My Traitor's Heart

It’s strange how obsessed we South Africans are with race.

It’s strange how obsessed we South Africans are with race.

In those courts, she was indeed blind, and less just for it.

In those courts, she was indeed blind, and less just for it.

The sole result of the entire effort was to boost our sense of self-righteousness.

our imaginations, painting “I’m Black & I’m Proud” on a wall was an entirely logical act of subversion. In the real South Africa, it was pointless. That embankment lay in a lily-white neighborhood where few blacks would see it and few who did could read it.

Our heads turned to the north like flowers to the sun, toward where the great white mother culture lay. Our imaginary lives were rooted there, not in this strange place, where Zionists danced on Thursdays and rain washed the red earth of Africa into the streets.

I used to spend hours lecturing Miriam about the evil of apartheid, as if this was something she didn’t know.

I used to spend hours lecturing Miriam about the evil of apartheid, as if this was something she didn’t know. I told her I was fighting for her with all my teenage might. She was never very impressed, but those discussions left me feeling very good about myself.

Maybe it was the love of a prince for his loyal subjects, and conditional upon their remaining loyal and subservient,