Sarafina: my Black awakening

Last night I found myself randomly deciding to watch Sarafina: the south african musical depicting the riots that took place- with much bloodshed- in the dusty streets of soweto.

It wasn't the first time watching it... I remember watching this production of the birth pangs of our freedom many years ago. I was barely a teenager.
It was just an intriguing movie back then. A movie that just helped contrast life before and after 1994-that's all.
But this time around it was different. Last night as I watched it, I empathized. I watched it and i was moved. I identified and I cried.

I am moved by the reality of the account. I am not moved by the wonderful script neither am I moved by the exceptional acting. I am moved by the truth behind it. The fact that it is truly a dramatization of genuine events that took place. I am gripped by the reality that actual human beings (each having ONE LIFE like you and I) had their lives snuffed out unfairly so. I am moved by how marginalized the sanctity of human life is under a system which dehumanizes its victims. I am moved by the fact that they were young, just like I am. I cry because they were black- just like me to.

I am in fear, somewhat of the indignation which wells up within me as I ponder on the context of these happenings. The passion joins my sentiments provoking my consciousness. It is personal now.

I am gripped by the reality that I too could have been born in such a time as that and have suffered the same fate. I am gripped with the thought that I too could have died, exasperated by the system.
That fact that what killed them could have easily killed me too.
The consternation and the conflict that these facts create pricks me.

What were they fighting for?
Who were they fighting for?
What cause were they championing?
Did they die in vain?
Which cause am I fighting today?

Am i free?

It beckons me to admit that I am in no need of any intellectual responses to these questions. For when I was a child I watched my history for the schematic reasoning of the timeline.
But today it is different.
It is the cry within me that poses these questions towards me today, leaving me to ponder:
As a young black South African today...

Am I free?