by Robyn Wolfson Vorster | Jan 7, 2019 | Child Abuse
One of the most significant events of the 2018 ‘16 Days of Activism for No Violence Against Women and Children’ was the sentencing of Collan Rex, the abuser of 23 Parktown Boys’ pupils between the ages of 13 and 16, to an apt 23 years in prison. But as welcome as the sentence was, there is much about the case that is still troubling for child protection activists. Particularly concerning are the failure of the abuser and the structures that supported him to acknowledge the impact of the abuse, and the role of the school and its traditions in allowing Rex to flourish. As the 2019 school year begins, holding all parties accountable is critical, not only for the boys’ healing, but also to prevent future incidents of abuse.
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The noise that the wooden stands made when hundreds of boys in black blazers and boaters stamped out the rousing school anthem Arise, Arise, Parktown whenever their team played rugby is an enduring memory from my childhood. Fast forward to rugby season 2018, and another generation of Parktown Boys was chanting their anthem. But this time the response of their biggest rivals, King Edwards and Jeppe Boys, was to chant back, taunting them, calling them “gay”, “homos” and “faggots”.
It was an ugly consequence of the sexual abuse scandal involving the school’s water polo coach that has kept Parktown Boys in the news. It may be one of the reasons why in September 2018, Parktown’s School Governing Body (SGB) declined an interview on SABC news to talk about testimony given by Collan Rex in his own defence, stating that they were hoping that the story would “quieten down” if they didn’t speak. Child protection activists disagree. They maintain that the story needs to remain in the public domain, not, as some might assume to the detriment of the boys, but for two important reasons.
The first is that while Parktown Boys has been in the spotlight because of the case, the practices and structures that led to this predator not just surviving, but thriving, are common to many boys’ schools, even to co-ed schools with strong traditions. In his pivotal report on the Parktown Boys abuse case, veteran activist Luke Lamprecht explained how the purpose, culture and structure of boy’s schools enable and sometimes tacitly condone abuse. He drew the troubling conclusion that although the focus is currently on Parktown Boys, these factors are present in most traditional boy’s schools.
The boys chanting “faggots” at those rugby matches could also be in danger if practices of initiation, institutional rigidity and the culture of secrecy exist in their schools, and aren’t addressed. Secondly, although Parktown Boys would understandably like to argue that the current scandal is linked exclusively to one individual and his deviant practices, reports from child protection activists belie this. And despite admirable measures from the school to protect boys going forwards, failure to address the long-term nature of the problems facilitate a culture where predators can thrive.
In his report, Lamprecht explains how traditionally, boys’ schools were designed to produce boys ready for military service. The resultant patriarchal and misogynistic structures are programmed for obedience and secrecy. Schools form boys into an “elite” that needs to be protected from outsiders, often through a code of silence: in the case of Parktown Boys: “what happens at Parktown, stays at Parktown”. It is a culture that is maintained by teachers and older boys, who have often been subjected to the same rituals and practices in the past, and who have internalised the code. In many cases, teachers at Parktown Boys chose not to respond to boys’ reports of physical and sexual abuse despite Section 110 of the Children’s Amendment Act and the Sexual Offences Act making it compulsory for them to report it.
In addition, older boys perpetuate the culture through the age-old practice of “fagging”. Fagging was defined in the 1800s by the then headmaster of Rugby School “as the power given by the authorities of the school to (the oldest boys), to be exercised over younger boys… reminiscent of the relationship between squire and knight in the Middle Ages.” In Parktown Boys, it can be clearly seen in the “old pot, new pot” system. The fag system is reinforced through initiation practices, which can range from relatively benign pranks to protracted patterns of behaviour that rise to the level of abuse or criminal misconduct. Initiation may include physical or psychological abuse, nudity or even sexual assault.
The most extreme version is hazing which can involve severe aggression and sexual perversion, both of which have been identified at Parktown Boys, especially on sports camps and in the hostel. Add to that the total institution found in a hostel environment, where boys’ lives are controlled and regulated in every way, and it is easy to see how boys could be induced into acts that violated their own boundaries. Total institutions also provide a unique environment for perpetrators to hide abuse. In Rex’s case, he had unfettered access to the boys he abused and absolute power to control them and make them compliant.
