RAPE OF THE MOTHER

There is a saying in South Africa when you hit a woman you strike a rock.

Credo Mutwa, High Sanusi said it to me this way, when you strike a woman you strike your mother. "When the men entered the mines they were forever changed, it was like raping their own mother." It went against their traditional beliefs and culture.

Himself a miner in days gone by, Credo was speaking with much pain about the deep suffering of men who went into the mines to drill, and excavate the land for minerals. The land that had been taken from them, the land that was sacred to all indigenous peoples, the land that nourishes and nurtures. It was now the same white men who stole their land that oversaw the Africans as they penetrated deep into the mother, not to sew their seeds of new life, but to rip apart the very source of connection that had fed them, their home and their patriachial heritage, it felt, like we were raping our mothers.

Here in the USA during slavery, men had to watch as their women were sold and or raped, and could not do anything about it. Now the continuing removal of black men from their families, through the injustice system, where there is little or no rehabilitation or reconciliation work, does nothing but continues to foster a culture that continues to turn in on ourselves

I sit with a heaviness that asked me to look at the correlation of all this. That with this continuing violence and abuse of women and young girls, the remnants of the desmasculation of men during apartheid and slavery in the USA, is a continuing rape of the mother, in the most violating way and until the healing is done with and for the men, and for those who continue to pull the veil over the roots of this, how and when will the violation stop?

In South Africa rape is being called a silent war on women and children with many thousands of rapes going unreported and unpunished, but the fact is, during a parliamentary debate it was reported that there has been a 400% increase in the sexual violence against children over the past decade. A child is raped in South Africa every three minutes!

Apartheid and slavery have sewn seeds not only for the breakdown of the family, but the breakdown of a value system that is deeper than any monetary system in existence or ever will be. Value of self, value of another, value of women. It is a rupture of the deep self that has left a gaping hole, unable to be filled in my lifetime with promises of raising a new land of infinite possibilities.

A new South Africa has an epidemic and its not only HIV, it is a turning in on ourselves and each other. A dis-ease of the gravest kind and it is called rape of the woman, when you rape a woman you are raping your mother and grandmother. It is an epidemic that is spreading far and wide and it is a killer.

Apartheid I am told is over. It is not over until those who are the gatekeepers of this tragically beautiful land, realize that with the continuing violation of women, a New South Africa cannot strengthen its foundation, cannot nurture and nourish each other and cannot give birth to healing reconciliation. Whilst punishment is dealt out there needs also be a restorative justice offering that looks into the deeper roots of the this raging dis-ease that provides an opportunity for healing both victim and perpetrator, teachings that would would hold those accountable by honoring the sacredness of women. Not only does it require the men to teach their brothers but it is the women that must also teach the men, this is a family affair.

This turning in on ourselves and each other, is a fire borne out of years of a silenced internal war where in the new South Africa the main target are women and children. It is not new, it is a conditioning deep in any collective dominance, wether it be male,white or black-conquer no matter what. It was once sung our only sin is that we are black, in that men and women were united, now it is, our only sin is that we are women. Rape is not an option for oppression, nor is it a violent entitlement in response to South Africa's violent past, it is a gross violation of the sacred Divine Feminine.

The Pass Book and the Sharpville Massacre

I am choosing to write about this today because yesterday I received my Identity Document book for South Africa. The history and metamorphosis of this book is long and carries with it a stigma of the past oppression during the struggle of apartheid. 

Receiving this felt like a huge milestone for me after 55 years. I am now a citizen of South Africa, something I know my parents would be rejoicing and I have the infamous pass book revised many times to now be called an Identity Document. 

During the fifties the apartheid government was continually introducing new means to surpress the liberation struggle.  The longest battle and the most bitter of them the ANC fought was against the Pass Laws. 

Pass laws were designed to control the freedom of movement of Africans under apartheid. Imposed by the Dutch and British in the 18th and 19th century slave economy of the Cape colony. The 19th century saw a change in the regulation to ensure a reliable cheap supply of African Labor for the mines, predominantly gold and diamond. 

And in 1952 a reference book was mandated for all African males over the age of 16 . This contained employment history and personal information. 

Initially it was only men who had to carry a pass book by law. The pass book said you were allowed to work and where you could work. You could not get a job without this book. The police could stop you at anytime and ask to see this  book. If you did not carry it on you,  it resulted in arrest. Then in the early fifties the government made black women carry pass books as well.

The federation of South African Women was a non racial organization which mobolized women in protest against apartheid in general, and the introduction of passes for women in particular. It was formed in 1954 the year our family left South Africa, by women in the Congress alliance. One of its many aims was to combat sexism within the various Congress Alliance organizations.

