2010 is a big year for us South Africans - World Cup and all. It's also the 4th Amahoro Gathering, in Mombasa from May 3 - 10. I've been to two Amahoro Gatherings and have found them immensely significant, since Amahoro is on the other side of the coin to the emerging conversation (taking place in Western contexts) as it looks at the impact of the colonial narrative on the Gospel, and where that leaves us now.
Brian McLaren spoke about "Post-modern and post-colonial": two sides of the same coin, in Johannesburg just before the first Amahoro Gathering, in 2007. It's one of the 3 best talks I heard that year.
There are many things I like about Amahoro: the family reunion feel, the people, the diversity, the topics we address, and that we're taking theology developed in Africa by Africans seriously. Kenzo Mabiala is the resident theologian of Amahoro; he completed his doctorate under D.A. Carson before returning to the Congo to head up a theological college.
Carson asked him why he was interested in the emerging church conversation (primarily happening in the West), and Kenzo answered that the emerging church is asking the right questions.
For more information: The Amahoro website.
And now to encouraging comments on this post: why is it important to understand how the Gospel was shaped by the rise of the colonialism, and what are the implications for those who live in post-colonial contexts?
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Roger Saner's blog: Journey
Graeme Codrington: Regeneration
Comments
Post-colonialism
Can you help me with understanding: I think post-colonialist thinking is saying that 'white' people came and interfered in 'black' culture by their presentation of the gospel and that we now recognise that this was wrong. Where does that put me as a 'white' teacher today? Should I only teach white people? If I teach black people am I being colonialist? If I don't, what am I saying?
My experience is that I tend to back off and say 'who am I to speak into your culture' which gives two misleading messages, 'I don't care about you' and 'I am not willing to share my previously advantaged education with you (or my fairly obtained knowledge)'.
I'm stuck with the thought that we are perpetuating racism.
Maybe I am missing some critical point?
Hi Jenny No, you shouldn't
Hi Jenny
No, you shouldn't only teach white people ;) Starting to get to grips with post-colonialism and its implications means that we start to understand that it's not just the presentation of the Gospel that was wrong, but the Gospel itself was changed to become subservient to a power narrative. That means that "the West" saw itself as fundamentally superior to the rest of the world; that white people were the chosen, enlightened ones, and Africa was deep and dark and savage, and it was up to the educated to bring the light to the darkness.
This mentality still exists, so our role is firstly to recognise it, then critique it, and then to recognise it in ourselves (which is damn hard) - to recognise where, as white people, we are privileged in society because of our skin colour.
As a teacher, I'd hope that you are becoming increasingly aware of the depths of this inferiority/superiority narrative in the education system, in race, and in your students. The language you teach in communicates something to your students; whether you are willing to learn their language - or not - will communicate something else.
It will be worth to look more in-depth to what you - and many whites - call "fairly obtained knowledge." All of us who were educated in South Africa need to look closer at our own education, and see that it has mainly been the privileged (by and large) who have had access to higher education (take a look at the stats per population group in SA), particularly in Apartheid and post-Apartheid South Africa, where whites, even as a minority, still form the richest, most educated and most powerful people group in the country. It is against this background - invisible to most whites - that other people watch us.
This is only a start - I've got more to say - but I wonder what you think so far?
Hi Roger, thanks. First, I
Hi Roger, thanks. First, I think you misunderstood what I meant by 'fairly obtained knowledge'. What I intended was knowledge that I have in addition to 'previously advantaged education'. For example I worked in a township almost fulltime last year. I learnt a lot. (I think that deals with paragraph four, because I otherwise I agree with it).
Paragraph one, I understand and agree.
Paragraph 2, ok.
Paragraph 3. Again you are missing me a little, because I am not a 'teacher' by profession and usually my 'teaching' is offered to my peers. I am willing to learn their language (and am trying to), but in a sense that very act is condescending. As if I, in my very rubbish Xhosa, can communicate better than they can in their very much more polished English.
How's that so far? I'd like to hear more of what you have to say.
Ah, thanks for clearing that
Ah, thanks for clearing that up - I did misunderstand what you meant by "fairly obtained knowledge."
Ok, I didn't know that you're not a teacher - I'd assumed that because you'd spoken about teaching, saying "Where does that put me as a 'white' teacher today?"
I'm glad you're learning their language, because that small (and rather difficult) act is symbolically huge. How many white adults are learning an African langugage? Very few. How many black people learning English? Most of them.
Which can be interpreted like this: English is a superior language, and all other languages are inferior. Which can be restated as: white people are superior to other people.
Now don't get me wrong - I'm all for people learning English. It's the language of the business world, and the language that's most shared in South Africa. Why I'm for learning other languages is not so white people can communicate better (in almost all cases, we won't be able to) - because it's not about communicating better. It's about respect. Greeting a person in his or her own language, especially in South Africa, says, "I respect you, your language and your culture." And that's a gift, particularly in post-Apartheid South Africa.
It's funny how black people are adept at adapting to what is called "white spaces" - spaces which default to being "white" (in language and culture) - but white people don't even realise that adaptation is happening, because the white space is invisible to them (it's the status quo/ it just "is"), and don't step out of those spaces into different spaces. And so non-white spaces are "othered" and are made out to be scary/uncivilised/unwelcoming: how many times have you had horrified white people who, concerned for your safety, try to dissuade you from going to a township? Or having them say that there's no ways they'd go, because it's dangerous?
The act of learning Xhosa is not condescending. It's a symbolic gift: a white South African going through the difficultly of learning another language, showing that learning about another culture is not beneath them, and willing to live in the discomfort of being the learning, rather than the one with the knowledge. It requires humility.
A little while back I was giving some Xhosa-speaking friends a lift home to Gugulethu. My wife Danya and I speak very little Xhosa - just enough to greet and ask names. She asked someone where she stays (so that we better knew where to go) and got a quite general reply. To ask, "Where exactly do you stay?" was the next logical question, and so I simply said, "Ndawoni?" The back seat of the car just exploded with incredulity, amazement and screaming for about two minutes - it was unbelievable! Up till that point only Danya had exchanged any Xhosa with them, which reinforced this belief (fact?) that the only white people who are learning black South African languages are foreigners (Danya is Canadian). So they didn't expect the white South African male in the front seat to know the first thing about Xhosa - because most don't. When I broke that expectation with a single word, well, that made 6 months of unrewarding Xhosa classes worth it.
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