To my most incredible team,

Tonight our SAWIP journey together ends and I thought it would be fitting if my final blog post were an open letter to you.

What now feels like a lifetime ago, I started this SAWIP journey unsure what I would actually learn from it, but knowing that I strongly identified with the goals of the program. 6 months later, I have learnt and done so much that it is actually difficult to describe or quantify how SAWIP has changed parts of my life. But one of the most profound impacts of my SAWIP journey was, undoubtedly, the 14 of you.

The word ‘diverse’ is tossed around a lot in South African nationalist rhetoric – so much so that it has begun to lose its meaning. However, for me our team invigorated the word ‘diverse’. I don’t mean it in a racial way, although obviously we are a racially diverse group. And I am not referring to socio-economic backgrounds, fields of study or culture. We are a diverse group because our thinking is diverse.

Never before have I been with a single group of people in so many different scenarios, where it is revealed how differently people think. We all think in such different ways; we present our thoughts in totally different ways too. And that is one of the most valuable ‘lessons’ I have taken out of SAWIP.

The way you think inspires me; the fact that we have a common goal yet so many thoughts as to how to get there is both a challenge and a privilege.

If I were to isolate a lesson I’ve learnt from each of you, it would be the following:

Fiwiwa – You can’t classify Ubuntu. It’s not a commodity, it’s a feeling. And it’s the feeling you have when Phiwe is around.

ThamsanKa (In an American accent) – there are always at least two things

Zola – silence and contemplation are important

Kgotsi – humility

Saif – Passion, patience and commitment

Edy – Anything – and I mean absolutely anything – can prompt a disgusting story about something scientific, or a baboon.

Nondu – the importance of nurturing. And SAwag.

Shannon – hope is infectious

Makhosazana – the significance of a name

Kwadwo – Gay Pride in New York was a good life decision

Carel – meetings are run on time with the tapping of a watch

Daniel – White boys can dance

Jason – true gentlemen exist

Parveen – Dancing on the Brooklyn Bridge at midnight, to no music, under a full moon – that’s what life is about.

I feel honoured to have worked with each one of you, and to be your friend. Thinking back to our final night in DC, I leave you, my lovely team, with this:

“Tonight

We are young

So let’s set the world on fire

We can burn brighter than the sun”

So much love to each of you. Thank you for this incredible journey.

Alli

By now my lovely team knows that I adore art and photography. I spent almost all of my free time in DC and New York in art galleries and observing art in public spaces. When I was deciding what to blog about in the last week of the program, I looked through some of my photos taken of art and realised that many of the works symbolise much of our SAWIP journey. This blog contains some of those photos. The beauty of art is that it is all up for interpretation, so please interpret away. For me, many of these photos allow unique insight into my experience of SAWIP in an indirect way.

I first came across Zanele Muholi’s work when I was wandering through the San Francisco MoMA museum in August last year. The museum was exhibiting a diverse photography collection of five international photographers entitled Faces of our Time; part of this exhibition included Muholi’s Faces and Phases. As a South African very far away from home, I was so thrilled that a South African artist was being exhibited, I bounded gleefully to the third floor. I remembered vaguely hearing about Muholi once, but I did not know the magnitude of the photographs that I would see.

Zanele Muholi is a young South African artist and activist, born in Umlazi, KZN. She describes her work as “Mapping and Archiving A Visual History of Black Lesbians in post-Apartheid South Africa”. Her work explores queer black identity in post-apartheid South Africa; not only is her subject matter fascinating, her work is incredible.

I had the recent privilege of seeing Muholi’s work again recently at the Stevenson gallery in Cape Town. This exhibition, entitled Mo(u)rning was raw, emotional, confrontational and fascinating. It focused on hate crimes perpetrated against LGBT people in South Africa, of which there are many. It was as much a journalistic expose as it was an exhibition of art; it had value from both perspectives. Her photographs show a level of intimacy and beauty in the unconventional that is exceptionally rare. She also told an untold story – that of black lesbians in South Africa who are abused, ‘correctively raped’ and killed because their lesbianism challenges traditional patriarchy. And that of gender queer people who are treated similarly because they defy conventional understandings of gender. For me, Muholi’s work highlights the contradictions and challenges inherent in the intersection of race, class, gender, sexual orientation and the expression of sexuality.

Zanele Muholi is something of a rock star in the lesbian community and she is increasingly rocking the art world. Young people like Muholi, who tackle issues and confront some of the most dire and seemingly insoluble problems in South Africa, are the ones who will drive this country to a different space. I am privileged to know many young South Africans who have this attitude – particularly on the SAWIP team. This fills me with hope.

I would strongly advise all of you to see Zanele Muholi’s work if the opportunity arises. More on http://www.zanelemuholi.com.

Recent weeks have been very disturbing ones for anyone concerned with the rights of women.

In the U.S., Missouri Representative Todd Akin attempted to justify his vehement anti-abortion stance, stating that in cases of “legitimate rape,” a woman is highly unlikely to fall pregnant because “the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

Closer to my home, South Africa this week experienced what has come to be known as theLonmin Massacre. The event, which plunged South Africa into a week of national mourning, involved the deaths of 34 striking miners at the hands of police. In a statement echoing the idiocy of Akin’s, Errol Naidoo of the Family Policy Institute, a fundamentalist conservative Christian research organisation, stated: “Abortion-on-demand, driven by radical feminist activists and the homosexual agenda, lie at the heart of the culture of death.” The South African “culture of death,” he believes, was the cause of the Lonmin massacre.

