Ekstra Bladet vaardigt hierdoor een fatwa uit tegen de bende van
rondreizende mohamedanen, welke - uitgerust met deens oponthoudsvergunning
en/of burgerschap - onze natie in het buitenland belastert. Haar doel is in
de mohamedaner-werled een boycot tegen Denemarken te veroorzaken.
Met Jyllands-Posten als bron noemen we de reizigers met naam, opdat alah,
god en de mensen ze kunnen vinden en straffen. Het zijn Abu Bashar, imam op
Funen (Islaamse Geloofvereniging), de turkse immigrant Zeki Kocer, de
pakistaanse immigrant Sarvar Shoudri, de egipter Ahmad Harbi en Nour-Edin
Fattah, ook Islaamse Geloofvereniging. Deze groep was in het midden van
december in Egipte om de stemming tegen Denemarken aan te hitsen.
Eind december was er nog een delegatie in Syrie en Libanon, in de zelfde
zaak. Deze keer waren het de vertegenwoordiger van de Islaamse
Geloofvereniging, Kasem Ahmad, bestuurder Mahmoud Mansour, Ahmed
Akkari en sjeik Raed Hlayhel, imam van Århus.
Zo als gisteren door Ekstra Bladet bekend gemaakt, hebben deze anti-deense
bendes hun landsgenoten in deze dictatuur-regimes alle mogelijke prenten van
Mohamed als pedofiel getoont, die ze in het internet of ergens anders hebben
gevonden, en beweerd dat het openlijk afkeuren van de islam in Denemarken
aan de orde van de dag was. En alles dit alleen omdat onze vredige natie
drie maanden gebabbeld heeft over deze halv-vervelende prenten uit de
Jyllands-Posten, die niets met deze vuile actie hebben te maken (het
aanhitsen van de araben, avdv).
PIA KJÆRSGAARD (voorzitter Dansk Folkeparti, immigratie-sceptisch, avdv) is
recentelijk in problemen geraakt omdat ze de reizigers als 'landsverraders'
heeft gekentekent. Blijkbaar heeft ze meer gelijk als aan iemand lief zijn
kan.
Intussen zijn deze handelsreizigers in zake platitudes, leugens en
sociaalhulpontvangst erin geslagen een fatwa te provoceren - een oproeping
van de leidende egiptiese medicijnman grootmoefti Mohammed Abd-al-Wahhab
al-Tantawi, deense waren te boycoteren. De donkergehuidde mannen mogen toch
verder deense meisjes zoenen - iets wat we toch van nu af niet graag meer
willen zien.
De grootmoefti wordt hierdoor in de fatwa van Ekstra Bladet ingesloten,
samen met de reisgroep. Ignorante ongelovige moeten weten dat een fatwa een
handleiding voor gelovige is.
Onze fatwa heeft volgende inhoud: We vragen de duivel iedere onoprechte
mohamedaner te straffen die valse boodschappen over de deense natie spreidt.
En we bidden alah alle kwade mohamedanen te eksporteren die onder de
bescherming van de deense democratie zijn gekropen, terwijl ze hun krachten
erop gebruiken deze zelfde te bevuilen. Geef hen een plaats in een van de 56
mohamedaanse dictaturen waar ze momenteel bezig zijn rond te reizen - zelfs
als ze eens uit hen gevlucht zijn.
Onse vise-president vat maar bra lank om by die waarheid uit te kom.
Aanvanlik gaan besigtig sy hyskrane in Dubai. Nou "ontdek" sy dat 100
vrouens 'n kursus in Dubai moet deurloop en dat sy daaroor met die
ambassadeur gesprek moes voer.
Ek sal graag wil sien hoeveel meer geld nou spandeer gaan word om
hierdie storie van haar kredietwaardig te maak.
Om goed te lieg moet mens slim wees - tensy jou gehoor dof is.
(Asof daar nie opleidingsfasiliteite en telefoondienste in Suid-Afrika
is nie.)
Volgens Mbeki voer die blankes 'n koue-oorlog teen die regering (ANC).
Mbeki sluit sy nuwejaarsboodskap aan die "nasie" af deur die Bafana
geluk toe te wens met hulle wedstryde in Egipte. Maar - geen verwysing
na die SA krieketspan wat tans in Australie toer nie.
Die feit dat Mbeki die Protea's ignoreer kan tog nie wees vanwee die
feit dat die kriekettoer so onsuksesvol is nie. Die Bafana se rekord is
veel erger as die van die Protea's.
