Waiting for hope
I remember the first elections in South Africa, well, the first real elections, where everyone could vote. There were long lines, I mean all day kind of lines, I mean sent home and come back tomorrow kind of lines. We were learning democracy as we went along and the government ended up giving folks 3 days off to vote.
Standing in those lines represents some of my most powerful memories, as well as scenes from TV. People of color allowed to vote for the first time. There is no price in this world that you can put on human dignity, no camera that can capture the look in people's eyes or the nervous joy in their hearts. Was this really happening?
There were a couple of sickly old people who died in those lines, unwilling to miss this opportunity. There were impoverished people who could not stand/walk and were pushed to the polls in wheelbarrows by family members. Many cried in those lines, mostly tears of joy and relief. And we former "enemies" of different "races" laughed and jokes with each other in those lines, and learned names, and shook hands, and hugged.
Hope is a drug. We all wanted it, even those who were racist. We were tired of endless war, tired of being an international pariah, tired of the isolation. We wanted more.
Results were slow in coming. Three days passed by in almost funeral silence. The streets were quiet. People stayed in their homes. The whole country held its breath. The result was a foregone conclusion, but nevertheless there was a gentle tension, an endless tautness to everything.
Finally, with less than half the votes counted, De Klerk conceded and Mandela accepted victory on live TV. Mandela danced to a song written in his honor as his aides literally dragged him from the stage. As he disappeared from view people exploded onto the streets. At the time I lived in Hillbrow, a 95% black neighborhood. My ex-wife and I joined them on the streets, and we whites were few, but warmly welcomed. There are few words to describe that night. Joy was embodied in us. On this night the humanization of my neighbors was complete. Finally, in their own minds, we were all equal.
When you stand in your lines today my American friends, remember what a privilege this is. Do not give up. Wait. It's worth it. Your future is worth it. A few hours in line is an opportunity, not an inconvenience. Be patient. Vote. Get to know those in your lines. Drink it all up. Remember this day. Stand together as fellow humans... and want more.
And hope... hope for more, hope for a better world.