Both of these statements are alarming to those who appreciate women’s rights. As a South African student, active global citizen, and adamant supporter of women’s rights, I think it’s necessary for all of us to take a closer look at the issue of the rights of women.

As young Africans, we are often taught to look to the U.S. as the ideal model of liberal democracy and human rights. Featuring in school textbooks, university syllabi, and most significantly ingrained in the minds of many Africans, is the idea that the U.S. has the “right” formula for the running of a successful society based on liberal premises of human rights. This is part of the reason that so many people across Africa flock to American cities seeking a better life. With the U.S. being a key signatory on most of the foremost treaties on human rights—and still often remembered for the strength of civil society protest in the 1960s—the country is seen as more than an enforcer of human rights; it is a beacon of equal opportunity to which many look for hope.

I have spent a fairly large amount of time in the U.S. most recently with the South African-Washington International Program (SAWIP). It is clear to me that the U.S. is deserving of many of the above-mentioned accolades. However, in the field of women’s rights—as many Americans themselves are contending—the U.S. is not deserving of much praise.

Africa is often typecast by the rest of the world as a place where women’s rights barely exist. “African culture” (as if there is one such homogeneous entity) is blamed for the constant subjugation of women. Practices such as polygamy and dowry payments are used to justify arguments as to how African women are commodified by this “African culture.” These points of view are often then used to further justify why Africa is the continent of darkness and while usually subtle, the point made in many articles and debates is that “Western culture” remains superior to “African culture.”

I have absolutely no intention of dismissing the very pressing concerns relating to the rights of women in Africa. Problems of unequal inheritance and land-ownership, coupled with the physical threat of rape – often as a tool of warfare – are undeniably huge problems that African women face. Errol Naidoo managed to twist the Lonmin massacre into an event that is the fault of women who exercised their own rights over their own bodies. However, this is not a uniquely African issue. While the subjugation of women manifests in different forms in various cultures – and arguably some of the worst of these are in African cultures – the rest of the world is in no way innocent in the persecution of women, least of all the U.S.

Todd Akin’s remark was just the most recent event in the hostile climate against women being fostered in the U.S. – seemingly largely by the Republican party and conservatives in particular. Many in the country have labelled this the War on Women. Conservative politicians attempt repeatedly to increase barriers to affordable health care for women, including decreasing access to the contraceptive pill. Equal Pay for women is a contested sentiment. Issues surrounding abortion appear to have reached unprecedented heights, with states undercutting Roe v. Wade and legislating the exact manner and circumstances under which abortions can occur. Essentially, American conservatives wish to own the bodies of women and legislate their internal biology. It seems to me that this is not a far cry from many practices in various parts of Africa that Americans are quick to denounce as ‘primitive’ and unacceptable.

Political representation is a sphere in which the U.S. fares embarrassingly badly. 17.2 percent of the representatives and senators on Capitol Hill are women. This places the U.S. at 79th according to world rankings on the representation of women in the legislature. By contrast, Rwanda is placed first with the majority of their Parliament consisting of women; South Africa is seventh. In fact, 22 African countries place ahead of the U.S. by this measure.

As part of SAWIP, I recently had the privilege of interning in the U.S. House of Representatives and experiencing this gender division first-hand. I had the somewhat unique and remarkable experience of not only interning for a Congresswoman, but interning in an office in which all of the D.C. staffers are women. For me, this made the contrast between this office and the very male-dominated buildings of the Capitol somewhat alarming. Congresswoman Donna Christensen is a formidable force on the Hill, highly respected by her colleagues and staff; her staffers are nothing short of exceptional. While interning in the office, I encountered some of the “power women” in Congress; Nancy Pelosi, Rosa DeLauro, Eddie Bernice Johnson and Donna Edwards filled me with confidence in the U.S. political system—many of the women in Congress make up for their minimal representation by being all the more phenomenal. It is my personal, and notably very biased opinion, that if there were more women in Congress, it would be infinitely more efficient and useful in the future.

Further, on the note of exceptional women, the SAWIP team was honoured to hear Hillary Clinton speak on her recent Africa trip. She spoke eloquently and accurately on issues of African and South African development and the respective positions of South Africa and the U.S. in the globe. She was balanced in her view of both Africa and South Africa—both complementary and critical. During her speech, I was struck by how many more Hillary Clintons the world needs. She is an incredible woman and a role model to people across the world; she also presents a balanced view on African issues.

In the wake of particularly problematic statements for women’s rights this past week, Africans should not look uncritically to the U.S. for anything, least of all in the sphere of women’s rights. Nor should Africa accept hypocritical and unnecessary criticism from the U.S. or elsewhere about the treatment of women in “African culture.” The entire world has much work to do when it comes to the rights of women. In a much-applauded remark, Hillary Clinton stated: “Now I’ve often heard it said that African problems need African solutions. Well, I’m here to say that some of our global problems need African solutions too.”