Mens moet seker aanvaar dis nog 'n salvo in die "koue-oorlog."
Jy moet dalk die link volg om te leer AFRIKAANS skryf.
Lyk my jy was ook deel van die nuwe bedeling se opvoeding program.
Vandaar die feit dat jy nie kan spel nie, snotneus.
Onthou dat ek verlede jaar gemeld het dat jy net hier praat
solank as wat ek jou toelaat. Jou tyd is nou op.
Jou ingelse maniere is nie gepas op die nuusgroep nie.
O ja, AFRIKAANER Rules!!!!!
Een of ander tyd sal jy ook tot insig kom. Ek vermoed dat jy nog
'n ruk sal neem. Vra jou MA om jou maniere te hersien as sy nog met
jou kontak hou of as jy weet waar sy is.
Ek het ook die nommer van 'n goeie sielkundige wat ek dink dalk jou
metodes wil bestudeer. Mens vind nie gereeld ouens soos jy buite die tronk
nie.
:-)
Ek moet nou aangaan met regte werk.
Mooi bly, tyd om jou beertjie nader te trek en te gaan rus - bly ook maar
uit die son uit.
Kannie wag vir jou volgende swak verskuilde e-pos nie
Graag noem ek aan almal op die groep dat https://www.afrikaans.us/ nou goed op
dreef is en dat nuwe leerders van orals die webwerf gebruik om
Afrikaans te leer.
If you are English speaking and you are interested in learning
Afrikaans, www.afrikaans.us is a solid resource to learn pronunciation,
vocabulary, and grammar. Please share this resource with others and I
would appreciate any links to the site where applicable.
Volume 75 Number 3 Fall 2005 ISSN 0017-8055
An excerpt from
Black Dean: Race, Reconciliation, and the Emotions of Deanship
JONATHAN DAVID JANSEN
University of Pretoria
As I drove through the gates of the University of Pretoria, I was
already tense. Years of living under apartheid had involuntarily
stressed the muscles and sharpened the mind to attack even the
slightest hint of racial aggression when entering unfamiliar, White
territory. It did not help that the entrance was guarded, as if by
design, by one of the tallest buildings on the South African campus -
a cold, white, rectangular edifice that dwarfed any soul entering the
gates. The two security guards at the "boomgate" approached the
car. I felt some relief, as both were Black: "Brothers," I thought.
I announced that I was the new dean of education and that I would
therefore appreciate entrance through the gates. One of the guards
laughed uncontrollably: "Nice one, comrade, I've heard that one
before." I burst out laughing, imagining myself in his shoes. I would
certainly share the same incredulity if a Black man, coming through the
gates of this former bastion of apartheid, suddenly declared himself
dean. I went through the motions of filling out the visitor's form,
having learned a long time ago that you do not argue with the person at
the tail end of an authoritarian system - whether it be a university
or a shop or a church. As I moved through the gates, I said to myself,
"If I struggle with you, comrade, how on earth am I going to make it
with my White colleagues?"
I introduced myself to the vice principal of the university.1 A
wonderful person, I thought, who spoke English (rather than Afrikaans)
and appeared quite genuine in his manner. This relaxed me. Together we
walked over to the faculty of education, where I would take up the
position of dean - the first Black dean in more than 100 years in
this faculty.
I had been invited to serve as dean at the University of Pretoria by
its new and charismatic vice chancellor, who was determined to
transform this former White Afrikaans university into an African
institution that was, as he put it, locally relevant and
internationally competitive. His vision and commitment created the
space and the opportunity for bold leadership in the deanship. In order
to make my decision to accept, I had consulted many friends, most of
them radicals, then and now. Many of them felt that this was a chance
to assist in creating a genuinely South African university rather than
let this formidable institution continue as a White remnant of
apartheid. Others reminded me, correctly, that I had always insisted I
would never work in a White South African university. But surely things
had changed, I rationalized. This was a South African university that
needed to be transformed to serve all South Africans.
With the vice principal, I walked into a meeting of department heads
chaired by the acting dean. All White, all men, all Afrikaners. They
jumped to their feet to greet me. I encouraged the meeting to continue
and left after a few minutes to survey my new office. The meeting with
my secretary was most uncomfortable. She was in a state of panic,
jumping around as the vice principal introduced me. For a senior
Afrikaner woman who had served several White, conservative deans, this
must have been most traumatic. Now I was alone, and I knew I had to
break the tension. I called her in and encouraged her to tell me how
she would like the office organized, and asked how I could best support
her in her role as the dean's secretary. Gradually, we both relaxed.