According to Lamprecht, two of the most important prerequisites for abuse to occur are for the abuser to avoid external inhibitors like possible legal implications, and to overcome the inhibitions of the child, sometimes done through force, but usually through the processes of grooming and gaslighting. In addition, the culture of secrecy, which Lamprecht describes as the “power of abuse”, shortens the activity of grooming because it is all bracketed within the initiation process and “what happens at Parktown, stays at Parktown”.
Grooming occurs when the offender overcomes the child’s resistance by making the child their “favourite”, giving them special treatment, isolating one or a small group, and gradually using boundary and taboo violations to blur a normal caring relationship into one that meets the offender’s sexual needs. Grooming is also premised on the sharing of secrets, often illicit drinking, drugs or the use of pornography. These are usually introduced or permitted by the abuser, followed by the promise that, “I won’t tell anyone, it will be our little secret”. The little secret then shifts to include a bigger secret, namely the abuse. Both aspects of grooming make the child feel a sense of responsibility for the abuse, resulting in guilt and shame, and become a barrier to purposeful disclosure.
The script of Rex’s abuse is textbook. He was only slightly older than the boys he abused, and therefore potentially “cool”. He was ostensibly a peer, with the mentality of a teen. But he had authority over the boys, a sports coach and junior hostel master with the power to make favourites in the hostel and the swimming pool, access to introduce illicit behaviour, and the physical strength to subdue them.
Add to that Rex’s use of gaslighting, which Lamprecht defines as “manipulation of someone by psychological means into doubting their own sanity”, and Rex’s denial (in particular his denial of the impact of the abuse, something he clearly communicated to the boys, and evident in them referring to his behaviour as the “Rex way”), and it is easy to see why the boys’ testimony may have seemed uncertain at times.
During the trial, the boys testified how Rex’s behaviour overstepped boundaries including introducing pornography and adult content such as Fifty shades of Grey, drugs, and even a stripper being brought to school. Rex justified pulling down boys’ costumes and rubbing up against boys in the pool as being “just part of the sport”. It is particularly telling that one of the boys reported his abuse to a teacher, but only much later because he “wasn’t sure”. This evidence should have been interpreted as classic indicators of grooming and gaslighting, but it wasn’t. Instead, the magistrate dismissed the boys’ evidence as not credible, much to their deep distress given that they had risked everything to testify. The legal system’s choice not to interpret their testimony in the context of grooming and gaslighting was evidence of how effective Rex’s abuse was.
For his part, Rex admitted to the content of the charges against him, but he did not plead guilty. Instead, he minimised the impact of the abuse by blaming the water polo culture for his actions. His contention was that the touching of genitals was a necessary part of the sport. In addition, he attributed his abusive ways to his own experience of being molested at the school, using what psychologists refer to as the “vampire myth” to effectively claim that the “Rex way” and the “Parktown way” were the same.
But according to Rees Mann from the Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse, the argument that all abusers go on to abuse others is incorrect. Mann questions why we believe it of abused men but not of abused women. Lamprecht contends that the vampire myth arose from very limited studies of incarcerated sexual offenders who had the motive to blame their behaviour on prior abuse, and in many cases, no evidence to support it. But the vampire myth not only takes away the agency of the abused, but it also implies that boys cannot be simply viewed as vulnerable victims, instead they become “abusers in waiting”.
Interestingly, the magistrate did not accept this as a defence in mitigation of sentencing and held Rex completely responsible for his actions, sentencing him to 144 counts of sexual assault and 12 counts of common assault. But, crucially, the ruling does not clear the school of culpability. What is clear from extensive studies of the school is that Rex did not form Parktown Boys, he was formed by the school. Instead of excusing his crimes, his history of abuse widens the list of those culpable for his actions to include his own abusers, and more importantly, the school that produced him, and chose not to vet him appropriately.
It is no coincidence that the last major scandal at Parktown Boys occurred in 2009, the year that Rex entered the school. It involved Grade 11 learners from the hostel who were seriously assaulted during an initiation ritual. The initiation took place at night, apparently unsupervised by staff but educators were very clearly complicit. Labelled a rite of passage, whose stated goal was to make the Grade 11s earn the privilege of having a kettle, the victims were taken out of their beds at night, physically beaten with bats and clubs and had Deep Heat rubbed into their genitals. In response, Pene Kimber, the mother of one of the Grade 11 boys who was assaulted in this ritual, pressed charges against the Grade 12 boys involved. What is significant according to Lamprecht is that although the assault was both sexual and physical, only the physical was publicly emphasised, and the school obtained a civil settlement which included a non-disclosure agreement. And troublingly, the case prompted staff, management and Old Boys to close ranks around the perpetrators and the school traditions.