I couldn’t agree with her more. However, in order for Africa to produce solutions to both African problems and global problems, as Africans we need to be more self-critical and importantly, more critical of others. We cannot look blindly to any one country for a prototype, least of all in the vital field of women’s rights.

A few weeks ago I attended the wedding of a friend of friend in Umhlanga, KZN. It was a lovely celebration that allowed me to suspend my marriage cynicism for a while to celebrate the happiness of the couple and their families. It was all very cute and heartwarming. Please don't be alarmed - I have not turned into some crazy wedding blogger who is going to detail the shades of the flowers in the bouquet on the SAWIP website.

SAWIP blog - the universe has a sense of humour

What my somewhat bizarre seating at this wedding made me realise that while many religious institutions are fundamentally patriarchal, the people within them do not necessarily espouse those values. Further, what is most important to me is that I enter every room – even a wedding reception – with a SAWIP mindset where I am open to everyone’s ideas. That way, spaces can be created where unlikely allies come together under a common goal. And I may have many more lovely evenings with unlikely people, as a result of a universal sense of humour.

I know the title of this blog sounds utterly juvenile. It is. That is the point.

On Saturday the SAWIP team was divided into two groups in order to conduct community service with a program called BESTkids. The half I was with went to a park in Anacostia where we ran the 'Junior Olympics' for a group of 6 to 10 year olds.

The organization "seeks to promote better futures for youth in the District of Columbia’s child welfare system by developing and supporting one-on-one mentoring relationships between the youth and caring, consistent adults.  BEST Kids Mentoring Program is guided by the belief that all children are talented.  Through our one-on-one volunteer mentoring, our extensive training, staff support and our experiential-learning-based peer group, we encourage our youth to discover and develop their unique skills and abilities.  Beginning with children as young as six and continuing, as needed, until adulthood, BEST Kids Mentoring Program works to enable youth to develop a positive sense of self, to acquire teamwork and group social skills, and to become productive members of society." - bestkids.org

The purpose of the event was to have fun with the kids, teach them the merits of sportsmanship and allow them to have positive interactions with their mentors and the volunteers.

I can conclusively say that I had more fun than all the kids combined.

On Saturday, I spent time outdoors, I ran a relay race, I did a 'wheelbarrow' race with Saif, I partook in a water balloon contest, I chatted to friends and strangers, I played on a jungle-gym, slid down slides and swung on swings. And then, like a child with no regard for consequences, I jumped in the swimming pool fully clothed.

Saturday was the most childish, juvenile fun I've had in years, and it made me exceptionally happy. It illustrated to me that while the SAWIP experience - like life - is enormously intense, sometimes one needs to take a break and behave with the maturity of a 6 year old (without the hair-pulling and name-calling - there is enough of that in board rooms already). I didn't realize how badly I needed time to be childish and have fun outdoors; in fact, I was not entirely pleased at the prospect of spending a saturday in the sun, not doing anything 'constructive'. It reminded me that no matter how important or intense our lives are, we need to pause, reflect and give our mind, body and soul what they need. And if you're not sure what that is, it's time for some fun in the sun in a park, behaving like a 6 year old.

The SAWIP team has had the enormous privilege of being in both DC and New York in the past few weeks. These two cities are amazingly unique and uniquely amazing. I think my photos can speak more to the images of the cities than anything I can write.

Due to unfortunate technical difficulties on this website, I have had to publish the photos in a google album. This is the link: https://picasaweb.google.com/108017246263147023596/SAWIPBlogATaleOfTwoCities

As the SAWIP team has now deduced, equality - in all senses of the word - is enormously important to me. People deserve equal rights by virtue of their humanity. No place has reaffirmed this belief more than the Holocaust Museum we visited today.

Staceyanne Chin is a Jamaican New Yorker lesbian poet radical feminist. (This lack of punctuation will give you a taste of how she speaks.) She is a remarkable woman. I would strongly recommend watching this clip on equality.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo1mzxchrqM

Phenomenal woman - Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

This poem by Maya Angelou, in many ways provides the antithesis of Kipling’s poem. A mantra to many women, the poem is empowering. Maya Angelou stands out as a ‘phenomenal woman’ in the feminist movement. This poem has inspired me. Like Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou stands out as a beacon of brilliance in the feminist movement. Below is an Audre Lorde poem that I find quite fascinating. These two women make my heart sing with their words. If I were to ever list my heroes, Audre Lorde would be right up there. Incidentally, Congressman John Lewis who we met this week, would not be far from it. Amazing people. Great minds. Secure in themselves, their race and their genders. Most impressively, all three are unrelenting advocates of their cause.

A Woman Speaks

BY AUDRE LORDE

Moon marked and touched by sun

my magic is unwritten

but when the sea turns back

it will leave my shape behind.

I seek no favor

untouched by blood

unrelenting as the curse of love

permanent as my errors

or my pride

I do not mix

love with pity

nor hate with scorn

and if you would know me

look into the entrails of Uranus

where the restless oceans pound.

I do not dwell

within my birth nor my divinities

who am ageless and half-grown

and still seeking

my sisters

witches in Dahomey

wear me inside their coiled cloths

as our mother did

mourning.

I have been woman

for a long time

beware my smile

I am treacherous with old magic

and the noon's new fury

with all your wide futures

promised

I am

woman

and not white.

