The Insidious Blindness of White Denial in Confronting the Legacy of Apartheid and Colonialism

By Nco Dube

The recent debate surrounding Donald Trump’s executive order to sanction South Africa, based on the false narrative of white victimhood, has once again exposed the deep-seated hypocrisy and wilful ignorance that characterises so much of the global discourse on race and justice.

This misinformation campaign, which falsely claimed that white South Africans were being subjected to large-scale land seizures and persecution, saw black South Africans forced into a familiar and exhausting position: not only having to set the record straight but also having to explain, yet again, their pain and suffering at the hands of white Afrikaners and other white settlers in South Africa.

It was a painful reminder of how black people are perpetually expected to justify their demands for justice, even as the beneficiaries of their oppression feign ignorance of the historical injustices that make race-based laws necessary in this country.

White South Africans, and their allies abroad, conveniently ignored the fact that the land reform policies currently under discussion are not acts of vengeance but attempts to redress centuries of colonial theft and apartheid-era dispossession. They ignored the fact that black South Africans were forcibly removed from their land, stripped of their dignity, and relegated to poverty and marginalisation, all to serve the economic interests of a white minority.

They ignored the fact that the wealth and privilege enjoyed by white South Africans today are built on the exploitation and dehumanisation of black people. Instead, they chose to paint themselves as victims, perpetuating a narrative that erases the historical and ongoing suffering of black South Africans. This is not just ignorance; it is a deliberate act of erasure, a refusal to confront the uncomfortable truths of history and their own complicity in perpetuating inequality.

In South Africa, and indeed across the globe, there exists a pervasive and deeply insulting phenomenon: the wilful blindness of white people to the destructive legacies of colonialism, racism, slavery, and apartheid. This blindness is not merely a passive ignorance; it is an active refusal to acknowledge the systemic violence and exploitation that have shaped the modern world.

It is a refusal to see how these systems continue to perpetuate inequality, suffering, and pain for black people. Worse still, it is a demand that black people constantly justify, explain, and relive their trauma for the benefit of those who continue to profit from their oppression. This is not just ignorance; it is arrogance. It is violence. And it must be called out for what it is.

The history of colonialism, slavery, and apartheid is not a distant memory; it is a living reality. In South Africa, the scars of apartheid are still fresh. The economic disparities, the spatial segregation, the psychological trauma. These are not relics of the past. They are the daily lived experiences of millions of black South Africans. Yet, when confronted with this reality, many white South Africans respond with a shrug, a deflection, or outright denial. They claim that apartheid is over, that colonialism is ancient history, and that slavery has no bearing on the present. They insist that black people should “move on” and “stop playing the victim.” But how can one move on from a system that continues to dictate the terms of their existence?

The truth is that white denial is not just a failure of empathy; it is a strategy of self-preservation. To acknowledge the full extent of colonialism, racism, and apartheid would be to acknowledge the unearned privileges that whiteness confers. It would be to confront the uncomfortable truth that the wealth, power, and opportunities enjoyed by white people are built on the backs of black suffering. It would be to admit that the world as we know it is not a meritocracy, but a hierarchy constructed through violence and exploitation. For many white people, this is too much to bear. It is easier to feign ignorance, to claim innocence, and to shift the burden of proof onto black people.

But why should black people have to explain their pain? Why should they have to justify their anger, their grief, their demands for justice? For centuries, black people have been subjected to unspeakable violence. Violence that was justified, rationalised, and normalised by those in power. Their bodies were commodified, their cultures erased, their humanity denied. And yet, when they dare to speak out against this violence, they are met with scepticism, dismissal, and hostility. They are told that their experiences are exaggerated, that their demands are unreasonable, that their anger is misplaced. They are told to be patient, to be grateful, to be quiet.

This is not just insulting; it is dehumanising. It reduces black pain to a debate, a negotiation, a performance. It forces black people to relive their trauma for the benefit of an audience that is often more interested in defending its own privilege than in seeking justice. It is a form of emotional labour that is both exhausting and unjust. Black people should not have to educate white people about the realities of racism. They should not have to justify their right to dignity, to equality, to freedom. The burden of proof should not be on the oppressed; it should be on the oppressors.

The problem is not that white people do not know about colonialism, racism, and apartheid; the problem is that they do not care. Or, more accurately, they care more about protecting their own comfort than about addressing the injustices that surround them.

They are content to live in a world where black people are disproportionately poor, unemployed, and imprisoned, as long as it does not disrupt their own lives. They are content to benefit from a system that privileges whiteness, as long as they do not have to confront the moral implications of that privilege. This is not just indifference; it is complicity.

It is time for white people to take responsibility for their role in perpetuating these systems of oppression. This means more than just acknowledging the past; it means confronting the present. It means recognising how colonialism, racism, and apartheid continue to shape the world we live in. It means listening to black voices, not as a performative gesture, but as a genuine commitment to understanding and change. It means using their privilege to challenge the systems that uphold inequality, rather than benefiting from them.

But perhaps most importantly, it means letting go of the need to be seen as innocent. White people must stop expecting black people to absolve them of their guilt, to reassure them that they are not racist, to make them feel comfortable. They must stop demanding that black people educate them, console them, or forgive them. They must stop centering themselves in a conversation that is not about them. This is not about white feelings; it is about black lives.

In South Africa, this means confronting the uncomfortable truth that apartheid did not end in 1994. It means recognising that the economic and social inequalities that define our country are not accidental, but intentional. It means acknowledging that the land, the wealth, and the opportunities that white South Africans enjoy were stolen from black people. It means supporting policies and initiatives that seek to redress these injustices, even if it means sacrificing some of their own privilege. It means standing in solidarity with black South Africans, not as saviours or allies, but as accomplices in the struggle for justice.

The world does not need more white saviours; it needs more white accountability. It needs white people to stop pretending that they are blind to the realities of racism and to start taking responsibility for their role in perpetuating it. It needs white people to stop demanding that black people explain their pain and to start listening to what they have been saying all along. It needs white people to stop centering themselves in the narrative of oppression and to start using their privilege to dismantle the systems that uphold it.

This is not an easy task. It requires humility, courage, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. But it is necessary. Because until white people are willing to take responsibility for the legacy of colonialism, racism, and apartheid, black people will continue to suffer. And until white people are willing to listen, to learn, and to act, the world will remain a place of inequality, injustice, and pain.

Black people have carried the burden of oppression for too long. It is time for white people to shoulder their share of the load. It is time for them to stop pretending that they do not see the suffering around them and to start doing something about it. It is time for them to stop demanding that black people explain their pain and to start taking responsibility for their role in causing it. It is time for them to stop being blind and to start seeing the world as it truly is. Only then can we begin to imagine a world that is just, equitable, and free.

In conclusion, the phenomenon of white denial is not just an insult; it is an injustice. It is a refusal to acknowledge the humanity of black people and a refusal to confront the moral implications of white privilege. It is a demand that black people continue to bear the burden of oppression, even as they struggle to survive in a world that is stacked against them. This cannot continue. Black people deserve more than just sympathy; they deserve justice. And justice requires more than just words; it requires action. It requires white people to stop pretending that they do not see the suffering around them and to start doing something about it. It requires them to stop being blind and to start seeing the world as it truly is. Only then can we begin to imagine a world that is just, equitable, and free.

(Dube is a political economist, businessman, and social commentator on Ukhozi FM. His views don't reflect those of the Sunday Tribune or Independent Media)

SUNDAY TRIBUNE