I am the Afrikaner

I am the Afrikaner
The one you should have kept close.

The son of Africa you should have held to your bosom, not just out there in your marketplace, but in your heart.
The one without whose vote there would be no New South Africa.
Without whose employ this land would not have once been the gem of Africa.
The one without whose magnanimity you would still be facing the mightiest defence force on this continent. But the one who chose against blood and power – only to inherit the bloodiest land in the universe.
I am the Afrikaner guilty of one thing only, forsaking the vows of his fathers.
I am the Afrikaner whose child you should have clung to. Whose laborious sons you should have kept home, when instead you chose to barter them to London, Perth and Auckland.
I am your Afrikaner. The one who chose to overlook skin-colour only to be countered with the pallor-based hypocrisy of BEE, AA, PP, EE, quotas and representivity.
I am the Afrikaner you should have slowly endeared to, not socially engineered through.
I am the Afrikaner who offered her graves, her contracts, her long recorded heritage and legitimate sovereignty for an iota of peace and brotherhood. The one you thanked with name-changes, by removing her monuments and holidays and cauterising her vast library of knowledge and history, the one you chose to keep from the workforce by virtue of her skin colour.
I am the Afrikaner who lost his mother tongue on the altar of transformation.
I am her from the last tribe of Africa still fighting for indigenous, mother-tongue education.
I am the Afrikaner, that veritable orphaned African, if you like, whom once placed this continent on the world map for more achievement than mortality rates and terror.
I am the Afrikaner, son of Africa, who established townships with the potential to become internationally renowned world cities, not rape capitols beset by the flotsam from other African countries.
I am the Afrikaner, remember me, your Southern African bridge to the West, that far off place you frenetically pretend to not assimilate to.
Now I am that Afrikaner whose victorious daughter volunteers her gold medal to mediocrity.
Now I am the Boer you tie to the sofa to witness the six-hour rape of his wife and daughters, who want to be no-where else but on the land, producing food for your family.
I am the Afrikaner who make do something out of nothing with no more than faith, fearlessness and sweat, today our three most absent articles of will.
I am the Afrikaner.
The one you should have kept close.

By: Steve Hoffmeyr

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