I was born in India in the 1950s but grew up in Rhodesia, Southern Africa, under the laws of segregation. The white minority government declared independence from Britain in 1965 and made it unlawful for different races to socialise together. Each racial group was required to live separately and use their own separate facilities. My family was part of the Indian community, so we were classed as “non-whites”.
At that time, there was a clear societal hierarchy with the white minority at the top, South Asians and those of mixed race in the middle and the black majority at the bottom. During those years, the racism around me was all consuming. It changed in 1980 when Rhodesia became Zimbabwe, and many have now forgotten what colour-bar was like. I’ve been in the UK for more than 40 years, but I still have strong negative recollections of the apartheid rules forced upon us.
Recently, I have been reflecting on how similar this racist structure was to the Hindu caste system which is still prevalent in India. They are not identical, and I know the two structures have impacted people in different ways, but my views are based on my own experiences and understanding about the two systems which I believe are discriminative, repressive and unjust.
My abiding memory of living through the ‘60s and ‘70s in Rhodesia is of constantly feeling like a second-class citizen. All the privileges went to the white minority – the best schools, hospitals, land, residential areas, jobs, etc. As an Indian woman, my opportunities were limited in many ways, but we were granted some freedoms, such as being allowed to live in the city, attending good schools, and being allowed to visit the public swimming pool on certain days. This was in stark contrast to the Black majority, who faced atrocious restrictions. They suffered years of oppression and racial dehumanisation, first at the hands of the British colonials, then under prime minister Ian Smith’s intolerant government. I felt that they were treated like third-class citizens even though they were the majority population. There were insufficient schools for their children, they were frequently stopped and questioned if found in the city after a certain time and were deliberately spoken to in a language called Chilapalapa so as to differentiate them from other races.
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Growing up, I saw injustice everywhere, a constant reminder that white people were in charge. Signs of “For Europeans Only” were put up in public places like parks, benches and toilets. Anyone who wasn’t white was forbidden to enter hotels, clubs, cafes and restaurants or visit some of the country’s natural beauty spots. I can recount many humiliating experiences such as having racial slurs hurled at me by white youths and being told at work that I should keep a separate mug for my tea so that the white staff did not get contaminated. I remember once on a hot day after school, my friend and I went to buy a cold drink at a cafe. We wanted to sit on a bench outside, but the white owner sent us packing saying: “We don’t serve non-whites.”
I know that some white people were unaware of our everyday difficulties. Indians were easily dismissed because we were a small group sandwiched between the privileged white minority and the oppressed black majority. We endured constant overt and subtle messages of racism making us feel that we were not good enough, ingraining within us an impression of invisible power that ruled supreme, affecting our confidence and self-esteem.
Fortunately for me, the Hindu society was strong. I felt safe and protected in that self-contained circle. We had our own temple, Gujarati school and community hall. My parents and teachers ensured I grew up with a deep appreciation of my Indian roots and heritage. This helped me develop a positive, resilient attitude in life; something that has held me in good stead all these years.
But I have never forgotten how it used to be. It all came back to me when I began to write my debut novel The Secret of Elephants. I have created one character who describes the prejudices and discrimination of that period in Rhodesia, and two characters whose lives are affected by the cruel caste system in India. In writing about their fictional lives, I realised that there are many similarities between the racism in Rhodesia and the casteism in India. Although, casteism differs from the racism of apartheid in that it is not based solely on skin colour, it similarly segregates groups of people, where some feel they are superior to others.
The caste system is a social stratification which divides Hindus into rigid hierarchical groups. Castes are ranked from highest (priests and teachers) to lowest (labourers). Outside the system are the Dalits (formally known as the untouchables – cleaners of streets, toilets and sewers). You are born into your caste, and you cannot change it. No matter how educated or wealthy you might be, if you are born lower caste, you will remain lower caste.
Despite being outlawed in 1950, India’s caste system persists in certain places, especially in rural areas. Like the racists in Rhodesia, many upper caste families behave as if they are superior. I hear stories of people refusing to live near those they consider low caste, visit them in their homes, share any facilities with them and even drink water offered by them.
Outside India, amongst the Indian diaspora, there doesn’t appear to be any overt caste discrimination. But when you delve deeper, you can see that under the surface, it is alive and kicking. It is not that dissimilar to the segregation I experienced in Rhodesia. Many caste groups are still holding their own gatherings and marrying within caste. In my own circle of friends and family, casteism is considered a thing of the past, and so I was surprised to discover Hindu matrimonial websites advertising successful matches for people of specific castes. They are perpetuating segregation.
The apartheid I experienced in Rhodesia is gone. But the Hindu caste system is still lingering on. It saddens me to see that it is still alive. There is no place for it in the 21st century and I very much hope that it dies away soon.
The Secret of Elephants (Lake Union, £8.99) by Vasundra Tailor was published on September 1st
