hair. She was lucky: her parents had brought her up with an appreciation for her own hair.

But the women whom I see rocking natural curls appear to be mostly from higher socio-economic classes. Or perhaps I’m just not getting out enough to see WOC from lower income groups with natural tresses.

We do not fit into the mould of womanly beauty that the media have created for us. We aren’t white, most of us aren’t skinny, and we wear our hair in its natural state. And that doesn’t always mean ‘curly’ — some have afros.

My closest friends have all struggled with their hair. Their mothers, grandmothers, friends and even colleagues have all tried to box them: “You need to relax your hair”; “Pretty girls have straight hair”; “G-d won’t allow women with unrelaxed hair into heaven”.  Do you also notice how they never castigate men for wearing their hair natural?

I asked my mom why she had always gotten someone to blowdry my hair. She told me it’s because I have ‘goeie hare‘, ie, good hair. And once or twice she complained that my hair no longer looks pretty. I think she used the word ‘takhare‘, which is a massive insult to an insecure young girl, but not as stinging to a confident woman.

And then there’s something that really breaks my heart: the women who rave about my hair but complain that their hair can never be like that. They think their hair has no natural curl. They have been brainwashed into believing their hair is straight. Wake up, please. Your hair is damaged from blow drying, relaxing and those damn GHDs you use.

So yeah, it’s easy for me to preach the gospel of Natural Hair — I can have the best of both worlds: I can blowdry it and it’ll be sleek and shiny and tomorrow I can let it dry naturally and it’ll be bouncy. And yeah, it can be kinky, too. But just imagine not spending the entire Saturday at the salon. Just imagine dragging yourself out of bed and not having to spend two hours on your hair before going to work. Just imagine not being upset that your office staff party is at the beach. And just imagine how much freer you’ll be, how much money you’ll save, and how many more shoes you can buy with the money you used to spend on your hair.

So no, you don’t need to go natural tomorrow. But try it out sometime.

Here are a few resources and natural hair communities:

Kinnks

Nappturality

NaturallyCurly

Nearly two years ago I read – finally! – Steven Biko’s I write what I like. One of the items that most stood out to me was his view that we as POC sometimes try to ingratiate ourselves with whites or with those in power. These could be our white friends, colleagues or people whom we’re dating/seeing.

The people whom we’re trying to please could even be ‘acceptable’ members of our own race.

One of the ways in which we can do this is to dis our own people. We’ll say things such as “Yeah, coloured people are racists”. We do this so that the white people can feel better about themselves. No longer are they the only racists; their lone coloured tjommie told them that coloured people are also racist. This is, of course, a logical fallacy – coloured people [in South Africa] can be prejudiced but they can’t be racist. Racism = prejudice + power. But that’s a different argument for another day.

Another way to dis their ‘own’ is to beam whenever a white person says that they are so different to the other coloureds: their hair is so much prettier than; their accent is so much fancier than; and their way of thinking differentiates them from gam.

I do it, too. I was speaking with someone at the weekend when she mentioned she dislikes places – bars, clubs, and restaurants – that cater to gam. And I nodded. And then I felt bad – am I like ‘those people’ of whom Biko wrote?

This is similar to the N-word and how many African Americans use it to describe lesser members of their community.

This needs to stop. Today still. Next time I speak to that woman who distinguishes between herself and gam, I will say something instead of nodding. Next time someone mocks the alleged Cape Flats accent, I will say something instead of burying my face in my laptop’s screen. Next time I won’t write Cape Flets instead of Cape Flats. Next time I won’t get angry when someone thinks I’m from Delft or Bonteheuwel. Next time I won’t laugh along when someone jokes about how easy it is to get robbed in Mitchell’s Plain. Next time I won’t make fun of someone without front teeth. Next time I will make a bigger stink when Die Burger makes fun of coloured people. Next time I will make a bigger noise when someone complains about some other POC’s hair’s texture. Next time I won’t mock the structure of my nose. Next time I will get indignant when someone mocks a POC’s English accent. And next time, next time, my friend, I will wear my fluffy hair with pride.

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19 October 2009 is an exciting day in South Africa. It’s the day when fanboys and fangirls can pre-book their Kindle International. But that’s not what I want to write about today; 19 October 2009 is the 32nd anniversary of Black Wednesday, when the Apartheid government banned 18 organisations and 3 publications.

And I wonder why this is something I only discover today. I feel shame for not knowing it. And angry, too, that my school education had not included more information on the Black Consciousness Movement.

The events leading up to that day had been set into motion by the issue of the proposed Bantustans. Transkei had already been established in 1976 and the government wanted to establish Bophuthatswana as an independent state for the Tswanas. Many organisations opposed it and decided to write an open letter, signed by Cde Thandisizwe Mphiwa Mazibuko, the Secretary General of the Black People’s Convention, that was to be published in several newspapers.

The only editor who ran the open letter in its entirety was Tselito Percy Qoboza, the editor of The World; other newspapers commented on the open letter and ran excerpts from it.

This event was the tipping point — it led to the government banning The World, Weekend World, and Pro Veritate. The organisations they banned were the Black People’s Convention (BPC); South African Students’ Organisation (SASO); Black Community Programmes (BCP); Black Parents’ Association (BPA); Black Women’s Federation (BWF); National Association of Youth Organisations (NAYO) and all its provincial structures; Medupe Writers’ Association; South African Students Movement (SASM); Union of Black Journalists (UBJ); Soweto Teachers’ Action Committee (TAC); Zimele Trust Fund; Christian Institute (CI); the Association for the Educational and Cultural Advancement of African People (ASSECA); Soweto Students’ Representative Council (SSRC).

These organisations stayed banned until 1990, after Nelson Mandela had been released from jail. The World newspaper became The Post Transvaal, which the government closed in 1980. This led to the start of The Sowetan Mirror in 1981, which then changed the name to The Sowetan, one of the country’s largest dailies.

The government detained journalists such as Joe Thloloe, Peter Magubane;,Juby Mayet and Tselito Percy Qoboza; other were not as lucky: Mapetla Mohapi died in his police cell.

I believe there will always be – there must be – a tension between politicians and the media. A healthy tension, in which we keep a close eye on each other.

Mr T Sexwale, then Minister of the then PWV Province, on 19 October 1994.

Though there is still many things wrong with journalism in South Africa, there are also many things that are improvements upon the old regime: an opposition, a strong constitution and a belief in democratic ideals. Let’s use this opportunity to reflect on what we still need to do to create an even better media.

* Interesting read on the history of The Sowetan and the Mail & Guardian.

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