In 1956 20,000 women marched in protest to the Union Buildings in Pretoria on August 9 to campaign against the imposition of pass laws on women. This day is now a national holiday in South Africa, Womens Day. The Federation of South African Women was never banned but as a result of its formation many of its members were forced into exile, or detained in the 1960s.      

The violation of this law was frequent, as Africans sought work to support their families and finally they protested these humiliating laws which fueled the apartheid struggle. The defiance Campaign (1952-54)the massive  women's protest in Pretoria (1956)to the burning of passes at the police station at Sharpville where 69 protesters were massacred  (March 21, 1960)when police opened fire on approximately 300 unarmed peaceful demonstrators, many were women who were protesting about the pass laws.

The 1970s and 1980s saw a radical stance around violation of pass laws. Many Africans were stripped of citizenship, and deported to rural homelands, already poverty stricken. 17 million arrests had been carried out by  the expensive and ineffective pass laws that were finally repealed in 1986!

The pass laws, the massacres were more gross violations of human rights during the Apartheid regime. It is a tribute to my parents to know that I can return and more importantly, want to return again and again to the homeland where I can now should I wish "lay my hat" for all those who were exiled and could not return, those who were or arrested, those who died, or like me did not want to return.  

Inkululeko (Freedom)  

Honoring Our Fathers

When ever I return home from South Africa or London, I hear more stories and see more photos of my father, as I did  not know much about his history.   A plethora of mixed emotions that makes me sad (because there was much I did not know and joyful because I discover more about him each time ) He died in Spain, when I was 24 years old on the way back to England and on the way to my wedding. He died of a heart attack, in Spain (where he had said he wanted to be buried)  but I believe it was a broken heart having to leave his homeland South Africa and all his family. Recently I found out about his activism as a young man, it filled me with joy as I had found a connection to him.

He grew up in a household of all women, and I believe often escaped to a shed at the bottom of the garden. He loved to read, always in a book even at the dinner table. Plagued with bronchitis and the bitter winters and fog in London, we would also often find him poured over a bowl of vick water a towel draped over his head.  I often used to climb into bed when he was sick and he would teach me my French for the day. All the words I remember today are remnants of my father’s teachings, I do not remember a thing I was taught in school. He was a teacher, loved by his students in South Africa, I was told recently. A great football player, captain of his team, and a lover of History and studying form! Before we had a phone in the house he could be found in the red telephone box on the corner of our street, with the blue book, placing bets. A liberal man who did not suffer fools . My mother would throw parties and my father would often dissapear with a book to bed. 

I do not remember one word of reprimand to me or maybe I just do not want to remember, as I adored him. 

I mention this as it is all part of his history that shaped who he was. Part of what I do is to help people to heal what I am calling the wounds of ancestral legacy. That which shaped our mothers and fathers, their fathers, grandfathers and ulimately us, how we show up today. I am well aware that not everyone has good memories of their father or may not even want to remember him, and so when Father’s Day comes along it may be hard for some. What has been helpful is to be curious about this man who gave us life, who is a part of us, and to also discover what it was like for him growing up which may have contributed to how he showed up as your father. With whom, can or could he, the father, share his wound when the messages often received were as kids  “big boys do not cry” and continuing into adulthood that the man of the house is expected to provide.  

Fathers who leave, and it seems stastically to be more than mothers, are often left in our memories as Superman or we stay mad at them or worse still we blame ourselves for their behaviuor and constantly look for validation from other men who come into our life. 

 My experience was confusing. Knowing I was loved and Daddy’s little girl (the only girl in the family) yet my Father did not know how to express his love. When I heard the stories of his family growing up I understood why and could forgive. You may not be able to forgive, and some may have amazing wonderful fathers. I can only imagine it is  a huge responsibility taking care of children, as it is a huge responsibility to provide for your family for years, maybe having to give up dreams. 

   The father wound cuts deep for daughters and sons as it does not neccesarily hold the notion of unconditional love as the mother is supposed to represent. We are constantly looking for validation, a role model and someone to be proud of, someone strong  and when he fails in one or all, it can be devastating and when he does not see our gifts it can wound us for life.   What ever your experience of your father, alive or passed I invite you to  “find the blessing alongside the wound” Michael  Meade.  Generally I feel men and Fathers get a bad rap in this society ( I hear the screams from some women as I write this)  but when I have sat in San Quentin mens prison and heard the men’s  stories or when I hear the stories of client’s fathers and grandfathers actions in divination, it remnds me that we ALL have a story and maybe no one  has bothered to take the time to listen to them. I am deeply regretful to not have a father to tell me stories of our families legacy, and that I never knew my grandfather in the male lineage, it holds a rich legacy. So make the most of it while they are still here.

They say when the father dies your life work begins and so it is