In those moments, I realized that I would have to initiate grounds for
any toenadering (coming together, meeting to reconcile) with my
colleagues by creating a nonthreatening, nonracial space in which they
would feel free to talk, work, and live with their new dean. But my
historical commitment to "servant leadership," while workable
within the Black university I had just served as dean and vice
principal, created emotional and political dilemmas in this White
university. Seared into my consciousness as a young boy, I remember
watching my father wash the floors in homes of rich White people in
Cape Town, working as, in the language of those days, a servant. If I
remained true to my commitments and values as a dean, servant
leadership would mean sacrificing my time, energy, and emotions for the
sake of my colleagues. On the other hand, this was risky and could be
interpreted as the Black dean "knowing his place" and being willing
to continue servitude in this White institution. I decided to take the
risk, but with a high degree of alertness to any possible
misinterpretation of my service commitments. Thus, in my interviews
with each staff member, I made the point I had made more comfortably in
other places: I am here to serve you.
During those individual interviews, and in the typical slog of meetings
facing an administrator, I realized that to a large extent my fears
about the acceptance of my authority as dean were unwarranted. At this
university, unlike any other I had worked in, the dean was regarded as
a great and formidable authority figure. I found that I was not
expected to discuss things; I was expected to pronounce on things. The
unbridled power of this university's administration and the
efficiency of this cultural system was light-years away from the
University of Durban, Westville, where I had worked as academic leader
for six years.
A typical example of the cultural differences between the two
university environments occurred when I was called on to chair a
selection committee for a new faculty member. The selection panel
included the union representatives of the academic staff and senior
faculty. I listened to the discussions and tried to summarize
individual positions around the table in order to formulate a proposal
that reflected the consensus of the panel. After a majority of the
panel agreed on a candidate, I asked one more time if this person's
name could be forwarded to "admin" for appointment. The panel
agreed. Then a senior professor caught me completely off guard.
"Despite all this," he said, "at the end of the day it is your
decision as dean as to whom you would appoint." I was stunned. The
question ran through my mind: Why have a committee? I stayed with the
majority decision.
My conversations with individual colleagues constituted the richest
form of "data" on the institution, on the deanship, and on the
possibilities for change. One of my standard practices as dean has been
to meet with faculty members to inquire about their current rank as
academics, their career goals, and the support they required from my
office to attain their personal goals. The interviews were difficult,
as colleagues struggled to open up with this stranger in their midst, a
Black dean asking probing personal questions about their careers. At
the same time, most of my colleagues really appreciated what they said
was "the first time ever" that they were asked about their
intellectual goals and what they required from the dean to make these
goals happen in their lives.
Gradually, my colleagues opened up. Women academics were remarkably
consistent as they recollected stories of abuse at the hands of former
deans and department heads. A typical story was the following:
I disagreed with the dean in a meeting. He called me aside and told me
that that was the last time I would ever disagree with him again. He
also told me that my career was over, and that while he was dean I
would never get [a] promotion. Final. I was destroyed, and I learned
that you never, ever disagree with your dean.
If this confidence represented one voice among many, I would have
considered the possibility that the colleague in question was a
difficult person or that the dean in question had had a bad day. But I
heard stories like these over and over again, in various forms, during
those interviews. I tried to contain my anger at this devastating abuse
of women academics (all of them White Afrikaner women). I realized that
this was a systematic attack on women, which helped explain why there
had never been a woman as dean or department head in this faculty of
education's century of existence. It explained the relentless
Dutch-Calvinist logic of the Afrikaners, in which the man was
responsible to God and the woman to the man, "in subjection." It
explained why women simply did not speak in any of the initial faculty
meetings until I insisted on such participation. It explained the
phenomenon of Afrikaner patriarchy.
Race, Gender, Distance, and Emotion
But there was another revelation that came through during these
interviews with women faculty - the difficulty of dealing with a
Black dean in private conversations about careers. The White women,
with notable exceptions, were very uncomfortable in this private space.
They did not appear relaxed, and they sat far away from me at the
table. I noticed the distance and discomfort. I searched for
explanations even as I conducted the interviews, trying as hard as
possible to create a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere. It struck me
that this was probably the first time in their entire lives, shaped and
molded by apartheid, that my female colleagues had ever occupied space
alone in a room with a Black male adult figure, who also happened to be
their senior authority in the faculty. All those racist myths, I
thought, about pure White women being ravaged by a Black man must have
left indelible marks on the consciousness of these colleagues. I
realized, in those moments, that the struggle would have to be fought
on both sides of the table. My own anger at what I perceived to be a
racial and gendered distancing had to be managed, and their fears about
racial and gendered stereotypes had to be overcome.
