I wore a t-shirt today and it made me think about the ability clothes have to express an abstract idea powerfully. But first some context. The t-shirt worn has bold retro prints circling Biko’s famous face and the words ‘I Write What I Like’ sprawled above his head in thick print.
Steve Biko - for those of you who don’t know - was a political activist, writer and humanitarian in the 70s and author of the book I Write What I Like. Biko dedicated his life to this land. He fought for equality throughout humanity in a very inhumane time within our country.
Much of what he liked to write, most notably: "The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed,” and "It is better to die for an idea that will live; than to live for an idea that will die," landed him in trouble with the then government. These words, words which Biko did indeed live and die by in 1977 due to police abuse, do still live on.
Allow me explain how I came to this conclusion, why I believe that although Biko died all those years ago, that his words (their message) did survive and lies buried in this nations’ deep subconscious. A short story, if you will, an unwitting exercise in anthropology brought about by the aforementioned t-shirt and my wearing of it.
It began this morning.
Across the road from a friend’s house where I'd been staying, a handyman focusedly moved a paintbrush along the wooden panels of the fence. Looking up at me as I walked down the road to the train station, he scanned my person, his eyes settling on the t-shirt.
Aqua paint spurted onto the tar road, little flecks of it spraying over his takkies, clashing with the synthetic blue of his overalls. The whites of his eyes slowly brightened as their pupils dilated like black ink spots spreading across a fresh sheet of paper.
There was now something so raw, so real and affecting, about his stories relating to his political activism during apartheid. But most of all the message of hope in the face of despair and adversity struck my as particulary poignant in today's political climate.
He then picked up his paint brush and pricking it into the tub nearby, signaled the full stop of our conversation as he returned to work.
Moving along the main road passerby threw me meaningful glances on seeing the t-shirt.
At the train station, guards shyly asked me about the t-shirt, forgetting to check my ticket. People on the podium intently looked my way. I lowered my head, leaving them to their thoughts and losing myself in my own. Soon we were bumping along together to rhythm of the train’s motion.
Walking into my lecture building, expecting the security guy's usual request for my student card, I put my theory to the test. Surreptitiously positioning myself for maximum effect, he was soon met with Biko’s resolute stare and I slid past him into the building.
Back at the train station ticket booth, a little while later, a woman offered me her space in the queue. Complimenting my top she smiled, the gap in her front teeth winking at me.
Waiting for the train I decided to get a coffee at the station’s shanty café. The man behind the shop's metal bars unusually engaged me in conversation. His bald white head shining as he stared impressed at Biko’s printed face.
In summary
The t-shirts power seemed to be in the way that it changed the demeanours of the people I came into contact with. Going from blurred, drawn out and desensitized to alert, aware, interested.
Perhaps the t-shirt’s symbolism is at the heart of its popularity. It’s the image of a man who didn’t sit back indolently complaining about this country’s political system; but rather a man who united people through the power of his words, initiating change and fighting for freedom and truth quite literally to his last breath.
Although his life, marred by repeated beatings and imprisonments, came to an abrupt end in a cold cell at the hands of cold-hearted officers, all those years ago, his writings - the power of his words – did survive and lies buried in our collective memory.
In a time of corruption, chaos and confusion in this country where people prefer to not get involved in politics, Steve Biko, represented here by the t-shirt, and others like him, remind us, as a country, of the power of a person, a pen and the truth to bring about transformation.
The despondency felt by South Africans is a paralyzing us from taking action. And it’s a given that we need to start doing something to preserve our beautiful South Africa (rather just being aware of our political system’s downfalls) if we want it to remain so.
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