I saw the pictures of our old South African presidents, and I recalled images of earlier times in far-off places, of little grey men with short moustaches, who also spoke peace but spread misery.
I remember people saying, “Oh, come now, it’s not as bad as all those outsiders say it is.”
But they never felt it.
They had forgotten what it was like to wear those little yellow stars, or have a big red J stamped in the front page of their passports. Of course, it was never as bad as all that over here. Their skins were stars enough.
And we all sat back, numbly, blindly, answering our own age-old question: “How could anyone have let it happen?”