Trust was to become the essential ingredient in relationship-building.
I had entered a microcosm of the real-life cauldron of racial
reconciliation after apartheid, something that was difficult, messy,
emotional, and unpredictable. It certainly lacked the glamour and
elegance of Nelson Mandela's celebrated autobiography, Long Walk to
Freedom, or the triumphant mood of the myriad of publications on the
South African "miracle." In my first nine months at the University
of Pretoria, it was women academics who gradually began to open up, to
share, and to commit to a vision of transformation in which I made it
clear that women and Black academics would be readily affirmed in my
tenure as dean.
My relationship with Afrikaner men was very different. Some of them
simply did not show up for the interviews, despite repeated attempts by
my secretary to schedule these meetings. After about a month, this got
to me, and I suspected that there might be real racial dilemmas faced
by these White men (no more than five) in discussing what inevitably
were personal and revealing topics. I decided to call them myself and
insist that they show up immediately for the planned interviews. I did
not want to use that tone as a dean, but I believed that this
situation, bolstered by my intuitive sense that race was the problem,
justified my insistence.
The men, with few exceptions, did not open up during those interviews.
They were "fine." The fact that they were not publishing was not
because they did not know how to do research, but simply because there
was no time. My job, I was told, was simply to provide the space and
the resources, and they would "get on with the job." It was as
simple as that. These interviews were probably the most difficult for
me. It was here that I realized that huge emotional and political
chasms had to be crossed. The men across the table had all done
military service, under compulsion, for the apartheid state. Some, I
noticed from their curricula vitae, were captains in the apartheid
military. Others were members of a secret society of White men, the
Afrikaner Broederbond.2 I had hated these institutions - the visible
and the secretive - as my political awareness developed while I was
an undergraduate student on the politically charged campus of the
University of the Western Cape. Later, as a young teacher in the
volatile townships of the rural and urban Western Cape, I witnessed the
viciousness of the apartheid machinery in the daily lives of Black
people. Now I suddenly felt these emotions awakened as I tried to cross
racial chasms in the face of, at best, the quiet hostility of the
faculty members. Within months and with my encouragement, some of these
reluctant men left the faculty of education, either on early retirement
or resignation. They were not going to change, and I was not going to
allow them to stagnate; a simple and decent way of dealing with this
was for them to leave. Gradually, but after a much longer time than
with the women, several of the Afrikaner men also opened up and became
centrally involved in the administration of the faculty of education.
> From Beleefdheid to Openness
With both Afrikaner men and women, there was another serious impediment
to faculty transformation, something called beleefdheid. It is a
strange Afrikaans word that probably means politeness, but carries with
it a sense of hypocrisy - polite to the extent of being dishonest.
The institutional culture, I observed, was averse to public conflict.
How did this problem express itself during my efforts to democratize
the faculty of education? After undertaking a strategic review of the
strengths and limitations of the faculty, I presented a detailed report
to a full meeting of all academic and administrative staff, together
with an action plan. The report contained some dramatic, wide-ranging
proposals for action, including a one-year forced sabbatical for
eighteen young academics to give them exposure to the best universities
in the world, and a series of steps to build a more diverse faculty
that affirmed Black and women colleagues.
There was, after an hour of presentation, not a single word of critical
feedback from this packed meeting. In fact, the few who spoke said
simply that "this was fine." I realized there was a problem. I
would never know how well or badly I was doing as dean because
beleefdheid insists that you do not confront anyone, tradition requires
that the dean must be right, and past experience suggested that
disagreement with authority could terminate a career. The only
opposition I received to my action plan was my suggestion that the
portraits of those four patriarchs should come down. But it came in the
form of an anonymous letter slipped under my door. This puzzled and
infuriated me. I encouraged and looked forward to challenge and
criticism, but not the cowardice of anonymous correspondence. I sent
the word out on the online bulletin board that such notices were
unacceptable in a democracy. At the next heads of department meeting, I
bemoaned the fact that the only criticism, though couched in a very
beleefd manner, was delivered under my door. Halfway through my
lecture, the former acting dean raised his hand and confessed, "It
was I."
