Shannon Raj, Archbishop Tutu, Me.

I’ve been fortunate enough to meet and take a picture with Archbishop Desmond Tutu twice now, once last Fall at Wheelock College in Boston, and for the second time at “the people’s cathedral” here in Cape Town last week. Each interaction has left me feeling inspired, and ready to focus on the important things I’ve been neglecting. But they have also left me with many unanswered questions, like how is it possible for someone who has overcome so much to appear unburdened by it? How does Tutu evidence such complete joy? It’s people like him that I find most inspiring, but also the ones I don’t understand.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Tutu’s attitude and the history and legacy of slavery in the U.S. I’m wondering whether Americans tend to hold on to grief too closely, and whether we’re less inclined to move on. It’s been 150 years since slavery was abolished, but we’re still living under its weight. None of us were born into it, and some of us remember the segregationist laws, but as a child of the 80s, I’m even bitter about the institutional barriers I believe prohibit people of color in particular from realizing their full potential, and the racism that often seeps into law.

A few weeks ago, my friend Yvette and I took a tour of Robben Island. Our guide, Kgotso, was a former political prisoner charged with treason whom had spent roughly five years in prison, and now lives and works on the island full time. His next door neighbor is a former guard, who also works for the Museum. The logical question was “How does that make you feel?” He said they had both gotten over it. At the time, the guard was doing his job. Now, they’re learning to know each other as human beings.

Whenever I ask people here why South Africans do not display the bitterness about apartheid I think they should, they point to Mandela’s example. So, I’m wondering why we in the U.S. have not reached this step. Clearly South Africa has not healed totally, and the horrible crime rate would be one indication of that. But maybe Americans are behind because we never had a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, or a leader like Mandela. Thus, we were never forced to acknowledge the injustices waged under slavery and segregation that has prohibited us from experiencing closure, which in the meantime, has made it all the more complicated and impossible to attain.

I shared this with a professor who reminded me that we’re dealing with two different cultures, that slavery was not political oppression, and that the majority of South Africans were not physically displaced, i.e. taken to another continent. As a whole, I suppose it results in an entirely different grieving process. So there’s much more I need to absorb before I can fully understand the “why.”

When Archbishop Tutu is in town, he usually officiates a 7:15 a.m. service on Fridays at St. George’s Cathedral, an airy Victorian church known for its political activity during the apartheid struggle and for naming Tutu South Africa’s first black Archbishop. My friend Shannon and I were surprised, and glad, that the service was so small and intimate. It was held in a room off the main sanctuary in the far left corner of the church. We were actually among the first to arrive, so we got front-row seats.

Maybe 40 people participated in the service, which included a series of back and forth readings between the Archbishop and the congregation. There was time for communion, which I didn’t feel comfortable taking, so a woman suggested Shannon and I ask for a blessing instead. So, Archbishop Tutu blessed us

After the service, we waited so that we could take a picture with him. He of course didn’t remember the photo we took at Wheelock, but he did have the right words: “You dazzled me.” Even better, we were invited to coffee down the block with him and about 30 of the people who attended the service. We were told the group has been meeting for coffee after that service for nearly 30 years. At Wheelock, at least a dozen or so men accompanied the Archbishop at all times, but in Cape Town, he walked the streets with just one other person.