High-profile arguments for the right of the school to continue initiations and “it happened to us and look how well we turned out, so what is wrong with you”, dominated the narrative, and the family who made the allegations public were subjected to ridicule and death threats. The upshot was that although the school had a significant opportunity to transform its culture in 2009, it actively resisted change. The ethos of secrets, initiation and violence was still prevalent when Collan Rex entered the school, with devastating results. Some may even argue that it worsened as a knee-jerk response to the Kimber case.
Peter Harris, who presented the Harris, Nupen, Molebatsi report, commissioned by the Gauteng Department of Education in response to parent outrage about how the abuse of the “Parktown Boys 23” occurred, confirms this belief: “Unfortunately, since 2009, initiation practices that involved quite severe assaults have taken place and…there have been allegations of severe initiation practices taking place at various camps on various occasions and in various sporting teams over the years”.
When considering accountability for this case, it is also crucial to acknowledge that when Rex’s abuse was accidentally uncovered by a boy viewing security footage of the hostel common room in the hope of finding lost water polo caps, the school again tried to use a civil case to cover it up.
Nor are these the only instances of abuse in the school’s history. The South African Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse has a sexual abuse case from the school dating back as far as 1969. But the inception of the sexual abuse at Parktown is widely believed to be the late 1980s when the hostel was opened. The implication is that some of the boys who were proudly chanting on the stands when I was a child were already being molested. In his report, Harris detailed a long history of abuse. Practices included “sexually predatory behaviour” by senior pupils against junior pupils, a culture of assault and sexual assault under the guise of “initiation practices” and “profoundly shocking” utterances made by teachers in the presence of pupils.
“While it is a problem at most schools, it would appear that this has become a generational practice at Parktown Boys,” Harris said.
In 2006, a boy was badly assaulted in a prefect’s assembly. His mother reported the abuse to the school and the department, and was informed by the department that she was trying to destroy the school. Tragically, her son didn’t ever recover from the abuse, and he took his own life in December 2017. According to Harris, some of the most troubling incidents they uncovered involved sexually predatory behaviour by senior pupils against junior pupils in 2014 and 2015, and the lashing of a boy during a water polo camp as recently as 2017.
And it isn’t just the long history of hidden physical and sexual abuse at Parktown Boys that is troubling. In an interview on 702, Eusebius McKaiser presented a cogent concern that there has not been a sufficient apology or full disclosure from Parktown Boy’s management, and in its absence, there are a number of lingering worries about the abuse.
One of the most critical questions is why Rex was employed in the first place. Lamprecht’s report indicated that Rex had a history of being abused and being abusive. When he was at the school, his peers, who apparently all knew about his abusive behaviour, warned younger boys to be careful when they were with him because he was “touchy and possibly gay”. He also reportedly went to the younger boys’ rooms, and as he got older and wielded more power and authority (as was set up in the school and hostel system), he began to demonstrate many of the actions that led to the abuse of the 23 boys when he later became an assistant hostel master.
Also, while Rex was at high school, one younger boy told his peer that Rex often lay on his bed and touched him inappropriately on his private parts in the guise of wrestling. He would later get a “joke award” for this as an assistant master when the boys began to refer to his behaviour as “the Rex way”. But given that this conduct was already so evident when he was a pupil, it is hard to see how the school could have missed his abusive tendencies. School management would surely have reviewed his history prior to recruiting him. But even if they did overlook it, it appears that he made little attempt to hide his behaviour when he was an assistant master. The question of culpability becomes an important one. How did the responsible adults in the hostel and the school miss the abuse? Or did they note it and just turn a blind eye?
The Harris Nupen Molebatsi report indicates that as with historical abuse, some educators at the school were aware of what was occurring, and failed to report it, and some enabled it. Others mocked the boys for telling their stories and for their “perceived weakness”. The boys were infantilised for expressing their pain and labelled as “cry babies”, and victims were humiliated, insulted and warned that “snitches get stitches and fall into ditches”. Allegations against staff articulated in the report include condoning and encouraging initiation practices on sports tours, and bringing alcohol and even a stripper on to school property.