I now was even more determined to change the culture of the faculty by
encouraging greater openness. I used the faculty online bulletin,
called Opforum, to list some provocative ideas for change in the hope
that it would stimulate discussion. Nothing happened. I noted this
silence on Opforum. Very apologetic comments started to come from
younger academics, but at least there were grounds for dialogue. I did
not evaluate those comments or counter proposals, but simply allowed
much of the dialogue to flow. Several comments from the older academics
were intensely angry and awkward, representing the opposite of direct,
intelligent engagement. It was as if after decades of being shut up,
their words were not coming through in the constrained yet challenging
manner typical of rigorous academic exchange. I accepted that it would
take time to modify these angry outbursts into the kind of critical,
informed dialogue that remained riveting in style and content. As new
faculty joined from the outside, Opforum became a regular site for
expressing ideals, for engaging new policies, for challenging the dean.
Faculty Leadership within the Broader Institution
It is one thing trying to change a faculty within a university; it is
another matter when the entire institution is steeped in a top-down,
authoritarian culture that reinforces and replicates this negative
behavior across the campus. The most troubling event in which I
participated as a dean at the University of Pretoria was my first
senate meeting, the senate being a universitywide decisionmaking body.
About 165 persons attended - mainly White, male Afrikaners. A thick
agenda appeared; in less than an hour, the meeting was rushing to a
close. The chairperson, a fine scholar and a graduate of Tukkies, had
done what his predecessors had done before: simply list an item and
make a decision.3 There was no discussion, and even when discussion was
called for, the audience knew not to engage. One of the issues on the
agenda concerned the restructuring of the faculty of veterinary
sciences. Although drastic cost-cutting measures and possible staff
losses were on the horizon, there was still no serious discussion. I
raised my hand and asked, "What is the educational rationale for such
a decision in the vet school?" I explained that while the financial
rationale was clear, the senate, being the highest academic
decisionmaking body in a university, had an obligation to ask questions
about the academic basis for faculty decisions. I was clearly out of
order, and I sensed that immediately from the silence that followed.
There was an awkward fumbling as the chair and the dean of the
veterinary school scrambled for explanations outside of the financial
calculus that had come to determine so much of what universities in
South Africa (and the rest of the planet) do under conditions of
managerialism, markets, and globalization. I was tolerated with polite
answers. Then something else completely unexpected happened.
A young Afrikaner actuarial scientist, apparently buoyed by this
unexpected questioning in the hallowed halls of the senate, started to
raise his own series of questions about the restructuring. To put it
mildly, he was eaten alive. He suffered a series of aggressive
counter-punches from the leadership of the institution. To his credit,
he refused to back down. I got the distinct impression that the reason
this young professor was so aggressively treated was that he was
supposed to know better; he was one of the volk and should have known
his place in an authority-driven culture where knowledge, wisdom, and
the final word rested with his superiors. I could be tolerated as the
ignorant outsider - the Black dean who, if challenged, would raise
inevitable racial questions about White aggression in this cathedral of
Afrikanerdom. This experience, more than any other, made me realize how
faculty-based transformation can be impeded and constrained by
institutional inertia with respect to critical issues of dissent,
democracy, and affirmation.
Treurlied vir die dooies
Martiens van Bart 08/01/2006 23:58 - (SA)
KAAPSTAD. - Die hoogtepunt van die naweek se tweehonderdjarige
herdenking van die Slag van Blaauwberg, op 8 Januarie 1806, was toe
afgevaardigdes van vyf lande tydens 'n aangrypende plegtigheid by
Melkbosstrand kranse gelê het ter nagedagtenis van die stryders.
'n Eerbiedige stilte het Saterdag omstreeks 11:00 oor die meer as 500
aanwesiges van talle kulture geheers toe die kranse gelê en 'n enkele
Skotse doedelsakspeler 'n treurlied vir die dooies gespeel het. Kranse
is gelê deur verteenwoordigers van Suid-Afrika, Indonesië, Nederland,
Frankryk en Brittanje.
Die geleentheidspreker, mnr. Ebrahim Rasool, Wes-Kaapse premier, het in
sy toespraak gesê die herdenkingsgeleentheid "gaan nie oor Britse
oorwinning, Nederlandse nederlaag, Khoi-dapperheid of Maleise lyding
nie, maar wel om te begryp dat die verlede aan ons die boustof bied om
'n tuiste vir almal te skep".
