Kaffir Boy Hate Quotes

The ordeal lasted the entire day, at the end of which I seethed with hatred and anger; I wanted to kill somebody. I can't take this degradation anymore, I told myself as I headed for the black bus stop, new passbook in hand: it contained my picture, fingerprints, address, employers address, age, colour of hair and eyes, height, tribal affiliation – it contained every detail of my life necessary for the police to know my life history upon demand, and I was supposed to carry the damn thing with me every hour of the day and night.

But how could we blacks allow whites to do this to us--to degrade us, to trample on our dignity – without fighting back? The fact that for the rest of my life I was doomed to carry the odious thing – a reminder of my inferior station in South African life – filled me with outrage and revived my determination to get to America. (53.98-99)

"Those aren't men, boy, that's vermin," the scarfaced man retorted. There was fire in his big bloodshot eyes as he spoke. "That vermin is being brought here to get gold for the white man, boy," he went on, "to make the white bastards fat and rich and powerful and deadly." He paused and took three deep draws from tobacco wrapped in brown paper. "If all these years that vermin hadn't been licking the white man's ass, boy," he went on, making another obscene gesture with several stub fingers in his left hand, at another passing truck, "we would have long had political rights in this country. And I wouldn't be standing here freezing my ass off waiting for the bloody offices to open so that I could have my pass stamped so that I could hunt for a job so that I could feed myself, my wife and my brood so they wouldn't die." His run-on sentences throbbed with anger and hatred. It seemed as if somehow my questions, naïve and unpremeditated though they were, had, nonetheless, provided him with some long-awaited opportunity to vent his pent-up frustrations and bitterness. The way he denounced the blanketed people, and the way the rest of the men around the fire supported what he was saying, made it seem that, somehow, their inability to find work, to earn a living, to have self-respect and dignity, to be real men in the eyes of their wives; in short, the disintegration of their lives, was blameable on the convoys coming into the township. Somehow, in their anger and hatred, I could see traces of my father's anger and hatred. What created men like these? I didn't know. (20.27)

I couldn't quite understand why white people would suddenly give a black child things. Out of the goodness of their hearts? No, white people had no hearts – that I had been learning every day of my life. They were to be feared and hated. (29.7)