In a continuation of my theme of gender, I present you with Rudyard Kipling's If.

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;

If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

This poem has become a seminal poem of the 19th century. The speaker is presumably a father giving his son advice on what it means to be a man.  The poem is beautifully written and contains some enormously sound advice. It is also one of the most quoted poems of all time. It resonates with people now as it did in 1859.

What this poem does is make a series of qualities that could be gender neutral expressly masculine. It does not read 'you'll be an adult, my child' but rather 'you'll be a man, my son'. In so doing, it advances that the qualities of sensibility, confidence, humility, honesty, positivity, genuineness, ambition, thoughtfulness, level-headedness, perseverance, pride, success, inspiration, strength, kindness, stature and respect as masculine traits.

While I appreciate the fact that the poem is at least endorsing balanced men and not burly fighting machines, I resent that these qualities cannot be seen across the gender line.

In recent years I have become increasingly aware of gender issues and resultantly, I have decided to write a few blogs about gender. This is the first.

I was raised by a very strong woman who continuously stressed the importance of independence. Women were never inferior to men in any way in our family - implicitly or explicitly. In fact, I was brought up to be a vociferous feminist without even realizing it. I once, as an obnoxious tween, told my mom that feminism was an outdated theory and was totally unnecessary. I was not, in my own head, a feminist. I think this is the closest my mom has ever come to slapping me. She tried desperately to explain the ideas of the feminist movement to me for about 10 minutes and then she gave up out of sheer exasperation, saying that she hoped one day, I would finally understand it.

I'm pleased to say that I do, I think, finally understand the feminist ideology. And like my mom, it causes me convulsions of physical agony when women, particularly young girls, declare that they are not feminists. I thought feminism was dead because its ideology was so deeply engrained in my way of thinking that I didn't realize it as an individual strand of thought. It was in no way separate from my very being.

I recently read a post on a social networking site. It is somewhat crude but it does communicate its message succinctly. It read: "women, stick your hand into your pants. Do you want control of what's down there? If 'yes', then you're a feminist."

This is obviously a gross simplification of feminism but it does indicate the most basic premise - a woman's body, including her vagina and the sexuality of her body, belongs to her. For most people reading this, I assume this is not a revolutionary statement. However, for many - be it consciously or subconsciously - the idea of a woman having absolute and total control over her own body and choices is somewhat abhorrent. And no, just for the record, I am not talking about the gender dynamics in Muslim countries, which so often get labeled as the grand oppressor of women. I am talking about the world of comparatively 'liberal' values where women are supposedly free and equal to men.

I don't plan to discuss at present the enormously complex gender issues that are so intricately tied with cultural differences in South Africa. Rather, what concerns me right now is the status of women's rights in the US.

A country which so many consider a role model in terms of rights issues, particularly relating to women's issues, is taking giant leaps backward. This concerns me greatly - not only for the American women who I know and know of, battling for their right to determine their own futures - particularly for women and countries across the Africa and the developing world who look to the US for guidance on the concept of equality.

As a student of American history, I have noticed in US political and social history the shrewdness of Americans - particularly American political parties - in getting around constitutional mandates or undesired outcomes. When it is unconstitutional to disallow something, it is usually not the direct challenge to it that undercuts said activity. Rather, it is made a practical impossibility through indirect legislation and defunding. Often it is then blamed on the victim group. There is no better example of this than the current attempt to overthrow indirectly Roe v Wade.

For those who don't know, Roe v Wade was a landmark case in the US Supreme Court that legalized abortion on a federal level. This was in 1973. In 2012, individuals, groups and states who do not wish for women to have the right to terminate a pregnancy in their own body are lobbying against Roe v Wade. Because it was a Supreme Court decision, no state can decide to declare abortion illegal. However, they are becoming increasingly wily at limiting it. In certain states, it is becoming a practical near-impossibility to receive an abortion because clinics are being removed. In others, they are legislating abortion requirements and procedure to such an extent that doctors and clinics are practically battling to offer abortions. Across the country, Planned Parenthood - the largest provider of health care services to women - is being defunded.

Texas has severely limited women’s abortion options – particularly for low-income women. Arizona, Mississippi and numerous other states have proposed problematic legislations that severely limit the rights of women. Access to birth control is being limited and costs are increasing. There are endless health disparities between men and women, as well as job and pay discrepancies.

When the most basic feminist ideal of women having a right to their own bodies is under fundamental threat, the hazards to other feminist ideals are grand. The decision of the state of Texas to legislate the vagina; vaginas that belong to women, not the state, is somewhat terrifying to me. The US is causing my inner feminist some serious turmoil.

Despite being a member of the LGBT community, I have felt for a long while that LGBT Pride is a farcical event. Reading media reports on the various Pride events around the world for a number of years, I – and many people I know – have felt that Pride in fact does a discredit to the LGBT community.

For a number of years I believed that Pride was a somewhat meaningless party during which LGBT individuals dressed up in bizarre outfits and conclusively labeled themselves as ‘freaks’, further creating distance and marginalization from mainstream society.

