It’s time to leave behind our ‘rainbow’ and allowed silenced narratives to emerge in South Africa, writes CHARLENE HOUSTON.

A rainbow is a natural phenomenon that does not last forever. It only exists at a specific moment, when the right mix of moisture and sunlight cross paths.

The ‘rainbow nation’ was coined as an optimistic and gracious metaphor by Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu during the time of South Africa’s transition, and became a symbol of the end to the violence and the bloodshed that preempted our political freedom in 1994. It was readily embraced and adopted by political leaders and opinion-makers with palpable relief, during the mediation of a protracted conflict that threatened to plunge South Africa into the proverbial ‘abyss’.

With the ‘rainbow nation’ metaphor came a code for how we were supposed to behave as new South Africans. Still steeped in our deeply racialised identities, this multi-colour metaphor was rich in symbolic meaning. We were directed to harmonise our colours and come together side-by-side, as we emerged from utter social devastation. We were reminded that the world was watching, and emblazoned this new symbol on our emerging democracy, in our efforts to leave behind a painful past.

In this climate of national resonance and optimism, and in the interest of upholding our new peace, it is safe to say that many South Africans succumbed, and indeed welcomed the rainbow nation narrative. We tried to shed our differences, unresolved tensions and trauma, and painted a picture of a united, non-racial country to the outside world – an image that was popularly broadcast around the globe, for example, during the 1995 Rugby World Cup.

But in nature, rainbows are transient, intangible, rare – and even thin. In South Africa today, while our rainbow may divert attention from deeper issues below the surface, did we really resolve our latent conflict and strife under the national symbol?

As the saying goes, everything has its season, and it seems that of our rainbow nation is fleeting. What we once treated as our South African ‘miracle’ has been increasingly interrogated and critiqued, not least by emerging arts and literature. In our minds, we may have a short-term recollection of a joyful Madiba wearing a number six rugby jersey in 1995 – but this cannot undo South Africa’s legacy of apartheid, colonialism and slavery. We may try to silence these ‘inconvenient’ historical narratives, but they will also resurface around the periphery of our new democracy.

One such difficult narrative is around the state-driven employment equity programme – this is still unacceptable to many South Africans, and as a country we have failed to have a national conversation about the ways in which particular groups of people were advantaged by apartheid. An unspoken tension still persists between people historically classified as ‘coloured’ and ‘African’. And there has been little recognition of the historical exploitation of people and resources, which lies at the roots of present day poverty and is alluded to through current calls to nationalise South African mines.

We also cannot overlook the silent narrative of who South Africa ‘belongs’ to, the origins of our borders with neighbouring countries, the making of nations in Africa and the people who claim rights there. These issues surface through the horrors of xenophobia.

Silence, and things left unspoken, can be a powerful and effective strategy for those keeping quiet, and for those who would like to see quiet kept. However, this can mean the suppression of important histories and narratives  – some just below the surface of our ‘rainbow nation’ – which serves to build frustration, negative attitudes, fear and even conflict, and undermine the efforts of those working for reconciliation.

Our sense of security in South Africa is false, and of late, we seem afraid to have courageous national conversations that require listening, and acknowledgement of our devastating past. While the outspoken among us – like Julius Malema and Jimmy Manyi – make their controversial views widely known, many others dare not bring up past hurts, treading with fear over the potential breakdown of our rainbow.

It is time for our trial by fire – we need to have these stories told, discussed and debated. Let’s shake off the burden of behaving like a rainbow and acknowledge our past, our complicity, our hurt and our failures. Only then can we bring about true national healing, and constructively address uncomfortable questions as they come up in the political sphere.

Recognition of the experiences of others is a crucial factor in our ability to move forward as a nation, and lay a strong foundation for future generations. South Africa has consistently used sport for nation-building, but it is also time for more resources to be allocated to arts, film, literature and cultural initiatives, which can effectively bring our silent narratives to the surface and stimulate national dialogue.

In her poem ‘On the Pulse of Morning’, Maya Angelou writes,

History, despite its wrenching pain,

Cannot be unlived, and if faced

With courage, need not be lived

Again.

Lift up your eyes upon

The day breaking for you.

Give birth again

To the dream.

As Reconciliation Day draws near, let us forget about showcasing our rainbow, and rather act on the opportunities, questions and challenges to reconciliation that we face at present in South Africa – even if this involves uncomfortable, painful and contested conversations.

Charlene Houston is a freelance writer, researcher and filmmaker, and is currently completing a masters degree in history.