The
Oprah South African Leadership Project provides cross-cultural
immersion and international exposure through travel
and study in South Africa for Morehouse College students.
In the future, it will involve an exchange of students
between Morehouse and South Africa, and will encompass
ethical leadership training and community service
in both Atlanta and South Africa.
May 26, 2005
 Forgiveness
is a powerful word in South Africa. Whether it's absolving
a white security policeman of killing a 13-year-old
boy or a government for displacing most of the country's
population because of skin color, many South Africans
have learned to forgive—but not forget.
The Morehouse College and Butler University groups
rode to the University of Pretoria (UP) for a conversation
with two ministers: one, a white pastor of the Dutch
Reform Church, which once told its parishioners that
apartheid was God's will, and the second a black Presbyterian
pastor who was an anti-apartheid activist once imprisoned
for his beliefs.
It's hard to believe that 20 years ago, this scene
would not have occurred at UP, a historically Afrikaans
university. The sprawling, verdant campus is going
through an adjustment of its own, with most signs
and building names in Afrikaans and English—not
Zulu, Xhosa or one of the other seven official languages
of South Africa—and some racial tensions existing
between black students and some white administrators.
But it's more than examining the past, it's about
what it means to apologize for the past—and
accept that apology. But as far as an apology goes,
there's still a difference between white and black
experiences of forgiveness in South Africa's post-apartheid
era, especially when religion is involved.
The Rev. Piet Meiring, a professor at the university's
School of Theology, vividly remembers the day when
Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as South Africa's first
black president 11 years ago.
"Old foes and old enemies and friends and fighters
in the cause of liberation were all there," Meiring
said, his blue eyes sparkling. "People were dancing
in the streets. I still get goosebumps when I remember
that day."
As people were celebrating the christening of a new
South Africa, a country absent of Draconian laws that
divided cultures, families and religious beliefs,
Meiring began a conversation with a Catholic priest,
who insisted that there must be a time to heal before
moving on.
"He said, 'No, no, we need a time in between,
a time of mourning, of remembering, of looking at
the past square in the face,'" said Meiring.
Some people recommended forgiving and forgetting,
but many people said that for the health of the country
and the legacy left for the children who will inherit
it, something needed to be done that would place publicly
recognized significance and healing on what happened.
 "[Forgiving
and forgetting] is not the way to honor the victims,"
said Meiring. "How do you tell them the marks
on their body mean nothing? There needs to be some
system of liberation, of help for the victims."
Out of the search for solace that he and others around
the world were experiencing in apartheid's aftermath,
the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was
created. Meiring was a member of the Commission, which
heard tales of torture, death and horrible deeds done
by man, apologies, acceptances of apologies and denial
of wrongdoing. When the TRC hearings came to an end,
Meiring said that more than 24,000 people had made
statements, and more than 27,000 people registered
as victims of human rights violations.
For the Rev. Maake Masango, also a professor at the
university's School of Theology, the black church
struggle was different than that of the white church
during apartheid.
As blacks marched, protested and sang, as black preachers
told their congregations that they too were created
in the image of God, as the bodies of their friends,
neighbors and congregants lay in South Africa's streets,
apartheid was an extremely difficult time for the
black church, Masango said.
Some members left the church because of the contradictions
they saw. Evangelists stood in the pulpit telling
them that their souls were important, but meanwhile,
their loved ones daily died or were kidnapped for
months at a time.
Masango quit performing weddings because his spiritual
beliefs conflicted with that of the state's.
"In 1975, 1976 I had to take a pledge that I
would not marry people of two different races together,"
said Masango. "Zulu cannot marry Sotho. I said
I do not want to be a marriage officer because I am
a lover."
Today, Masango said that reconciliation must happen
among black people of the diaspora. As crime rises
and the income gap between rich and poor widens, blacks
must take responsibility for their own communities
and problems, and the church must play a role in helping
to mend racial fences.
If not, the reconciliation for past wrongs will not
advance blacks at all, he said.
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