Obviously this perception was informed by the media, which often seems to select photos that isolate individuals in particularly creative attire in order to illustrate them as ‘freaks’. It was also probably influenced by a fair amount of self-directed internalized homophobia and jealously that so many people across the world were sufficiently strong and proud of an integral part of themselves that defines them as ‘other’. But that's a whole different issue. This was also the view of many gay South Africans in whose company I found myself, pointing to the fact that this jaded view of Pride may be a result of the underfunded and relatively insignificant event that is Pride in South Africa.

I was certainly a proponent of the idea that Pride – if it could be proven that it was a protest and not just a party of freaks – was only relevant in countries where the rights of LGBT individuals were not recognized. For me, in South Africa where the rights of LGBTI individuals are enshrined in the constitution and same-sex marriage is legal, it seemed to me that this event was somewhat redundant and just an excuse for a party.
When I was living in Berkeley last year, a close friend of mine – who is a quintessential San Franciscan, in that she makes most progressive/liberal individuals seem like tea-party members – told me that I should reconsider my view of Pride. Her view surprised me because it was fairly 'conventional' by the standards of crazy liberals. Her argument was that LGBT individuals should have a space to openly and publicly celebrate themselves  and their 'otherness' in a forum in which they are the majority, even if it’s once a year. She sees it as a protest against government – particularly in the US, demanding marriage equality etc. – but also a protest against convention and the perception that it’s ‘okay’ for people to be gay providing ‘they don’t shove it down our throats’. Sound familiar?

This very wise friend of mine emphatically told me that one should not underestimate the importance for marginalized peoples (who, whichever way we look at it, LGBT individuals are to a large extent) to feel free to express themselves – even be it in an over-the-top way – and feel like part of accepted group. Although I fully respected her opinion, I listened with a level of skepticism (on a side-note, the SAWIP team have come to realize that this cynicism is one of my less desirable character traits). I understood her and to an extent agreed that it was important for those who are ‘othered’ to feel less marginalized.

I maintained, however, that a large street party/parade at which people dressed up in bizarre variations of the rainbow flag, and others in strange variations of drag, was not necessarily this forum. I did promise that one day I would attend a Pride parade to see it for myself because, like so many opinions we form, this was based on theoretical understanding and not experience. There is a lot to be said for experience.

Two weeks ago, I finally experienced a real Pride celebration - in New York with over a million other people. And as much as I hate to admit it, I was so horribly wrong about Pride. I will repeat: horribly wrong. Genuinely, it was one of the most incredible celebrations of my life.

Firstly, Pride is much more than just a single street party. New York Pride, for instance, is a week long and involves numerous celebrations, dialogues and community activist events that culminate in the sunday Pride parade. Pride  month in the US is celebrated in recognition of the Stonewall riots of 1969 which informed much of the LGBT rights movement in the US and across the world. The event is a protest; it's a celebration; it's an occasion on which people, corporations and groups - religious and otherwise - express their support for LGBT individuals; it is an event of community, where political and entertainment figures become role models in the LGBT rights movement. Essentially, it's a day of happiness, where people are gay, if you'll pardon the pun.

Towards the end of the 5 hour parade, Lady Gaga’s Born This Way blasted through the streets of one of the most amazing cities in the world and people in various forms of dress and undress, danced and sung and kissed and hugged and screamed and waved protest signs and rainbow flags. At that moment, I realized just how enormously happy my heart was. This was because, for once, I felt like being ‘out’ and ‘open’ about my sexuality for once didn’t place me in the minority. And I was ecstatic because the people around me, the same people society marginalizes on a daily basis, were enormously and spectacularly happy.
And I must mention that for the occasion, I donned a bit of crazy. My SAWIP teammates were most concerned about what I was going to wear. And I'm happy to report that my outfit was complete with rainbow feather wings and a rainbow feather boa.

I have had to review my opinion of Pride radically. I can see its relevance across the world, both in countries  that recognize LGBT rights and those that don't. In South Africa I in fact think it is even more vital and relevant than in others. Although we have constitutional recognition of LGBT rights, we lack the support of many individuals and communities. For so many people who continue to be marginalized in South Africa because of their sexual orientation, a day of being in a group majority and feeling empowered is a necessity.

Thank you to my wonderful SAWIP friends for not once making me feel like I was that ‘freak’ for wanting to go to Pride; to the deities of the SAWIP curriculum for ensuring that Sunday, June 24th was a free day; and to the circumstances I have been fortunate its enough to find myself in, that I have the ability to openly express and celebrate my sexual orientation, sexuality and entirety of my identity – even the parts that societally define me as an ‘other’.

Yesterday evening I had the enormous honour of delivering a speech at the Youth Day celebration hosted by the South African ambassador to the US, Ebrahim Rasool, at his beautiful residence in DC. The party was wonderful, the food and wine were South African and the people were utterly fascinating. The theme of the speeches was youth uniting for economic freedom.

Good evening to the South African ambassador, Mr Ebrahim Rasool and Mrs Rasool, SAWIP team and guests. Thank you for the honour of addressing you this evening.

