White supremacy is alive and well in our household – that’s what sprung to my mind this morning when I watched our black Labrador staring jealously at the fluffy white Shih Tzu snuggled up on my bed. Even my explanation to Ms Lab that her size (and the trail of black hair she leaves behind) was the cause of her exclusion didn’t seem to make her feel better about things.
But there’s another reason why white supremacy has been on my mind. The mass shooting of innocent Muslims at a mosque in New Zealand closely followed by the expose of One Nation’s efforts to water down Australia’s gun laws cast my mind back to my childhood.
Growing up in apartheid South Africa, whites reigned supreme. We managed to keep it that way not because of our smarts but because we had better weapons. Let’s face it, there is no point in flourishing a spear in a gunfight.
Guns were commonplace in my youth. Most people I knew had one. They still do. As a 16 year old, I learned to shoot AK-47s at school camp. When it was my turn, the empty shell spat out the side and smashed the glasses of the teacher standing beside me. The incident impressed my fellow students tremendously but invoked in me a feeling of danger. ‘Watch out for her’, my friends joked, ‘she can take out an eye with an empty shell!’
But as thrilling as the force of a bullet leaving a barrel may be for the person pulling the trigger, its repercussions change the life of the person it strikes forever – along with families, friends and acquaintances. And once a life has been impacted in this way, there’s no turning back. Many people I know have been so …. damaged.
I’m the youngest of four children and the only girl. My three brothers were all conscripted into the army after school, and many tears were shed each time the next in line left our family home. I’ll never forget how vulnerable they looked with their number one crew cuts and the brown uniform that would be their standard outfit for the next two years of their young lives. It broke my heart.
In the army, your gun is your best friend. It’s never more than an arm’s length away and you treat it like your lifeline.
It was during a weekend pass at home that my brother Emil and his best friend decided to go out for a few drinks. I remember my surprise when Emil returned home soon after. He was covered in blood and was in severe shock.
At the traffic light not far from our home, his friend pulled out his gun and shot himself through the head. He was left handed and the bullet went through his head and out the other side, narrowly missing my brother. We’ll never know why he did that, whether it was a case of russian roulette gone wrong or whether his young mind was just too full of the terrible things he had seen – and the things he felt he had to do.
A police car was on the scene almost immediately and, because it was so obvious what had happened, nobody took photographs or collected evidence. Shortly after the accident, the young man’s parents told us that Manfred had taken out a life insurance policy before his death, but it wouldn’t pay out if the cause of death was suicide.
So they decided to take my brother to court, trying to prove he had shot his friend and staged the scene. Over the course of the next year my brother went through hell. In the end his innocence was proven, but his life had changed forever.
It was only five or so years later that Nelson Mandela was freed and apartheid came to an end. This was the end of white supremacy in South Africa and the beginning of affirmative action. All of a sudden the ‘wars’ that had been fought seemed so meaningless, so cruel.
While the end of apartheid was a wonderful outcome for the non-white races in South Africa, who finally had their freedom, the country was full of guns. The reasoning that the only thing that can stop a person with a gun was another person with a gun led to a trigger happy society. Many of my friends got caught up in gun fights and many more were hijacked at gunpoint. Too many people have died, and too many hearts have been broken.
When my Australian husband returned to South Africa with me on a holiday, in one dreadful evening we experienced two hold-ups – not the most romantic or relaxing night out.
It took me years to get used to the relaxed way of living in Australia – I didn’t need to lock myself in, be on constant look out for danger, always expecting the worse.
For any person thinking watered down gun laws would be a good thing for Australia, I urge you to go and visit a trigger happy place and see how much you enjoy living on the edge.
I for one prefer to live in a peaceful, caring society, where my children can attend school without the threat of lunatic gunmen letting loose on innocent bystanders. A place where we accept and embrace our differences. A world where we rely on words and wisdom rather than weapons.
That’s Australia. Let’s keep it this way.