Harris noted that “it is quite conceivable that certain of the initiation practices, the code of silence, as well as certain of the assaults perpetrated by senior boys on junior boys may well have taken place with the tacit if not complicit consent of certain staff members, who themselves, when they were boys at the school, suffered a similar fate”. Concerningly, at the inception of the 2019 school year and more than four months after the reading of the report (it has still not been released), parents of the school allege that some of the educators named in the report remain at the school, while others continue to be employed in other schools.
Nonetheless, the school and the Gauteng Department of Education have taken some commendable steps to make the boys safer, especially in the hostel. The hostel is under new management and the school has increased the number of security cameras in common places, introduced the Guardian app to allow boys to report bullying and abuse anonymously, and the proper evaluation and psychological assessment of staff members at recruitment.
Initiation practices have also been banned, with the school focusing on older learners earning respect rather than demanding it. But the practices are hard to eliminate, and the school has an ongoing challenge of policing culture, especially in an environment where some old boys and teachers condone initiation. There also remains the question of who will be the first generation of Grade 12s to say, “it was done to us, but we won’t do it to anyone else”.
The parents of the “Parktown Boys 23” argue that despite Rex’s sentence, the lack of acknowledgement of culpability from the perpetrator and the school remains a barrier to healing. They also contend that the changes are “too little, too late” for their boys, many of whom suffered tertiary trauma through testifying, and the appallingly slow and inept Department of Social Development process of gathering evidence to ascertain the impact of Rex’s crimes. Several of these boys remain depressed, detached and on suicide watch.
Nonetheless, these parents continue to fight for the class of 2019, especially the new Grade 8 intake, and all the boys whose lives will be impacted one way or another by Parktown Boys. In the end, nothing short of an end to initiation, cadets, the code of secrecy and the toxic masculinity it produces will effect a change in culture. If Parktown Boys and the other boy’s schools like it don’t make the changes required, more predators like Rex will thrive, and the boys produced by the system will not become proud old boys, but rather, broken men. DM
First published in the Daily Maverick: 07.01.2019
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by Robyn Wolfson Vorster | Nov 10, 2018 | Adoption
In this two-part article, the focus is on how we as adoptive parents, can best parent our adoptees. Part 1 contained tips 1-4. This article explores the last three.
5. Your child should not remember the first time they heard their adoption story
Years ago, I watched an episode of the sitcom “Friends” where Chandler inadvertently told a little boy that he was adopted. They made it funny, but it was a particularly uncomfortable story line for me because I vividly remember my brother and I accidentally revealing to a friend that he was adopted when we were small children. We had no idea that it was a secret, and to this day, I wonder why his parents told family and friends (we weren’t even close friends), before telling him. It was admittedly a different time, where all adoptions were same race, so easily hidden, and for some, there was an odd stigma and sometimes even shame associated with having an adopted child. Those reasons should no longer be valid today. But there are still children that go years without their parents telling them that they are adopted. Nor does this only apply to same race adoptions. I recently met a five-year-old at a local school who does not know he is adopted, despite his mother being Indian while he is black. Part of him undoubtedly knows, he came to the school when anger issues forced him to leave his previous one, and children in the park tell him that he is lying when points out his mother to them (his adoption is being “outed” all the time). The school is in the process of helping his mom to tell him his story, and while it is very late at five, it will hopefully help him deal with whatever part of his identity has been wounded by this secret.
It is easy to judge this mom. However, she is doting, guilty of ignorance, not malice. And, she isn’t alone. I have even heard stories about children discovering that they were adopted when a parent died, sometimes when they were left out of the will. The bottom line is that regardless of your reason, not telling your child reinforces the notion that adoption is something to be ashamed about (especially for the child). It also forces a child to build their identity around a lie or half-truth.
So, please tell your child their adoption story from when they are tiny. Tell them during cuddles, when they feel safe and nurtured, tell them when they ask questions about pregnant women, and skin colour. Tell them because you love them and because you want to affirm their place in your heart and your family, and above all, tell them before anyone else does.
If you haven’t already done so, and your child is little, start today. But if your child is older, please seek expert help about how to broach the subject in a way that does not compound their sense of loss and rejection.