Hy het die woorde van wyle hoofman Albert Luthuli, ontvanger van die
Nobelprys vir vrede, aangehaal: "Daar wag op ons die bou van 'n nuwe
land, 'n tuiste vir mense wat swart, wit en bruin is, uit die bouvalle
van die ou benepe groeperinge, 'n sintese van die ryk kulturele
strominge wat ons geërf het."
Rasool het gesê verdeelde gemeenskappe moet byeenkom en erkenninng gee
aan die verskeidenheid, maar ook samehang van ons verlede. Dit kan
bereik word deur te begryp dat diverse groepe mense 200 jaar gelede aan
die Kaap onder die vaandel van die Bataafse weermag saamgestaan het om
te veg vir die opheffing van slawerny, vir godsdiensvryheid en ook vir
die Afrikaanse taal, wat indertyd uit die smeltpot van kulture aan die
ontstaan was.
"Dit is slegs deur die erkenning van ons verlede, al ons verledes, dat
ons dit kan bevry van verwringing, heruitvinding en manipulasie. Deur
die oopmaak van die gesprek oor die verlede, skep ons vir onsself die
werklike moontlikheid, veral as Suid-Afrikaners, om gesond te word, om
mekaar in die oë te kyk en om ons waardering en respek vir wie ons is,
waar ons almal vandaan kom en die paaie wat ons bewandel het om die
titel 'Suid-Afrikaner' te verdien, te verdiep. Miskien sal ons dan na
mekaar kyk sonder die sluiers van wantroue, stereotipering en verwyt,"
het Rasool gesê.
Ook deel van die oggend se verrigtinge was vertonings deur die Habibia
Sidique Moslem-doedelsakorkes en Media24 se Klopse-korps, die Fabulous
Seawind Entertainers.
Die Burger se spesiale bylae oor die Slag van Blaauwberg kan op die
internet gelees word by http://battle.blaauwberg.net.
meer as 500 aanwesiges van talle kulture geheers toe die kranse gelê
en 'n enkele Skotse doedelsakspeler 'n treurlied vir die dooies gespeel
het. Kranse is gelê deur verteenwoordigers van Suid-Afrika,
Indonesië, Nederland, Frankryk en Brittanje.
Die geleentheidspreker, mnr. Ebrahim Rasool, Wes-Kaapse premier, het in
sy toespraak gesê die herdenkingsgeleentheid "gaan nie oor Britse
oorwinning, Nederlandse nederlaag, Khoi-dapperheid of Maleise lyding
nie, maar wel om te begryp dat die verlede aan ons die boustof bied om
'n tuiste vir almal te skep".
Hy het die woorde van wyle hoofman Albert Luthuli, ontvanger van die
Nobelprys vir vrede, aangehaal: "Daar wag op ons die bou van 'n nuwe
land, 'n tuiste vir mense wat swart, wit en bruin is, uit die bouvalle
van die ou benepe groeperinge, 'n sintese van die ryk kulturele
strominge wat ons geërf het."
Rasool het gesê verdeelde gemeenskappe moet byeenkom en erkenninng gee
aan die verskeidenheid, maar ook samehang van ons verlede. Dit kan
bereik word deur te begryp dat diverse groepe mense 200 jaar gelede aan
die Kaap onder die vaandel van die Bataafse weermag saamgestaan het om
te veg vir die opheffing van slawerny, vir godsdiensvryheid en ook vir
die Afrikaanse taal, wat indertyd uit die smeltpot van kulture aan die
ontstaan was.
"Dit is slegs deur die erkenning van ons verlede, al ons verledes, dat
ons dit kan bevry van verwringing, heruitvinding en manipulasie. Deur
die oopmaak van die gesprek oor die verlede, skep ons vir onsself die
werklike moontlikheid, veral as Suid-Afrikaners, om gesond te word, om
mekaar in die oë te kyk en om ons waardering en respek vir wie ons is,
waar ons almal vandaan kom en die paaie wat ons bewandel het om die
titel 'Suid-Afrikaner' te verdien, te verdiep. Miskien sal ons dan na
mekaar kyk sonder die sluiers van wantroue, stereotipering en verwyt,"
het Rasool gesê.
Ook deel van die oggend se verrigtinge was vertonings deur die Habibia
Sidique Moslem-doedelsakorkes en Media24 se Klopse-korps, die Fabulous
Seawind Entertainers.
Die Burger se spesiale bylae oor die Slag van Blaauwberg kan op die
internet gelees word by http://battle.blaauwberg.net.
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