We have a collective responsibility to equip our young with the language of respectful and peaceful dialogue by lowering our voices and improving our arguments.
by DR JEROME JOORST
When Aslam Fataar recounts the story of his mother, Jawayer, and her friend, Aunty Celia, and their friendship across religious divides, and what dialogue as a catalyst for positive change in the context of current times of conflict in South Africa and around the world means, it resonates with me.
Like many others who grew up in poor communities during apartheid, I can attest to the power of dialogue transcending differences and being instrumental in swaying sentiments and resolving conflicts in our homes, schools, on the streets, in churches and especially in the political spheres.
In my own home, my sister, Noeline, who had to take on the role as mother when our mother passed, exemplified the power of dialogue in the harshest of challenging times. As a coloured woman, she was often on the receiving end of racist exploitation and denigration. Working three jobs to provide a meal for a family of four, she barely made R50 rand for the week (completely unfathomable for most in today’s terms). When everyone else in the household wanted to vent their frustration at the impact of poverty on their phyco-social wellbeing, she kept on talking hope into us. She kept on spurring us on not to allow the pervasiveness of poverty and the reality of living as an oppressed people, to overwhelm us. When racial difference mentality wanted to make us believe that racial hierarchies are real and that we, as so-called coloureds, are better than blacks, she reminded us of our common humanity.
Even in the presence of patriarchy, the dialogue of ordinary [wo]men of then entailed informed and robust, but respectful debates, often resulting in a positive shift in tensions, if not a resolution, the beginning of a new chapter, a turn in the road. Not the omnipresent drowning out or shouting down, even evisceration of opponents on the scale we are witnessing now.
Today, in a world that tries to commodify every aspect of human life, we are often pitted against each other in a winner or loser game – whether it being in our own families, in our schools, in our own communities, and in our own faith denominations. We are othered and we other others in a competition for resources, and power. In the process, the most powerful among us portray others, demean others and condemn others with a one dimensional view which become weapons of mass destruction, and even death.
So, when Precious Simba adds to the discussion that ‘coexistence is possible, [but that] it requires effort to transcend our differences and embrace our shared humanity’, it resonates with me too, because the divisions among us, rather than our commonalities have been allowed to deepen to such an extent that it now indeed takes effort to transcend. But there is a dimension in the history of the world that teaches us that all dynasties, all oppressors, all tyrants, comes to a fall if good [wo]men remain hopeful and keep dialogue alive.
For the sake of our country, and for the sake of peace around the world, we all have a responsibility to return to the dialogical skills of Aslam’s Muslim mom, Jawayer and her Christian friend, Aunty Celie, the sanctity of life and mutual support upheld by Precious’ methodist lay minister father and his half-brother Imam, and to the continued presence of peace and hope in Noeline’s dialogues with her brothers. We have a collective responsibility to provide our young with the language of peaceful engagement, mutual respect and common humanity through dialogue by heeding Desmond Tutu’s advice and not ‘raise [our] voices, but rather, improve our arguments’.
- Dr Jerome Joorst is a lecturer and researcher in the Department of Education Policy Studies, Faculty of Education at Stellenbosch University.
– You may also want to read ‘Reanimating the promise of our Constitution in a divided society through intercultural and interfaith dialogue’ and ‘Differences, yes. But, humanity first!’
