Nobody
knows my name
Our Heritage Month has just begun. Accordingly, many of us will be involved
in many activities to celebrate our common heritage throughout the month,
and not just on 24 September, Heritage Day. For the month, our government
has put forward the theme - "Celebrating our Living Heritage ('What
we Live ') in the Tenth Year of our Democracy."
Our Department of Arts and Culture says that
our living heritage consists of all the objects and practices that "communities,
groups, and in some cases, individuals recognise as part of their cultural
heritage, transmitted from generation to generation, (which) is constantly
recreated by communities and groups in response to their environment,
their interaction with nature and their history, and provides them
with a sense of identity and continuity, thus promoting respect for
cultural diversity and human creativity."
The Department says that it wants us to use Heritage
Month "as
a vehicle for a long-term vision of collecting, preserving, protecting,
promoting and disseminating living heritage". Hopefully, as many
of our people as possible will participate in this process that is central
to the success of our continuing effort to give birth to a new and humane
society, one of whose critical elements is our diverse and common "sense
of identity and continuity".
Perhaps many of us do not have the time to reflect
on these matters, which UNESCO refers to as the "intangible cultural heritage".
There are many tangible problems and challenges to which all of us have
to respond, daily, arising out of the stubborn legacy of colonialism
and racism. In this situation, it may indeed be difficult to focus on
what is described as "intangible".
However, difficult as it may be, we have to grapple with the intangible.
The objective of a better life for all does not only refer to the material.
It also encompasses the spiritual, the intangible.
More than four decades ago now, in 1962, the
African American novelist, playwright, poet and essayist, James Baldwin,
published the book of essays entitled, "Nobody Knows My Name".
That simple title communicated the deeply painful message of loss of
identity and continuity, of the reduction of a human being into a thing
without a soul.
It immediately brought to mind the dehumanisation of James Baldwin's
forebears, the Africans transported as slaves to the United States. As
they lost their freedom, they also lost their names. Given other and
alien names by the slave masters, they ceased to be who they had been,
and were. They became the new sub-humans defined by the slave owners.
As we imagine them silently recalling who they really were, fearful
of telling those who owned them as productive property what their real
names were, we can almost hear them saying - nobody knows my name!
The fact of slavery and the intolerable agony they had to endure as
slaves, were the tangible realities with which they had to contend every
day of their short lives. Those who observed them from afar, with no
knowledge of what it meant to be a slave, cruelly torn away from your
family, your people and your native land, would have thought that for
the slaves to weep bitter tears as they silently told themselves - nobody
knows my name! - would have been the most irrational indulgence.
And yet in their intangible creations, their songs, the slaves sought
death rather than a longer life characterised by slave labour and the
denial of their identity as fully human persons. In their 'negro spirituals',
they prayed for the speedy advent of the day when they would go to heaven,
where they would be human again.
One of these spirituals, "Nobody knows who I am",
says:
"O, nobody knows who I am, a-who I am,
Till the Judgement morning
Heaven bells a-ringing, the saints all singing
Heaven bells a-ringing in my soul
Want to go to Heaven
Want to go right
Want to go to Heaven
All dressed in white.
O, nobody knows who I am, a-who I am,
Till the Judgement morning
Heaven bells a-ringing, the saints all singing
Heaven bells a-ringing in my soul
If you don't believe
That I've been redeemed
Follow me down
To Jordan's stream."
The spiritual "Oh Freedom" is perhaps even more direct.
"Oh freedom
Oh freedom
Oh freedom over me!
And before I'd be a slave
I'll be buried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free.
No more moaning
No more moaning
No more moaning over me!
And before.
There'll be singing.
There'll be shouting.
There'll be praying."
The slaves prayed for Judgement morning, when they would be redeemed,
when they would be free and home again, with Heaven's sacred bells ringing
in the souls of those who, on earth, had been treated as nothing more
than soulless and disposable beasts of burden.
Born in 1891, the African American, Claude McKay,
was one of the poets, with Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes and others,
whose writings gave birth to the period of the flowering of African
American creativity described as "the Harlem Renaissance".
Fortunate to have been born after the emancipation of the slaves and
the aftermath of the birth of the Pan African Movement led by W.E.B.
du Bois and others, Claude McKay could refer elsewhere other than the
grave and heaven, to reclaim his sense of identity and continuity.
To repossess this intangible right, he composed
the poem entitled "The
Tropics in New York", which reads:
"Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,
Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes and grapefruit,
Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,
Set in the window, bringing memories
Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,
And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies
In benediction over nun-like hills.
My eyes grew dim and I could no more gaze;
A wave of longing through my body swept,
And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,
I turned aside and bowed my head and wept."
The sight of tropical African fruits in the shops
of New York had reawakened in Claude McKay an innate and unquenchable
hunger to return to his roots, to
be African and human again. An instinctive and long-dormant physical
longing
to return to the native land of his ancestors rocked his soul, evoking
tears
of misery that he could not return to the old, familiar ways he carried
in
his genes, in which he would have no cause to cry out - nobody knows
my
name!
