As a good member of the black middle class, I found myself attending the opening night of a theatrical production of “My Children, My Africa!” by Athol Fugard. Though Fugard is a white South African, he was against apartheid before it was cool. This is one of his classic plays.

It’s remarkable now to think how controversial and confrontational this work was at the time it was performed when now it’s part of a growing canon of establised theater.

It struck me because black bloggers are too engaging in a struggle that involves confrontation at times with those who look a lot like us. There’s a disagreement at a critical time and a palpable disappointment in our (self or media) appointed leaders.

Still you may, like me, wonder: what does it all add up to — all of these words? Does it make a difference? Is anyone listening?

As I sipped a mango mojito and nibbled veined cheese at the reception and after congratulating the actors on their mastery of South African dialect, I resolved to share these words with you. I found they gave me a little more strength for the struggle ahead. How about you?

If the struggle needs weapons give it words Thami. Stones and petrol bombs can’t get inside those armored cars. Words can. They can do something even more devastating than that…they can get inside the heads of those inside the armored cars. I speak to you like this because if I have faith in anything, it is faith in the power of the word. Like my master, the great Confucius, I believe that, using only words, a man can right a wrong and judge and execute the wrongdoer. You are meant to use words like that.

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