I bought this book without any idea of what it was about. I liked the title.
I thought I had "race" figured out, especially after some very meaningful discussions over the past couple of years. I had certainly crystallized my own position (though I couldn't articulate it terribly well until earlier this year when I had to and was not entirely successful, which motivated me to truly get it right). But, troubling as it is to be placed in a group of people about whom fundamental things are assumed because of the way they look -- and aha! isn't that the point?! -- I made a great effort to open myself honestly to Biko's points, and even to his accusations, and I found my approach morphing.
I have a few issues with some of Biko's statements, viewpoints, and omissions, which will be enumerated here, but I don't mind at all. One of the things I've taken in so far is that contradictions don't always have to be resolved. Whether Biko is right that being at peace with inherent contradictions is an "African" trait in contrast with the "Western" need to approach everything scientifically to find an answer or create a synthesis of conflicting elements is another story, and it's something I would like to consider further regardless of the nationality/skin color/"sort" of people to whom these traits are (glibly?) attributed.
As someone with white skin, I have the very comfortable option, as a member of society's privileged and as a member of the majority (at least visually) in most of the places I've lived, to be able to say that I don't "identify" as a white person. That that's not one of my defining characteristics. That it doesn't say anything about who I am. That it's not important. With time and difficult discussions (with self and others), though, I've come to realize that the way we look most definitely shapes who we are. It's unavoidable, because we're shaped by the way people treat us and respond to us, and a lot of that has to do with first impressions, which are in turn largely formed by visual appearances (or, in the case of people who cannot see, other instantaneous cues as to "race" and class). When you're part of a visually obvious minority, you don't have the luxury of ignoring or forgetting what you look like, because society doesn't let you forget it for a minute. While I've experienced this to a very small degree, I acknowledge that the fact that my skin is lighter rather than darker than most Mexicans' means that my experience as an obvious minority was nothing like that of people who are constantly being taken for shoplifters, muggers, and intruders. I can't imagine living with that year in and year out, and I know I'm fortunate not to have to waste energy and imagination and anger on handling anything like it, because I'd go mad with rage. I wouldn't want to join hands with anybody who looked like the oppressors either, and I might well become militant about it. In fact, my positive experiences and my luck at being treated well in every country I've lived in have very much contributed to my peaceful disposition and my unshakeable conviction that people are people and that people should work together for good. I've had the good fortune, in other words, to end up that way because of the way I look. Because I'm white. It makes me feel dirty sometimes to be white (and here I knowingly say "be white" rather than "have white skin") and to resemble in whatever happenstance way the people who have historically killed, systematically destroyed, and evilly disrespected others who happen to have more melanin active in their skin.
In any case, back to the book. It's very difficult reading, and it brings up fundamental issues. Must we live with existential guilt if we've not risked our lives to save the lives of others? Or can we convince ourselves that it's acceptable to be courageous in other ways, that we're better off alive? Steve Biko wrote what he liked, in his words, but he also got himself murdered doing it. How much more could he have done for South Africans and others if he'd lived another 40 or 50 or 60 years? On the other hand, somebody had to do the awful work Steve Biko did, and I thank him for leaving our world a little less brutal than it would have been without his bravery. It's incredibly unpleasant to admit, as I've done after 100 pages or so of this book, that he must have been right -- that the blacks in apartheid South Africa had to go it alone, that they were not in a position to accept any aid of any sort from even well-meaning whites. I can just see myself being turned away, lowering my head and crying with frustration while walking away rejected by SASO. And I prickle constantly as I read. I tend to prickle when I'm told that, essentially, I can't understand and can't stand in solidarity because I don't look right. How did things get so bad? I don't know enough about the country's history to know how the country's horrid state of affairs went so far as to necessitate such radical action as Biko called for in his many speeches and articles, but I'm left with little doubt that by the time Biko reached the age of political consciousness, there was no other choice. This stings terribly but surely can't compare with the beehive in which countless blacks lived (miserably) and died (brutally) throughout the period of apartheid.
I can only be glad (and that's not the right word, because racially based police brutality is unconscionable and horrific) that, though things for black people now (in 2014) in the U.S. (according to some statistics) are even worse than in apartheid S.A., I'm welcome to take part in rallies and vigils and protests. The U.S. is in a much better place than S.A. was at the time in that there's a sense in the U.S. that everybody (with a halfway decent attitude) is in it together and that a tragedy for any individual or city or sector of society is a national tragedy, a human tragedy, something that affects us all. I wish Steve Biko had lived to see people of all appearances standing together for justice; it's clear from the writings he left behind that he never experienced such a thing.
Lastly, on reading the transcript of Biko's answers to the judge and the defense attorney while on trial: Biko was incredibly articulate, never condescending, and entirely reasonable, though he must have been simmering with rage particularly at that time. To have had such a thinker among us should be a point of pride for the human race.
"The rule of the oppressor is prescribed by the endurance of the oppressed."