In my heart (and the multiple hearts that exist within my heart), I believe that as Black people we move through the physical world and psycho-spiritual worlds as archives. Your father’s nose on your face? Your mother’s wide hips? Your grandmother's high cheekbones? These exist as physical evidence of the endurance and invincibility of amaYirha, Batshweneng, ooXaba, ooJamabase, ooDlamini, Chavalala, Hlatshwayo as you move in the world.
I was chatting with a friend about my experiences in primary school of male violence and misogyny. About the emotional, psychological and physical violence endured during my adolescents every day for four years. Then it occurred to me that most of it was because of my weight.
There are many intellectual arguments I can make about why voting legitimizes coloniality and colonial systems of governance but man(!) this is personal. This moves past the headspace and passed intellect to my life’s source. It tugs at the core of who I am and who I am not allowed to be.
Our dishonest elders, through years of calculated propaganda dispersed mainly through the SABC and the appropriation of the South African struggle narrative, have managed to persuade South Africans that a white settler minority can co-exist with the citizens of this country. How can perpetrators of crimes and the victims of dehumanization co-exist under a peaceful just society?
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