It’s night as I’m sitting outside, staring at the stars and
listening to Miles Davis on my Ipod… 

I’m thinking about two conversations that I had this
week:  Two men—one black the other
white—who were young men during apartheid and are now middle aged. 

The white man was raised to hate.  In the police force he was trained that blacks were no good
and that he had permission to shoot them. 
He laments those days now that he sees the new South Africa.  Sure, he recognizes that whites do not
have as much as they had in terms in power but he says that it is more than
made up for by the new friendships gained.

The black man remembered how the police would fire tear gas
if they ever saw a gathering of blacks. 
After apartheid, he became part of a traveling drama show in which he
played Stephen Biko retelling the story not for the purpose of making people
feel guilty but with the hopes of reconciliation.

Tutu.  (That’s the song I’m listening to)