6. Birth parents matter
Love is not a competition. As a mom of two step-daughters and an adoptive child, I can’t stress this enough. Your child will always have two families and her need to connect with her birth parents is natural and healthy. It shouldn’t be seen as a threat. Interestingly, although adoptive parents often seem concerned that they will “lose” their children if the child meets their birth mother, anecdotal evidence seems to suggest the opposite. The parents who do “lose” (relationship) with their children are more typically the ones that oppose their children’s efforts to find birth parents, or to explore their identity. One of the most important pieces of feedback coming from adult adoptees is that they wished that they could have met their birth parents earlier. The result is a drive towards opening adoptions that were previously closed (in other words, providing your child with access to their birth family before they reach the age of 18). Although some social workers are not in favour of opening adoptions, children seem to show a remarkable ability to manage the ambiguity of having more than one set of parents, and to fold their love for multiple parents into their lives. So, if you have details about your child’s birth mother (or family), it is worth exploring. However, please consider the following before you do so:
- You don’t want your child to risk secondary rejection, so ensure that your child’s birth family are receptive to a relationship with him.
- The relationship needs to be safe. Most South African adoptees are placed in adoptive families due to their birth parent’s circumstances, and not because of abuse or substance abuse (which is more common in foster care arrangements). Nonetheless, if the birth family could potentially harm your child, it may be better to consult your social worker or keep the adoption closed.
Finally, if you are fortunate enough to have an open adoption or an agreement with your child’s birth mother to share updates (I say fortunate because it is a huge gift to your child to have an involved birth mother), please honour that agreement. Where the relationship is through a social worker, be sure to follow up with them to find out if they have received anything from your child’s birth parent/s (especially at significant times, like your child’s birthday).
Unfortunately, since most of the adoptive children on the national register are abandoned, not consented, assisting your child to find out about their first family may be particularly difficult (if not impossible). These strategies may be helpful if you are in this situation:
- Put on your detective hat and find out everything you can about your child’s birth story: where they were abandoned, how, who found them, who named them. Meet everyone you can who participated in the story. Sadly, it will not assist with a medical history or to help your child connect with their first identity, but it gives your child valuable clues. For example, although abandoning mothers often travel to unfamiliar places to abandon, where a child was found may telegraph their cultural identity (especially if it was in a rural area, but even urban areas often cluster in communities based on ethnicity, such as Tswana or Pedi). Also try to find the origin of your child’s name. Although some names are used in several languages, social workers and public service employees usually try to name a child in language that is used in the area where he was found.
- Regardless of how your child was placed for adoption, but particularly for abandoned children where there is no information about birth families, try to find wonderful things about your child and attribute them to their birth parents. The obvious example is the way that your child looks, but please try to go deeper. For example, my daughter has incredible posture and long legs, along with amazing musicality, so even at six she dances beautifully. I always think about her birth parents when she does ballet, and it is a significant association for her. No matter how little (or how much) you know about your child’s birth parents, identifying characteristics like intelligence, humour, musical and sporting ability in your child and attributing them to their birth parents is hugely affirming for your child.
Conversely (and again, this should go without saying, but probably doesn’t), criticising your child’s birth parents causes your child shame and pain. Whether he has met them or not, he will always be linked to them. So, no matter how bad his birth parent’s choices were, and how much they have affected him, do you best to use affirming language when speaking about them. Again, this does not need to be dishonest. If you struggle to cope with your child’s foetal alcohol syndrome and the impact on her health, or feel angry that your child’s birth mother chose to abort her causing her to be born prematurely (with all of the physical and psychological problems this may bring), rather choose to vent to a therapist instead of inadvertently shaming your child, or making her choose between you and her birth mother.
7. Remember that adoption is about loss and joy, not always in equal measure
Adoption cannot take place without the participation, active or passive of all three parties in the adoption triad: birth parents, the adoptee and adoptive parents. And for a long time, adoption has mostly been viewed from the perspective of adoptive parents, for whom adoption is characterised by delight and wonder (an entirely valid response to the amazing gift of a child). But in recent times, there has been a welcome movement in adoption circles to also consider the devastating loss that predicates all adoptions, a loss for both the birth family and for the adoptee. Understanding that loss doesn’t diminish our joy as adoptive parents (adopting our daughter is still the best thing that happened to our family), nor is our child’s pain a negation of adoption, or of us as her adoptive parents. But it should bring nuance to way that we understand and talk about adoption. Our adoption narrative must acknowledge pain and loss, and adoptees should never be required to be grateful for their adoption, or to forget their first family, nor should we allow others to tell them they are “lucky”.