I am the daughter of a Jewish mother. Most of you will know that few beings are more overprotective, interfering and coddling than the Jewish mother. While carnivores are categorised as meat-eaters or herbivores as plant-eaters, Jewish mothers are categorised as clingers and naggers – the defining feature of this species being their inability to let their child out of their tight ring of overbearing control. So you will understand my complete shock when one day, my Jewish mother turned to me and yelled “just leave! Move out, get a job, pay your own bills, run your own life; just do it while you still know everything”. I was entirely taken aback. For a Jewish mother to reach a point at which she was prepared to defy her biological urge to cling to her offspring and to dismiss her daughter on the basis that she “knows everything” means that she must have entered a place of unparalleled despair at the teenage indolence of the youth she had produced.

My mother’s Jewish-mother-genetic-code ignited soon after the incident and she quickly decided that while I was still an adolescent brat, I was her teenager and therefore she was not letting me go. However, her outburst signalled to me what is a far greater problem in the politics and discourse of youth development. There is a common perception that the youth think they know everything but in reality know nothing because of relative life inexperience. This is a problematic observation.

There are a number of ways that the youth are understood, generally. One of the most common perceptions, in my experience, is that of youth being a nuisance – a group that sees everything as entitled to them. The youth are often believed to be dangerous, lazy or simply arrogant ‘know-it-alls’. To some, youth is a phase – an intolerable phase. The ideas of people in this phase of life are discounted, because of their lack of experience, or lack of knowledge, or lack of discipline.

On a large scale, this translates to the dismissal and disenfranchisement of the youth. The current situation of youth in South Africa involves approximately 4 million young people not in any form of employment, education or training. What does this mean for South Africa’s future? Is it the rebellious radicalisation of youth or the total withdrawal and apathy of youth?

On the opposite side of the spectrum, youth can be seen as positive agents of change and as the site of novel ideas and enigmatic solutions. June 16^th 1976 is seen as the youth positively assuming responsibility for their lives. These young people were empowered with the realisation of their own agency. The event we are celebrating tonight is illustrative of the fact that the youth are powerful; our ideas matter.

The landscape of the South African resistance movement against apartheid was fundamentally altered by the watershed that was witnessed on June 16^th. The youth of Soweto injected new hope into resistance that ended the period of the ‘Silent Sixties’. Youth leaders and student movements rose to the forefront of the United Democratic Front and anti-apartheid resistance movements in the 1980s. Young people – whose ideas were inspired by Black Consciousness and anger motivated by the catalyst of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction – successfully initiated change in South Africa. This is not dissimilar to the United States in the 1960s or the recent Arab Spring.

The parents of these individuals probably decided that these young people thought they “knew everything” too; others saw them as naïve and unrealistic. However, it is clear that the youth “knowing everything” allows the youth to be a powerful force filled with inspiration and energy for change. The current South African landscape is such that the youth need not be dismissed. We need to empower the youth, by stimulating their ideas, inspiring them to think, to solve and to act. We then, quite vitally, need to listen and be prepared to change.

People frequently tell me that today’s youth are different to those of 1976 because they are entitled or too self-important to accept instruction. I may sound like an arrogant adolescent who thinks she knows everything in saying this, but I suspect that adults have been dismissing the generations below them for centuries.

I am involved in a community development project run from the University of Cape Town that uses debating as a means to teach critical thinking, argumentation and confidence as skills to high school learners in townships of Cape Town. The organisation began as an initiative of the youth and aims to develop skills and knowledge for the youth. The high school learners I have encounter in these classrooms have defied every negative view I have been confronted with about the current youth of South Africa.

To me, the success of the project illustrates that if young people are provided with the resources and a space to be empowered with knowledge, they will take it and benefit from it. When youth are given the encouragement and skills to create change, they are capable of doing it.

Hindrances to economic freedom in South Africa are deeply entrenched in our history of segregation, inadequate education and inequality. This is not something that is easy to change. The only conceivable way I can see of these happening is the youth innovating ways to pave their own way to economic freedom. This requires education and empowerment. This requires a collaborative effort between government, business and active citizens. Programs like SAWIP do an invaluable job in achieving this.

I am not here tonight to inspire a youth revolution. Tonight I would like you all to contemplate the magnitude of what economic freedom means in South Africa. We need to stimulate the youth, inspire them to think, solve and act; then we need to listen and be prepared to change. If the youth unite constructively and with the adequate skills and forums in which to achieve economic freedom, it is possible. Considering that every young person knows everything, this knowledge should be harnessed and not dismissed. I would like to leave you with a quote from Maya Angelou:

“When you know better, you do better”.

Once again, the deities of technology look on me with contempt; clearly my sacrifices have been insufficient. Apparently people are having troubles reading my blog post. However, others can access it easily. My technological prowess is severely lacking, so please forgive me. I am posting the same blog post again in the hope that ALL of the lovely SAWIP browsers can access it. It's bad enough that all South Africans don't have equal access to technology - I will not let my blog post summarily dictate who can access it. So this has been posted before; hopefully it will not be posted again!

As the SAWIP team will probably come to know, I am a great lover of film. For me, the most wonderful escape and artistic indulgence is going to the cinema. A good film (and sometimes even a bad one) provides a parallel setting into which you are transported. It can provide an exercise in analysis and understanding, often allowing you to ‘experience’ a place, an individual, people, social norms, and realities that would ordinarily be inaccessible. Film is art; it is reality while being a fictional representation. Some of you probably think I’m a crazy art-lover; others know exactly what I’m talking about. The purpose of this post, however, is not to explain my borderline-obsessive love of film; rather, I wanted to share with the SAWIP audience a film I think will be of interest to all of you.

