A Day I Will Always Remember

July 9^th 2011 is a day that the people of Sudan will remember forever. This day marks the first day of South Sudan’s independence. Years spent under the brutal authoritarian regime of President Omar Al-Bashir has left a deep scar on the ‘black’ Sudanese population. The country has been engulfed in civil war since 1955 and conflict has been characteristic of the Sudanese legacy for years before that. Since 1989 alone it is estimated that between 200,000 to 400,000 people have been killed and approximately 2.5 million have been displaced. Although the road to recovery can only be expected to be a long and trying one, July 9^th signals hope for a population that has been oppressed and ethnically targeted for decades.

                I had spent a great deal of time learning about the historical and present context of the country over the past two years, prior to my internship. Being in Uganda, and celebrating this day alongside many of those who had been exiled from Sudan because of their courageous dedication to human rights work, is something I will never forget.

                Interning with an organization that supports human rights defenders, we worked closely with Sudanese human rights defenders living in exile in Uganda. Meeting them and learning from them has been an exceptional experience.

                This day is not only a day of victory and freedom for Sudanese people; it is also a day which signals the achievements of the global human rights movement. Uniting across borders, the courageous individuals who often risk their lives fighting for the basic human rights which are, by law, entitled to each and every human being, should be equally celebrated. I know I have posted in this regard before within this blog but it cannot be stated enough or with enough emphasis.

                In the last two weeks of my internship I met a woman (who I will not name for security reasons) who had just arrived in Kampala. A human rights defender from an area which borders between North and South Sudan, her story will stay with me. To look at her perhaps you could not imagine that this woman had seen the things she had seen, done the work she had done and will likely continue to do. She witnessed the massacre of virtually her entire community. Walking hundreds of miles pushing a wheelbarrow that carried her elderly mother, to find refuge, only to be denied. She had to relocate her family and feared for their safety and her own.

                She is a remarkable woman. There are many others like her in the world. And they need to be celebrated with every gain that the human rights movement makes. No matter how big or how small, how obvious or seemingly meaningless.

                However, her story has a special place in this blog posting. As many people prepared for a brighter future in South Sudan, this woman, her family, her village, her community and many more like it, may not see Sudan’s seccession with the same optimism.

                The conflict in Sudan has been a war waged between Arabic-Sudanese and African-Sudanese. The large population of Sudanese who consider themselves to be of Arabic decent, have terrorised the ‘African’ or ‘black’ Sudanese population for nearly a century. With the coupe which saw the rise of Al-Bashir to Presidency in 1989, a systematic ethnic cleansing, which Bashir is currently facing charges on at the International Criminal Court, has been deemed genocide. So while the South, which does indeed hold a concentration of ‘African’ Sudanese, can celebrate this day of independence as a sign of a new direction for their people, the reality is that there are thousands of ‘African’ Sudanese who are still geographically and politically controlled by the Northern government.

                So I say here, I will forever remember this day as a great signal for a better brighter tomorrow. But I use caution. And I encourage everyone to continue to make yourself aware of the situation in Sudan. I worry that the Secession will confuse the international community into thinking that the conflict in Sudan is over. It is not. Even since independence, the Blue Nile State and South Kordofan regions have been the target of aggressive attacks between the armed forces of both the North and the South. People are still being murdered. Homes are being destroyed. And a great deal of this tension is over resource control.

                Drawing of abstract borders and political statements do not stop conflicts. There needs to be a great deal of attention given to overseeing the situation in Sudan and I hope that the international community will not turn another ‘blind eye’.

Seeing myself through someone else's eyes

I am not Muzunu: Am I?

                The children came running towards me, “Muzungu! Muzungu! Muzungu!” I had only been in Uganda for two weeks and had the opportunity to travel to the South Western part of Uganda to co-facilitate a training workshop. Here I was, probably the only white person that was around at the time, and I was the excitement of the day. It is hard to resent a group of children, and I did not really pay to much attention to it. The Trainer, Yona, who had also been my travel companion on this trip, said “your the new attraction!” And just smiled. I smiles back but I could not help but ask myself why these children were interested in me. Was it because I was a foreigner? No certainly not as they had no idea where I was from. Surely there are white people living in Uganda. Was it because I am female? That could not be it.

                Having worked in South Africa, with a brutally racialized history, the common term for a white person is “Mlungu”. While I was there, I came to resent the term a great deal. I understood the history and implication of the word. I used to talk to South African’s that I worked with to try to understand why they would use this word to refer to me. And to help explain how it made me feel. Was Muzungu not the same?

                One day in the lunch cafeteria at the Human Rights House where I was interning, I overheard two ladies standing just in front of me in the line whispering about the “Muzungu’s”. I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. Do they not see I am right here? Do they think I cannot hear them? Or that I do not know they are talking about me? Being the bold person that I am I said “excuse me. I am offended by the term Muzungu and I am standing right here listening to you talk about “Muzungus”. I may not understand what you are saying about them but I would ask that you not use that term to refer to white people. It is derogatory and you would not permit me to use a derogatory word to speak about you, would you?” Perhaps I said too much. But that is another discussion, for another time.

                The ladies scoffed at me and kissed their teeth. One of the ladies had been blatantly rude to me in the past and I was getting very agitated by her attitude towards me. She said to me, “Muzungu is a Swahili word, older than you are!” I was so upset. I wanted to burst. But I said nothing. Perhaps I am wrong? Perhaps Muzungu does not mean the same thing as “Mlungu”? I bit my tongue and let it go.

                That night I goggled the word. Muzungu basically translates as “aimless wanderer”. “Hmmmm” I thought, “I am kind of an aimless wanderer” I laughed to myself. But then I kept reading. The word was used to describe early European explorers. So there is a ‘whiteness’ to it. It is also a term used in reference to an employer. “Then this is the same as Mlungu!” I thought. Perhaps not as derogatory or racialized in the same way as it has been in South Africa. But why are either word used to talk about ‘white people’. Certainly a child does not understand why they are taught that a white person is a Muzungu. And surely the ladies, who are human rights lawyers in Uganda by the way, are educated enough to understand the implications of the word. Why do they use it?

                Is this how I am seen by black Africans? Am I a white employer? What I came to realise is that I am perceived as white. That is obvious because of my skin. But the fact that I am white goes along with a great deal of assumption, and resentment. It is assumed that I am rich. This became clear from many conversations I had with various people. Even people I worked with assumed that because I am white and Canadian, I must be well off. I could not rightfully tell them that I am poor, although in Canadian standards I may be. I am certainly not a boss!

               I resolved that if this is how I am seen through their eyes, I will have to make a greater effort to show who I am, underneath my skin.