It should also guide our celebrations and rituals. It is very common for adoptees to be sorrowful on their birthday, a day when many feel most connected to their birth mother. It is also common for adoptees to feel sad on their adoption day. Some adoptive parents find this challenging, even a negation of the adoption that makes them so happy. But it isn’t necessarily true, it is just that adoption emotion is multi-faceted for adoptees, and on days of “celebration”, they are often more aware of the missing member of the triad. My suggestion is therefore that you take your cue from your child about how and if to celebrate.
Please also think carefully about how you speak about adoption rituals. Some parents in South Africa still call their child’s adoption day, “Gotcha Day” despite a strong backlash from adult adoptees, offended at the acquisitive nature of the term. If your child likes to celebrate their adoption day, allow them and other adoptees to guide terminology. For example, you could call it “family day”, a day to celebrate the formation of your family, or name the day after your child. We use the latter approach, and our daughter decides if she wants to celebrate or not. At five she didn’t feel up to it, but a year later she embraced it and planned her celebration.
A final note: some adoptees feel deep abiding sadness at the loss of their first family, or rejection that does not diminish over time. I have heard teachers and professionals (and even adoptive parents) saying that adoptees just need to “get over it”. But this is a very unhelpful approach. The level of trauma and rejection that some adoptees experience at birth and through the loss of their first family does not necessarily lessen over time. It is noteworthy that a disproportionate number of adoptees exhibit psychological problems and suicidal tendencies because of early loss, attachment and identity issues. That is not something to fear, but awareness is essential. If in doubt, be sure to get professional help.
In conclusion, be a learner and to listen more than you speak A lot of the current voices in adoption are those of adult adoptees in the US. While their context is very different to ours and therefore our experiences likely to be different (the US works on a supply and demand model where children are sourced for families, whereas South Africa, which is highly regulated, works on need, where families are found for children), we ignore them at our peril. As adoptive parents, we should always choose to learn from the mistakes of others, so we don’t have to make them too. My counsel is be a learner, listen more than you speak, don’t speak over those whose messages is different to yours, and be willing to change when you are wrong. Accepting nuance won’t affect your love for your child or your belief in adoption, quite the contrary it can help make it even more life-affirming, and the joyous gift that we would all like it to be.
First published on Becoming a Mom: 10.11.2018
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by Robyn Wolfson Vorster | Nov 9, 2018 | Adoption
As adoptive parents, we should constantly be learning how to parent our adoptees better, which led me to documenting these seven top tips for adoptive parents, along with some related dos and don’ts. But first a disclaimer. I am a step-mother, a biological mother, an adoptive mom and even a grandmother. It makes me a veteran parent, not an expert. I am also only six years into being an adoptive mom. I am however trying to learn all the time. This article is the product of that learning (and the expertise and experience of adult adoptees, social workers, psychologists and other adoptive parents). But the content is not exhaustive, I’m sure as my daughter grows to adulthood, I will be able to add many more relevant points.
- Your child should be the first person to hear their story
Stated differently, your child’s story is their own so don’t share it with others before your child is old enough to consent to the story being told.
In the adoption process, there are three separate stories, one for each member of the adoption triad (adoptee, birth parents and adoptive parents). The only one of those stories that is ours to tell is our own. It may sound simple, but it isn’t because people ask for details all the time. “How much do you know about him?” “Have you met her birth mother?” “What ethnicity is he?” Most of these are perfectly innocent and generally well-meaning questions but they all telegraph something about your child. For example, answering “no” to the birth mother question or “I don’t know” to the ethnicity question can cause people to deduce that you child was abandoned.
Interestingly, adoptive parents and social workers appear to have slightly different boundaries in this regard, usually based on how a child was placed for adoption. For example, while it is considered an “overshare” to say that your child was abandoned, saying that they were consented isn’t. Other families are willing to share that their child was abandoned, but not how. Our family’s work as adoption advocates and educators mean that we regularly talk about our family, so we have been forced to set our boundary very firmly. Our choice is to share no information, including how our daughter became adoptable. But, regardless of where you have drawn the line previously, please be aware that sharing information that is personal to your child before they are able to decide if they want that information shared (and to whom), should be avoided.
It may be helpful to role play some responses to these questions before you adopt. Answers could include: “That is part of insert child’s name’s story, so I am unable to share it”. Or if you feel that you would like to answer the question in some way, you can even say “I know everything that my social worker knows about insert child’s name and his story.”
