Two years ago, a friend and I travelled to France for a vacation.
We had taken a train from the Hannover Central Station and were heading to Gare du Nord in Paris — a trip that takes about eight hours with two connections.
In Europe, when people buy a train ticket online, they have the option to select a seat for the duration of their trip, at an extra cost of about R40.
I entrusted my friend with handling the bookings, and off to Paris we went.
The first leg of the trip went smoothly, but at the second connection, we encountered a challenge.
A European family came in and demanded that we move our seats as they had booked the ones we were seated in.
Naturally, I was enraged, and my immediate instinct was to call them out for racism.
It was a tense stand-off that required the intervention of the train staff.
After back-and-forth accusations, the train staff requested that we all produce our tickets for confirmation, stating apologetically that there could have been a double-booking error made by the ticket issuer.
After our tickets were inspected, the error was identified: my friend had booked the correct train and the exact seats that we were seated in.
However, the date of the booking was incorrect — it was for that day, but in a year’s time.
Basically, we, not the European family, had been in the wrong.
As the train was fully booked, my friend and I had to get off and rebook train tickets.
I stormed out of the train in anger, frustration and complete embarrassment, leaving my friend to make apologies and unload our luggage, despite the fact that I had been the one to accuse innocent people of racism.
While I had lacked the emotional maturity to take accountability in the moment, I later sat down to reflect on why my automatic response to the situation had been to think the family was being racist.
I realised that the trauma of having grown up in a country where racism is the order of the day affects how I engage with the world.
I attended multiracial schools, historically white universities and live in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg, where whites still stare disapprovingly at black people in public parks and community spaces.
Because of this, I generally view the actions of white people against me with suspicion.
But I was wrong in that train ride — it was not racism I had encountered; it was a family rightfully wanting to sit together in seats they had correctly booked in advance.
I share this story to challenge the decision by the United Democratic Movement (UDM) to lodge a formal complaint at the SA Human Rights Commission (SAHRC) against Bafana Bafana coach Hugo Broos.
The man is being accused of racism for raising concerns about Orlando Pirates defender Mbekezeli Mbokazi’s move to a club overseas.
Broos argued that the move was premature, and that Mbokazi’s agent was prioritising short-term financial gain over the player’s welfare and long-term development.
The UDM, and some in society, argue that Broos’ stance reflects racism.
Yet, Broos has consistently supported the player, even selecting him for the national team just a few months ago.
The reality is that in a country where racism is an element of everyday life, it comes naturally to view the actions of white people as racism, which in many cases, is what they are.
But there are cases where a white person’s arguments are legitimate and factual and demand honest reflection.
Broos is correct that agents tend to take advantage of players, and that this compromises the players’ long-term development and welfare.
It is also true that players tend to be more committed to their high-playing clubs than they are to the national team.
We must be able to hold people accountable for their actions and to call out their limitations within reason.
Broos is doing this, as he should, given his dedication to our national team, which he has risen from the ashes.
He is not guilty of racism.
The Herald





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