As African South Africans we have, perhaps, not known as much pain as
was
borne by the fellow Africans who were transported across the Atlantic
Ocean
to serve the New World as slaves. Certainly, the sight of tropical fruits
in
our supermarkets has never reawakened in us suppressed memories of a
continent to which we once belonged. The pain imposed on us by racism
has
never forced us to think that death was preferable to life.
But we too have had to contend with an historical
reality that deliberately sought to deprive us of our sense of identity
and continuity. Colonial and
apartheid oppression sought to rob us of our "cultural heritage,
transmitted
from generation to generation, (which) is constantly recreated by
communities and groups in response to their environment, their interaction
with nature and their history".
Deliberately, this racist system sought to destroy everything that would
give the indigenous majority a sense of identity and continuity. This
entailed not only the military defeat of this majority and its political
subjugation.
It also meant the total transformation of the life conditions that would
give the African majority the possibility to maintain its identity and
its living heritage. The Africans lost their land and therefore the possibility
for an independent economic existence. But this also meant the virtual
loss of the intangibles, of such cultural norms as communal life, human
solidarity and ubuntu, which were the non-material expression of the
material conditions of pre-colonial society.
Our "interaction with nature and history" meant
that our living heritage had to bend to the dictates of the dominant
social order, which, among other things, celebrated an intensely acquisitive
individualism. Based essentially on the values of social and community
cohesion, it had to find its place within a society on which the ruling
group had imposed the social norm -everyone for himself or herself,
and the devil take the hindmost!
Our living heritage would find great affinity
with the sentiment expressed by the British historian, R.H. Tawney,
when he wrote in his book "The
acquisitive society" that, "the heart of the problem is not
economic. It is a question of moral relationships. This is the citadel
that must be attacked.the immoral, self-seeking philosophy which underlies
much of modern society."
Today, and as part of our struggle to build a
moral and people-centred society, our country is preoccupied with the
challenge of what Nelson Mandela once described as "the RDP of the soul". We are correctly
concerned about issues of moral regeneration and a new patriotism. We
are proud to say that we are "proudly South African".
All this has to do with the living, intangible heritage for whose preservation,
protection, promotion and dissemination, we will seek to use Heritage
Month. It should therefore be clear that the fact that it is 'intangible'
does not mean that it is unimportant.
It has to do with an age when we too had occasion to say - nobody knows
my name. For colonialism and apartheid also deliberately sought to negate
our cultural heritage, to deny us our own sense of identity and continuity.
In the process our own masters tried to take away our names. Kopano became
Jane, and Sipho, Jim. Thus renamed, they sought to use us as putty in
their hands, to model and redefine us, so that we would take it as an
expression of the will of God, that we should forever do their bidding,
as their willing and mindless instruments.
Because the intangible mattered to the oppressed,
the ordinary working people responded in their own way to the attempt
to deprive them of their identity. As they engaged in hard labour,
under the watchful eyes of the white overseers, they chanted - "abelungu ngoodamn; basibiza
ooJim." These rhymes, with their rhythm, have also become part of
our living heritage, an example of the process of the re-creation of
our intangible heritage in response to our social environment.
For many centuries racism has been a defining feature of our society.
There are some in our country who find it to their material advantage
that all of us should ignore the stark reality that this has left us
with a deeply entrenched legacy of racial divisions and inequalities.
But this reality is also directly relevant to what we will be doing during
Heritage Month and subsequently, to assert our diverse identities, while
also promoting our unity, as well as respect for our cultural diversity
and the creativity of all our people.
In his book, "Nobody Knows My Name",
James Baldwin also wrote about the impact of a long history of racism
on his own country, the United States. A creative and sensitive thinker
and writer, he knew that what he cared most about, the intangible cultural
heritage of his people and country, had to contend with, and thrive
within the context of that long history.
And so he confronted the matter directly, refusing
to draw comfort from the promise of a better life in heaven, reluctant
to still the demons by hoping for his return to Africa, as we should
be reluctant to still the demons by a casual reference to a Rainbow
Nation. Telling a story about himself, he wrote that "the political
and spiritual currents of my very early youth involved a return to
Africa, or a rejection of it; either choice would lead to suicide,
or madness, for, in fact, neither choice was possible."
James Baldwin also wrote: "The reason that
it is important - of the utmost importance - for white people, here,
to see the Negroes as people like themselves is that white people will
not, otherwise, be able to see themselves as they are. . . And this
long history of moral evasion has had an unhealthy effect on the total
life of the country."
During our Heritage Month, we must all see all
our people as people like ourselves. And thus each one of us as national
groups will be able to see ourselves as we are. By freeing ourselves
of the burdens of prejudice, enabling ourselves to celebrate our diverse
living heritage, we will achieve what James Baldwin called "the act of assuming and becoming
oneself", no longer denied the right to call ourselves by our own
names.

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