The only exception to the no sharing rule is when professionals (social workers, counsellors or therapists such as Play Therapists or Occupational Therapists) need the information to treat your child (for example, if your child was born prematurely as a result of a late term abortion or if your child’s birth mother drank or took drugs during the pregnancy, or if your child was oxygen deprived during the abandonment process). In these instances, information needs to be shared on the basis of professional confidentiality.
Be particularly careful of the “support group exception”. Many adoptive parents share too much about their child’s story in online support group settings to obtain help from other adoptive parents. While it is understandable, it can easily overstep the line. If in doubt, rather share it with a professional or, if you really need to share with other adoptive parents, asking the group admin to post your question anonymously is probably the lesser of two evils.
The flipside of guarding your child’s story from other people is ensuring that you tell your child their story, often, and in an age appropriate way. When questioned about how to tell an adoption story, Nomzamo Botha, a South African adult adoptee said that when she asked her parents about her story, they would always talk to her in private, telling her whatever they knew in a way that she could understand. When they were unsure about details, their response was, “let’s try and find out together.”
- Race, ethnicity and culture matter, especially if your child is transracially adopted
It has been a while since I have heard an adoptive parent say, “I can’t raise my child to be Zulu or Sesotho, so I will raise them to be like me, Afrikaans, or Greek (insert a relevant culture)”. But, some parents still live as if this was true. If you are in this camp, ask yourself these questions: what percentage of your child’s life will they spend in your home? What identity will your child have when he or she is out in the world? Most parents wouldn’t want their child to walk around wearing a sign that says, “I can’t relate to you, I’m adopted”, or “I can’t speak your language, I’m adopted”. But, that is often the outcome of our choices.
It is one of the biggest areas of pain for adult adoptees in South Africa, but in recent years, there has been far more effort amongst parents to address these issues. The first step is learning to care for your child’s skin and hair, something that adoptive parents are increasingly embracing (and thank goodness, because in the past, badly cared for, knotty or matted hair, receding hairlines and flaky grey skin were ways that black people identified transracially adopted children). But our efforts can’t end there, because our child’s identity is more than skin deep and struggling to fit in may cause anxiety and even depression in adopted children and adults.
So, how do you avoid raising a child who is likely to be labelled a “coconut” (for those who aren’t familiar with the term, a derogatory term used to describe people who are black on the outside but “white” on the inside)? The answer is that you can’t on your own, it takes a village. Racial mirrors are essential for your child and this doesn’t just mean having a black nanny or au pair, or your child spending time with other transracially adopted children. Your child needs significant black role models and same race friends who can decode culture and behaviour and language and nuance for them. You will also need to address your demographics. Is your environment (your suburb, your child’s school, where your worship, your places of leisure) predominantly white or same race? What is your child’s experience of living in those demographics? Notably, many families take the path of least resistance and expect their children’s friends to instil culture. But this can be problematic. My daughter’s two best friends at school are black. One is from an upper middle-class family. Her mother is Zulu and her father Tswana, but she speaks English, at home and with her nanny, and the family are more likely to go on holiday to Disneyland then to stay with their extended families where cultural practices are more evident. Her other friend is from a traditional family, but she hails from Zimbabwe so also struggles with cultural relevance in South Africa. If you depend on friends to decode culture for your child, the version of growing up as a young black woman or man will vary depending on who your children befriends. This is why input from adults whose values and understanding of culture can be directive is so critical.
And, you need to prioritise language and cultural awareness for your child. While it is true that South Africa is increasingly cosmopolitan and not all black people living here can speak a local language, not being able to speak a black language immediately isolates your child from other black people. So, make an effort, as a family if possible. This means exposing your child to their culturally relevant language if possible. But at a minimum, your child should be able to speak one of the widely spoken languages, for example isiXhosa in the Western Cape or isiZulu in KwaZulu Natal or Gauteng.
You also need to watch your language. Saying, “I don’t see race” is not helpful to your child and can be disingenuous or even unintentionally belittling. One of the most bemusing questions we have been asked is: “do you still see her as black?” Or, rephrased as a statement: I’m sure that you don’t even see that she is black anymore”. Our answer is “of course we see her race, and we honour it, the fact that our daughter is black is an integral and beautiful part of her identity and who God made her to be”. And no, children are not colour blind. Seeing race is not the problem because we are not “all the same”. Praising a child for not seeing race may inadvertently imply that race is a bad thing. Stated bluntly, denying race can be as problematic as overemphasising it. Instead, we need to recognise that the problem is not race itself, but the value people ascribe to it, either positive, as in valuing one race more than another, or negative, deeming one or some races to be “bad”.
