THIS column is, as requested, about how I came to be an activist. This is a subjective account, inevitably with far too many “I’s” – but it echoes, in different ways, the experiences of thousands of activists. Many of them did far more than me and sacrificed enormously, including by giving their lives. So, my activist role is relatively marginal in this context.
Moreover, while an activist’s role is influenced by their values, ideals, character and personality, more importantly, it’s influenced by other activists. Being an activist is fundamentally a collective activity.
I have been very fortunate to meet some excellent activists (too many to mention here) and be part of some very sound organisations that have certainly enriched me. There are too many to mention here. Clearly, my role cannot be separated from those I had the privilege to work with.
Anyway, my initial political awareness came from an unusual source. It’s not clear why, but I took to reading my father’s newspapers at a young age. It was the liberal focus in them on the needlessness of “petty apartheid” – separate park benches, beaches and other amenities – that first awakened me politically. I
