Debates in the psychology field on intergenerational repercussions of historical trauma in the South African context usually focus on children of victims and survivors of apartheid. Very rarely do these discussions lead to avenues of inquiry that seek to address the problem of the transgenerational recurrence of racist hatred among young white South Africans.

We have repeatedly witnessed public expressions of anti-black racism across the country. Whether it is the rant of Adam Catzavelos or Matthew Theunissen about “k*****s”, or the savage beating of Khabonina Mkhonza by Christiaan Muller, her employer’s son, the perpetrators of these racist acts are young – a state of affairs about which the Gauteng Education Minister, Panyaza Lesufi, once expressed puzzlement in an interview on the national radio station SAfm.

Young white South Africans have more opportunities to interact with their black counterparts than their parents did under apartheid. From their schooling to higher education and to their work experiences and the world of cultural and creative arts, they encounter and interact with black people in ways that were not available to their parents’ generation. This is a blessing and a curse. A blessing from the point of view of the transformative potential of integration, and the solidarity that can emerge from this.

At the same time, however, this may be a “curse” for young white adults for whom the expectations of democratic citizenship throw up internal conflicts and frustrations because they cannot rely on their whiteness in the same way that their parents’ generation did. They do not occupy the position of “preferential treatment” for opportunities in the higher education and employment sector.

Some of them may have grown up with the idea of the inferiority of black people ingrained in their psyches. Even when they have attended schools where they were “mixing with blacks”, with frequent visits by black classmates to their homes for sleepovers, this may have been a one-way street, the nature of which reinforced their superiority over their black friends – a worldview further strengthened by everyday reality in their schools and in other institutions in later life.

The edifices of this world of superiority, however, are constantly being challenged in a society in which black people are active and visible citizens. This has many complicated emotional and intrapsychic consequences for the young people who may prefer blacks to occupy “their” place at the bottom of the well: destructive emotions such as hatred, shame, envy. These emotions are often disowned, split off and projected outward and targeting black people, which may in turn evoke feelings of being undermined and a sense of inferiority for some black people and the anger stirred by these emotions.

Far from trying to convey a message of despair, my aim here is to challenge those of us concerned with social justice and transformation to continue searching for solutions that might offer the best possibilities of creating an environment of reciprocal respect and understanding in our institutions.

When these dynamics of racism described here play out in black-white relationships, they may be reproduced repeatedly in the context of social and institutional structures that sustain them. Perhaps this projection of uncomfortable feelings on to black people offers another way of understanding Robin DiAngelo’s phenomenon of “white fragility”.

I am, however, not concerned so much about “white fragility”. Pay racists no mind because they will distract you. Sometimes, when someone calls you by a racial slur, the aim is to make you feel diminished, precisely because you evoke a sense of inferiority in the racist – they feel weakened by your presence or by what you represent. What concerns me is the trap of black fragility, when the reaction to the behaviour of racists is interpreted as if the particular racist actually is in a position of power in relation to the person who is the target of the racist slur.

We should continue to fight racism and all forms of bigotry in all our institutions. As we do so, we should also be aware of the importance of building mutual solidarity that will connect us to the vision of social justice. This requires that in our imagination of an approach to dismantle the structures that sustain racism, we should guard against unwittingly enabling racism to operate in new forms that might give power to people who are unreflective about their actions against processes of democratic transformation. Institutional transformation goals form part of the policies of redress of past inequalities. However, transformation practices should go beyond fulfilling legal mandates. The process requires that institutions pay particular attention to strategies that can manage diversity. This is important because of emerging identities and new issues of difference associated with these developments.

It also requires an awareness of the fact that “identity” is not just skin-deep. We come from a divided past and continue to live in a divided present. In thinking about transformation and change, we should be concerned about the “apartheid of the mind”. Leaving apartheid “behind” has not happened for some people – it did and it didn’t happen. There is a lot of trauma in that non-event, that failure or sense of betrayal of the way that change hasn’t really been change. Black people have as much right to be at these “previously white” institutions and to feel a sense of belonging as white people do. The fact that these institutions reflect some diversity on multiple levels, and that they are engaging in a range of efforts to heed the call of transformation reminds us how far we have come.

But the enduring problem of racism and resistance to change by some people at these institutions also shows how much further we have yet to go. Sometimes I am inclined to think, with Derrick Bell – the first tenured African-American professor of law at Harvard University, who was also a civil rights lawyer – that racism is an “indestructible component” of our society. Far from trying to convey a message of despair, my aim here is to challenge those of us concerned with social justice and transformation to continue searching for solutions that might offer the best possibilities of creating an environment of reciprocal respect and understanding in our institutions.

The question of racism among young white South Africans, and how the structural patterns of racism intersect with familial and personal dimensions to awaken the hateful and violent expressions of racism is an important one; they are the next generation who will either restore or disrupt the vision of change and transformation in our institutions. What is the role of black people – the young and the older generation – at these institutions? I cannot help but think of the shining example offered to us by Bongani Mayosi, who died from suicide in the wake of protests for change at the University of Cape Town. Mayosi tried to show us how to create another imagination and to reclaim our right to be at, and to belong to, these “previously white” institutions.

What we learn from Mayosi’s story is this: unless we mitigate our polarisation with a delicate balance of the right (and necessity) to express outrage and moral wisdom, we will become targets of destructive forces. We will lose sight of the vision to transform these institutions into more just, more humane, and ultimately more welcoming ones, for us and for future generations. DM