There comes a time, in every classical plot development,
where once the Shire is out of sight, the character learns something. A
profound revelation of sorts. This learning can be a steady process, with an
eventual ‘aha’ moment; or it could be a flurry of thoughts and ideas flung at
said character’s brain until it was battered , bruised – and wiser.
These past few days have rapidly expanded the landscape of
my thoughts and ideals, tearing at my tunnel vision and helping me see beyond
the dogmatic cycle of highlight, flag, do tutorials, revise notes that has underpinned
2015 for me.
It began for me on Wednesday, 21st October, when
despite multiple e-mails against this decision, we sat to write an exam ‘in
a secret venue’. I was angered that this department thought itself above the
proceedings of the Fees Must Fall movement; outraged that despite the police
beginning their oppression through arrests and rubber bullets less than 24
hours ago, I was supposed to write an exam. Write an exam and pretend my
brothers and sisters were not arrested or feeling the sting of rubber bullets.
Pretend I am in a bubble and beyond all of this.
So when our exam was disrupted and we were forced to leave
the venue, I almost sighed in relief that I was standing in solidarity with a
cause I believed in – without being prejudiced in missing an exam. My year
group was forced to listen as gate cutters were used and the exam called to a
halt.
I didn’t bat an eyelid at the tense, nervous looks of the
lecturers as they watched EFF shirts dance and flail sticks in the air. They
knew this would possibly happen. What were they afraid of? Boards? Not getting
results in time? Salient. But only large to eyes without the glasses of
perspective.
This was beyond us. Beyond an exam. Beyond this year. This was
about students everywhere that felt the brut of financial exclusion and
inaccessibility to financial aid. But, I’m not here to sell you the cause. You
believe what you will.
Moving on, I found myself often in a catatonic state of distress
as I glued my eyes to eNCA live streams and the horrifying tweets of being shot
at. Of the deafening stun grenades. Of the sheer risk students faced – putting their
bodies on the line for a movement. Kids younger than me. Babies. Out there
against police on the streets of Cape Town. Their crime was singing and asking
for a basic human right. This is where I say: some of us lost our humanity
along the way.
It is baffling to me how people can look at this situation
and not feel their heart being ripped apart. Those people who felt the tear gas
and stun grenades are humans. They are our brothers and sisters. They are
someone’s daughters or sons. They could be younger than you yet they are
fighting to change a broken system, shouldering the pain and responsibility for
an outcome that would possibly benefit everybody : even the student that was
not at parliament, but in his porcelain parlour at home. How could we not feel
for them? Why did our country not come to a standstill? Where was our humanity?
And this is the crux of my struggle. I felt that, when I was
made to write that exam, those students who could physically remove themselves
from protest environments, emotionally detach themselves from the pain of those
who felt police brutality, and focus unrelentingly on their books would
prosper. And those who let themselves feel humanity, empathy, sadness, a
distress proportional to the magnitude of the events for the week… would lose
out. And I felt trapped in a society that clearly rewarded robots. I always
knew it existed, but I had never come across an example so concrete of the ‘good
robot, you will win in your clinical coolness’ approach.
It flabbergasted me. This is what corporate seems to want
from me. Nobody cares if the world is burning or your personal life is in
tatters. As long as you continue to bear the burden and turn the cogs of this
dysfunctional society, there will be money in your pocket to shop at
Woolworths.
Then yesterday, 23rd October, when the 0%
increase was announced by our President, I was overjoyed at the small victory,
but aware that it just was not enough. The yield was not proportionate to the
hurt and the pain that was caused along the way. It just was not enough. And
what further had me glued to my screen all damn afternoon were horrifying live
updates of continued violence outside the union buildings. TUT students burning
things, police chasing students and shooting at them, tear gas being dropped by
helicopters. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.
I was defeated. Paralyzed. What made it all the more
ethereal was that people were carrying on with their lives in an eerie
contrast. Someone I know got engaged, while outside the union buildings
students were bleeding. This is the insanity of life. Our world. How was our
nation not at a standstill. How did we go out for coffee that evening and talk
about our feelings. How did we go to Woolworths and buy our roast chickens. How
did we drink our tea, eat our toast? Are we perhaps already the robots they’ve
always wanted us to be?
At a simpler level, this is exemplified by the desensitization
of doctors and their dealings. Victims of abuse, gunshots, near-death patients
must be treated at an arm’s-length. You cannot take that pain home with you,
lest you have a nervous breakdown from a heart so heavy with other’s pain. It is
a built in mechanism of the human soul. To pull away from disaster and turmoil
around us – to be that rock that stands firm despite the crashes of the ocean.
So, I woke up today, made my breakfast, and carried on with
my life. Just like millions of people do each day in this mad, mad world.
