First published by Daily Maverick 168

I remember talking to one of my mentors about her early experiences of apartheid. She shared with me that when her family had the rare moment of visiting one of the many beautiful beaches in Cape Town it was always a day of excitement for her and her siblings. 

Their parents would ensure they didn’t just stay on the water’s edge. They would take them into the water to confront their fears. During one of their visits, as they were playing on the beach, she could see her father at a distance talking to a couple of white men in suits. She recalled that it was quite a heated exchange. 

Eventually, her father came back and told them that they had to pack up and leave the beach. As children who had anticipated the beach visit, they would say, “No, we just got here.” This led to a smack from the father, who felt he needed to exercise discipline. So she resented him.

 That was the nature of apartheid. It enforced itself through its victims and those closest to them, including their parents. The white apartheid police officers cast my mentor’s father into the role of the bad guy by making him forcibly remove his own family from the beach, leading to misplaced anger within the family. 

The thing about black hair is that it is often us black people who make derogatory statements about it. A couple of years ago I was having lunch with my black colleagues at our very white corporate workplace. I cannot remember the context of our lively lunch discussion but it led to a black man telling me people with dreadlocks were dirty. 

I have dreadlocks and people in my black community, including those closest to me, are the ones most preoccupied with the state of my hair. This preoccupation comes from a genuine concern for me. They are worried I might not be taken seriously if my hair is not presentable. 

Ever since I was a child I have hated getting my hair done because it takes so much time and I would rather be doing other things. My black hairdresser would scold me for swimming with my straight relaxed hair, but I never understood the fuss. 

As black people we associate pulled-back, tamed straight hair with well looked-after children. If your hair is neat it is assumed your community cares about you. Unkempt hair signifies a neglected child.

We believe we will be respected by society if we constrain our unwieldy hair and that of our children. It is not always explicit messages by Clicks and TRESemmé that perpetuates texturism. It is the covert ways in which those of us with “kaffir” hair are coerced by the world to assimilate, to straighten and loosen up our tightly coiled hair. 

It is school and workplace hair policies prescribing that hair must be “neat” that coerce us into choosing weaves and relaxers over our own natural texture. 

These covert messages about the undesirability of our hair find amplification among us, their victims. It is our own policing of each other’s hair that does more damage than Clicks and TRESemmé. 

Apartheid as a system of government has collapsed but its ideology still lives on through us. Beyond Clicks, the real revolution is within us. Our minds are imprisoned by illogical racist ideology. 

The rapper Killer Mike said it best: “We are free, so let’s act like it.” To Clicks and all those companies and institutions that dabble in anti-blackness, all I have to say is: “We are a free people, so please act like you know.” DM168