1992: midpoint of a crisis

Anton Karstel ~ Untitled (1992) - oil on canvas

1992.

It's 2 years since the referendum in which White South Africans voted  by a massive 80%+ to embrace universal franchise and consign (formal) apartheid to History's dustbin. They have voluntarily placed themselves in the hands of those they oppressed: the alternative of a spiralling police state had momentarily brought everyone to their senses. In 2 years’ time the first all-inclusive elections are slated to be held. Talks, negotiations, call them what you will - they are ongoing. A new constitution is seeding, but it's all terribly fragile.

We are at the midpoint in the changing of a nation. Those whose inclinations are towards Fear and uncertainty are frightened and uncertain. Those who have a natural optimism expect something better. Those with hatred stoke it. Those who seek power manipulate and manoeuvre. Those with things to hide desperately try to bury the past: everyone prays for Truth, Reconciliation, and a peaceful reboot. Those with the money and the lack of scruples take it and run, mostly to Commonwealth countries, the UK, Australia and New Zealand especially welcome the money and ignore the institutionalised colonial racism they are seeding into their own communities. Some parts of the country burn, others maintain their outward appearances: luck is a factor for the individual and his community.

It's 1992, and Anton Karstel paints this image of a person which perfectly captures the mood of all those I've mentioned, and many more I haven't. Does it matter that the person looks somewhat like a woman? No: it makes a perfect sense. Women in this patriarchical country have suffered under every regime. She becomes androgynous here.

One face rages or cries out as it stares at the abyss. Another gazes up and calls for help or searches for answers. Its one person, and we are all that person. It was a terrible time, a precarious balancing point with collapse on either side a terrible long fall into a nightmare future. What difference does it make if you fall into this side or that of a chasm? Blood does not care if it sprays to the left or to the right. Blood does not suffer: only people do, the dead do not suffer**.

We were all this image, yet somehow we made it through.
These days, things seem dark and troubled too, what with corrupt politicians, entitled free loaders and a whole new way to express prejudice. When it feels all too much, I pull up this image from my digital archive and revisit it. I'm reminded that nothing will ever be as bad as what we sidestepped, together, all those years ago.

** Robert Green Ingersoll (1883)
Photograph (c) the author: taken at the Pretoria Art Museum Oct 28, 2018; artwork (c) the owner.