A few nights ago, I went to see Otelo Burning. This is a South African film released recently, set in Lamontville – a township in Durban – in 1989. Directed by Sarah Blecher, it follows the story of a teenage boy, named Otelo, and is narrated by his friend of a similar age and background. Otelo is taught to surf by one of his contemporaries, giving him a sense of freedom that he has clearly never before experienced.

Anyone familiar with South African history will know that the late ‘80s and early ‘90s were a tumultuous political time, particularly in the Natal province, in which violence between Inkatha and ANC supporters was prevalent and lethal. Set in this time, the burden upon the film is to adequately portray the violence of the time, without it necessarily being the focal point of the film. Blecher does this masterfully, giving a sense of the history without the film being exclusively historical.

The film incorporates three main narratives. Told over a buzzing radio in the film, often in the background, is what has come to be understood as the political grand narrative of the time – private negotiations, the pending release of Mandela, de Klerk’s opening of Parliament speech in 1990. The second narrative is that of historical reality, which is often used to oppose the grandiose political narrative of a peaceful transition of power. The violence of the period is evident and, to the best of my knowledge, relatively accurately portrayed. The focal point of the film, however, is the third narrative – a portrayal of Otelo’s life. The narrative of his life intersects with the historical narrative in significant ways – his community is a site of so-called ‘black-on-black’ violence, as a radio-presenter notes in the film. However, the grand political narrative that is presented across our history books is challenged, in many ways, by Otelo’s story. The day on which Mandela is released, Otelo faces a particularly important decision that does not in any way relate to politics but fundamentally impacts his life. The film illustrates that while we may wish to believe in the grand narrative – and I am not arguing that many of these narratives are fundamentally untrue – the stories that ‘ordinary people’ have to tell so frequent run counter to this narrative. Their stories are no less important.

The film was work-shopped by the cast and incorporates many of their own stories. For the literature fans, the subtle basis of the subplot in Shakespeare’s Othello is an enthralling analytical task. The cinematography – an area in which so many South African films fall short – was utterly refreshing. The use of polaroid photographs was, for me, particularly interesting. Finally, a thought-provoking feature of the film was the fact that it was in isiZulu with English subtitles. So many of the stories that need to be told in our country are hindered by language barriers. Those with a more adept understanding of isiZulu may disagree, but I think the language barrier was transcended in this film.

I would strongly recommend you all watch this historically rich, wonderful South African film. All the details and the trailer are on the website: http://www.oteloburning.com/

I hope that you all now have a slightly better understanding of my love of film. I’m sure there will be more film reviews to follow. There are questions that have taken residence in my brain ever since I watched Otelo Burning that I’d like you to consider if you see the film (or even if you don’t – which would be silly, because it’s excellent). To me, Otelo Burning encapsulates a contradiction. It is a foreign language film in the sense that mainstream South African cinema is in English, and this film is not; it is also foreign in that this story is so foreign to so many South Africans. Yet, isiZulu is a language spoken as a mother-tongue by a plurality of South Africans – how and why is this then a foreign phenomenon to South African cinema? Otelo’s story – or at least the backdrop of his story – is so common to so many South Africans, and yet so foreign to others. How can these completely disparate life experiences be reconciled? Can they? Do they need to be?

As the SAWIP team will probably come to know, I am a great lover of film. For me, the most wonderful escape and artistic indulgence is going to the cinema. A good film (and sometimes even a bad one) provides a parallel setting into which you are transported. It can provide an exercise in analysis and understanding, often allowing you to ‘experience’ a place, an individual, people, social norms, and realities that would ordinarily be inaccessible. Film is art; it is reality while being a fictional representation. Some of you probably think I’m a crazy art-lover; others know exactly what I’m talking about. The purpose of this post, however, is not to explain my borderline-obsessive love of film; rather, I wanted to share with the SAWIP audience a film I think will be of interest to all of you.

A few nights ago, I went to see Otelo Burning. This is a South African film released recently, set in Lamontville – a township in Durban – in 1989. Directed by Sarah Blecher, it follows the story of a teenage boy, named Otelo, and is narrated by his friend of a similar age and background. Otelo is taught to surf by one of his contemporaries, giving him a sense of freedom that he has clearly never before experienced.

Anyone familiar with South African history will know that the late ‘80s and early ‘90s were a tumultuous political time, particularly in the Natal province, in which violence between Inkatha and ANC supporters was prevalent and lethal. Set in this time, the burden upon the film is to adequately portray the violence of the time, without it necessarily being the focal point of the film. Blecher does this masterfully, giving a sense of the history without the film being exclusively historical.

