Honorary White Read Free

according to South Africa’s racial policies? Would I accept such segregation as secondary to the main issue of fact-finding? Perhaps, as a native of another sovereign country and under the protection of the United Nations I would not be subject to South Africa’s segregation laws. But, if insulated from them, how could I truly appreciate their effect?
    It would be a harsh irony for me, a black man, to visit a country like Namibia or South Africa and be isolated from the cruelties to which other black men were continually subjected. How would the Blacks themselves react to me, a “protected” person? Would they respond to me as a black “brother” or merely as a representative of the United Nations who happened to be black but was unlikely to be concerned for their plight? I was not an African, had no knowledge of their languages and no real understanding of their traditions, so I would be as much an outsider as anyone else.
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    Early in 1973, long after I had left the U.N., a friend in Guyana sent me a clipping from the South African Official Gazette. The clipping stated that, as of that date, the ban on all books by E. R. Braithwaite was lifted. I was surprised and, on impulse, telephoned the South African Consul General in New York. I said that I had just learned of the lifting of the ban from my books, and even as I thought of it, asked whether the ban was lifted from the author as well.
    The Consul General was friendly and charming and completely and happily unaware of author, books, or ban. We chatted awhile and he suggested that the best way of checking any ban on myself was by applying for a visa. All visa applications are processed in Pretoria and a successful application would mean there was no ban. He invited me to visit his office at my convenience and make the application.
    He was as friendly, courteous and urbane as his voice had promised. With the utmost civility we talked about his country and its policies and he said that he sincerely hoped my visa application would be favorably considered and that I might at close quarters come to an appreciation of why such policies and practices were necessary in the prevailing circumstances. I told him that everything I had heard about his country had already prejudiced me against that likelihood.
    â€œBe patient. Go and see for yourself,” he said, unwittingly echoing the others. He sounded as if he expected the visa to be granted. Would he, as Consul General, advise that I be given one? I suddenly felt cornered. Supposing, just supposing the visa was granted. What then? I was not attracted to the idea of spending any time in a racist society. So why bother to apply for a visa? If it was granted and I refused it, that would be the end of me as a critic of South Africa.
    But there seemed little chance that the visa would actually be granted. Surely it would suffer the same fate as those earlier Council appeals. So security-conscious a state as South Africa would certainly investigate my background, especially my anti-South Africa position at the United Nations. Their conclusions would certainly be negative. In any case, I could tell myself that I had tried to visit South Africa. I’d be able to put the “Go see for yourself” thing to rest once and for all.
    Five months passed with no word from Pretoria and I had convinced myself that my application had been ignored, when there was a telephone call from the Consul General. My visa had been granted. My immediate reaction was one of acute distress. Now that my way was clear, the thought of actually going to South Africa was abhorrent. For his part, the Consul General believed I sincerely wished to visit his country and invited me to come to the Consulate again and meet other members of his staff who would provide me with a useful overview. I accepted.
    They seemed to be calling my bluff. For years now I had been so safe in my posture of justified condemnation of South