This week I put on my Indian mantle and balled my fists at Eff chief whip, Floyd Shivambu’s racist rant. He called Treasury’s (Indian) deputy Director General Ismail Momoniat “unAfrican”, a pejorative term pregnant with unsaid prejudice against Indians (and every other ethnic group in this country). Floyd is a plodding un-prepossessed man whose bitterness turns his plain face ugly as he spews hate.

UnAfrican? What does that mean? What does that make me, a child of this soil, who has been a part of the South African story from birth. Where does that relegate me? This defence of my Indian-ness comes as a surprise to me. It’s a new feeling, this emotion tinged with pride at being Indian, at being an Indian South African, at being an Indian African. This emotion is also filled with rage; fury at having to defend my Indian-ness as being African, a Naidoo African.   This story was told often around the Naidoo dinner table when my parents were alive, one that made us laugh till we cr...

BL Premium

This article is reserved for our subscribers.

A subscription helps you enjoy the best of our business content every day along with benefits such as exclusive Financial Times articles, ProfileData financial data, and digital access to the Sunday Times and Times Select.

Already subscribed? Simply sign in below.

Questions or problems? Email or call 0860 52 52 00. Got a subscription voucher? Redeem it now