The film incorporates three main narratives. Told over a buzzing radio in the film, often in the background, is what has come to be understood as the political grand narrative of the time – private negotiations, the pending release of Mandela, de Klerk’s opening of Parliament speech in 1990. The second narrative is that of historical reality, which is often used to oppose the grandiose political narrative of a peaceful transition of power. The violence of the period is evident and, to the best of my knowledge, relatively accurately portrayed. The focal point of the film, however, is the third narrative – a portrayal of Otelo’s life. The narrative of his life intersects with the historical narrative in significant ways – his community is a site of so-called ‘black-on-black’ violence, as a radio-presenter notes in the film. However, the grand political narrative that is presented across our history books is challenged, in many ways, by Otelo’s story. The day on which Mandela is released, Otelo faces a particularly important decision that does not in any way relate to politics but fundamentally impacts his life. The film illustrates that while we may wish to believe in the grand narrative – and I am not arguing that many of these narratives are fundamentally untrue – the stories that ‘ordinary people’ have to tell so frequent run counter to this narrative. Their stories are no less important.

The film was work-shopped by the cast and incorporates many of their own stories. For the literature fans, the subtle basis of the subplot in Shakespeare’s Othello is an enthralling analytical task. The cinematography – an area in which so many South African films fall short – was utterly refreshing. The use of polaroid photographs was, for me, particularly interesting. Finally, a thought-provoking feature of the film was the fact that it was in isiZulu with English subtitles. So many of the stories that need to be told in our country are hindered by language barriers. Those with a more adept understanding of isiZulu may disagree, but I think the language barrier was transcended in this film.

I would strongly recommend you all watch this historically rich, wonderful South African film. All the details and the trailer are on the website: http://www.oteloburning.com/

I hope that you all now have a slightly better understanding of my love of film. I’m sure there will be more film reviews to follow. There are questions that have taken residence in my brain ever since I watched Otelo Burning that I’d like you to consider if you see the film (or even if you don’t – which would be silly, because it’s excellent). To me, Otelo Burning encapsulates a contradiction. It is a foreign language film in the sense that mainstream South African cinema is in English, and this film is not; it is also foreign in that this story is so foreign to so many South Africans. Yet, isiZulu is a language spoken as a mother-tongue by a plurality of South Africans – how and why is this then a foreign phenomenon to South African cinema? Otelo’s story – or at least the backdrop of his story – is so common to so many South Africans, and yet so foreign to others. How can these completely disparate life experiences be reconciled? Can they? Do they need to be?

This blog was posted a few days ago. Apparently some people had a problem accessing it, although it has worked perfectly for others. I thought I'd repost it in the hope that the deities of technology look kindly upon me; it seems generally they are not my biggest fans.

Hello everyone. I’m Alli and I have nothing to say.

I know this sounds like the introductory round of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting – or in this case a Voiceless Anonymous meeting – and it is completely out-of-place in the forum of a SAWIP blog. I do know this. However, for me having nothing to say is so incredibly out of character that I must share it.

This is my introductory SAWIP blog and those of you reading it probably don’t know me at all; allow me to share with you that it is a somewhat bizarre occurrence for me to not have anything to say. I enjoy speaking and I enjoy writing; for some reason, when faced with writing an introductory blog post, I realized that I have very little to say.

I think this is because I’m completely overwhelmed – overwhelmed with fear and overwhelmed with excitement.

The team of which I am privileged to be a part is one of dynamic individuals, each of whom have so abundantly proven that their voice should be a formative one in the narration of the future South African story. This team overwhelms me; not only because each person can so intelligently and articulately critique my opinions and present their own, but because their energy, passion and brilliance are overwhelming. In the past week, I have had discussions with people – team members, team leaders and guests and friends of SAWIP – both in a group and with individuals, who have challenged and altered my perceptions of myself and South Africa.

Last weekend we visited a community development project in Khayelitsha that epitomized authentic, grass roots Development – be it on a small scale. Vivian Zilo has changed her community. Her world – in the most limited scope of the word – and the lives of those in her reach, have improved because of her. (Read more about Vivian and the Iliso Society Care at http://www.ilisocaresociety.org.za). This is invigorating; this is overwhelming. If Vivian can change the world for the people around her, in terms of how they perceive themselves, their space and their opportunities, how many other people can do the same? Vivian has had an enormously challenging life; she successfully finished school, saved up money from serving as a domestic worker to put herself through university, and has made – and continues to make – a fundamental difference in her world. If Vivian can so radically alter her world, what is stopping so many other people from changing their worlds?

Vivian’s story served to remind me that while we may spend hours debating politics, or macroeconomic policy on an abstract level, these issues are about people, as much as they are about ideological supremacy or theoretical engagement. People have agency. Because of systems and policies, or in spite of these, individuals make their lives; individuals change their worlds. People are so much more than we can be reduced to in simple statistics about the poverty line or a GENI coefficient. I am not making the argument that people are not systematically oppressed, or that societal structures leave all on equal-footing. But people have agency – agency to change ourselves, others and our respective worlds.

This is overwhelming. As a Politics student, when faced with theses questions I would quite like the level of abstraction involved in theories of voting patterns and democratic consolidation. I am overwhelmed by people, by potential, by the individual, by my team, by South Africa – both in its problems and its triumphs – and by my own agency and ability to change my world. I am fearful, but I am also invigorated and inspired. I remain in awe of my teammates, who are such incredible examples of people being able to change their own worlds.

So while I may not yet having anything profound to say, I can tell you this: I am overwhelmed, scared, excited and filled with anticipation – for the SAWIP program, for recovering my voice and for the future of this country.