I thought of those days as I passed
through airports-cum-shopping malls, where Orwellian voices incessantly
remind travellers that, “the homeland security level is
..." orange or red or whatever. As I drove highways where
overhead signs meant to convey information about construction
or other obstacles were used to admonish drivers to “report
suspicious activity” by calling a handy toll-free number.
As I rounded a corner in Grand Central Station and encountered
soldiers patrolling in camouflage with automatic weapons.
Like white South Africans in 1984, we are perpetually warned
that others want to destroy the things we hold dear. Why? Few
people consider their motivations. They are terrorists, meglomaniacs,
religious fundamentalists. In short, they are mad. So there is
no room for reason, debate, or negotiation, only force. We profess
surprise when occupied communities resist, when they cannot see
as clearly as we can that they have been saved from a worse fate.
We do not condone detention without trial or torture, of course,
any more than white South Africans did. But neither are we too
concerned about alleged abuses, because we are prepared to accept
that they might be the only way to prevent further acts of terrorism.
We justify our actions by clinging to patently false beliefs,
even if all of the evidence says otherwise (e.g., “No one
was living there when white settlers arrived,” or “Saddam
had weapons of mass destruction and backed Al Qaeda”). When
other nations—even longstanding friends and allies—urge
us to reconsider or criticise our strategy, we dismiss them as
naïve, idealistic meddlers, or we demonise them.
I was also alarmed by what seems to be a growing similarity in
the patterns of labour migration and exploitation in contemporary
America and apartheid South Africa. My attention was drawn to
this by a newspaper article that highlighted the importance to
Latin American and Caribbean economies of wages sent home by nationals
working in the United States. In some ways, this is nothing new.
Those in poorer nations have long seen the United States as a
land of economic and educational opportunity. However, whereas
rapid economic expansion once enabled the United States to adopt
a fairly liberal immigration policy, slower growth and increased
suspicion of foreigners have now conspired to produce much tighter
influx controls. In the past, whole families might have moved
to America, either together or over time; now there are few visas
for the economically superfluous. They are potential security
risks who might consume public resources. So they must remain
behind to subsist on remittances from more productive family members.
This is essentially what the apartheid regime attempted to accomplish
through its system of ethnically defined “homelands.”
The homelands were literally dumping grounds for the economically
marginal. They were intended to give the dominant urban economy
ready access to labour when needed, whilst minimising its exposure
to social unrest and the costs of caring for the young, the elderly,
the disabled, and those whose skills were not needed. Indeed,
the new pattern of labour migration evident in the United States
today is just one aspect of an emerging global apartheid which
concentrates wealth and privilege in the hands of a few and relegates
the many to an increasingly impoverished periphery.
Another incident that got me thinking about similarities between
the United States and South Africa occurred when I was passing
through Greenville, South Carolina. I decided to stop and have
lunch on a lively downtown street. As I sat at a sidewalk café,
watching the throngs of Saturday morning shoppers stroll past,
I was struck by the fact that virtually everyone I saw was white.
In fact, in an hour, I saw exactly five black folks go by, despite
the fact that I had driven through what was clearly a predominantly
African-American neighbourhood just a few blocks away.
Now, it may be unwise to read too much into such an anecdote.
But it was a reminder to me that many parts of the United States—north,
south, east, and west—are still profoundly segregated, and
that class and race remain closely aligned in both the United
States and South Africa.
Finally, while I was in the United States, Missouri became the
first state to adopt a constitutional amendment that defines marriage
as a relationship between a man and a woman. Odds are that a number
of other states will follow suit. So, like apartheid-era South
Africa, discrimination will be constitutionally enshrined, at
least in some states, if not at a federal level.
Some may contest this interpretation. But there can be little
doubt that the primary purpose behind such amendments is to prevent
the state from recognising or affirming any relationship between
two people of the same sex on an equal basis with a similar relationship
between two people of opposite sexes. In my book, that is discrimination.
It might be argued that it is fair discrimination. Which is, of
course, just what the old South African government argued about
apartheid...with the help of eminent theologians.
This is not intended to be a rigorous critique of contemporary
America. It is simply a catalogue of some of the impressions from
my trip that have haunted me most since my return to South Africa.
I share them with you in a spirit of profound thanksgiving for
all that Presbyterians across the country are doing to work for
a more just, caring and inclusive society.
Grace and peace,
Doug Tilton
The 2004 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
61 |