It is still rife in our country which is why we need to acknowledge and talk to our children about racism. To quote a fellow adoptive parent, Thandi Nkomo, “being ‘colour blind’ will lead to being blind to what your child’s colour means to that racist shop owner, to the racist neighbour. It will mean being blind to the differences between you and your child that make it blindingly obvious that your child did not come from your womb”. It means, “being blind to racial bullying, name calling, racist teachers giving your child bad marks for perfect essays…being blind to your child’s pain”. Ultimately, it means, “ignoring the lived experiences of black people warning you about what your black children will face.” Her caution is therefore against “ignoring systemic and institutionalised racism”, and not just because, as she goes on to explain, “a white surname wouldn’t save transracially adoptive children from the apartheid mindset still entrenched in people’s minds today”, but also because advocating for our transracially adopted children at the expense of the remainder of South Africa’s children is self-serving and ultimately, self-defeating.
Finally, please don’t use pet names for your child that are racially offensive to black people just because you would use them with another (white) child. In particular, calling your black child a monkey should always be a no-no (think Penny Sparrow if you are wondering why).
As a postscript: this article contains a tiny overview of a huge topic. There are many books and articles on the subject so if you are a transracially adoptive parent, learn as much as you can, especially before your child becomes a tween / teen and is increasingly busy with the work of identity formation. Secondly, sociology teaches us that culture is fluid which makes this a moving target. Learning about culture, race and ethnicity should therefore be continuous, rather than a once off event.
- Names and identity matter
Naming a child is a vital part of attachment, so it is natural for adoptive parents to want to name their child when they adopt. But, it is also important to recognise that 99% of adoptive children already have a name when they are adopted. In addition, it’s critical to recognise that name changes are one of the biggest sources of distress expressed by adult adoptees. So here are some things to consider when naming your child.
- Who gave your child their birth name? If it was a biological parent, your child has a profound association between their name and their first family. Statistically however, there are more abandoned children than consented children on our adoption register so adoptive parents often choose not to keep a child’s name because it wasn’t given by a birth parent. While this may be valid, it is worth considering that if your child is a foundling, the person who named them (usually a nurse, policeman or woman, or social worker) is also a significant part of their story. So, regardless of how a child was placed for adoption, it may be worth keeping their birth name, even as a second or third name.
- How old was your child when she or he was adopted? The older your child, the more their name is part of their identity, and changing it could be psychologically damaging. The caveat here is that your child may be old enough to request a new name as part of their new identity. In these instances, please talk to your child about keeping the old one as a second or third name in case they feel differently as an adult.
- Is your adoption trans-racial? If so, and if your child’s birth name is part of their first culture, please again consider keeping it. It may be a significant part of their identity formation to be able to revert to their birth name. And if their first name isn’t a reflection of their cultural identity, please consider adding a name that is culturally relevant to their current name. It is a huge gift to your child to have the option of using it when they are older. I named my daughter 20 years before we adopted her, and her name, which means “hope, life and blessed” in different languages, is an integral part of her story. But, we have retained her birth name too. We use them both and if one day she chooses to revert to her birth name, we will support her in her decision.
As a note for those parents who didn’t keep their child’s birth name or whose transracially adopted child doesn’t have a culturally appropriate name, it isn’t too late to do something about it. Changing a child’s name at Home Affairs is a relatively easy process (don’t be put off by the first, usually epic, name change process which also involved the changing of a surname and identity number), so please consider restoring their birth name, even if only as a second or third name. Equally imperative is that you support your child if their need to identify with their culture or birth family (or any other reason) compels them to use that name rather than the one you gave them.
4. Terminology matters
As adoptive parents we are generally sensitive to language. Few things are as uncomfortable as someone asking where your child’s “real parents” are, or if you “bought” your child. Terminology matters, and not just for adoptive parents, but for every member of the triad. For example, if your child is consented, your child’s birth mother “placed her child for adoption”, she didn’t “give her away” or “get rid of him”. How you refer to your child’s birth family is also crucial. When your child is older, you should allow your children decide what they want to call their birth family. But while they are little, please choose something that is personal and affirming. When I write, I usually use the term “biological mother”, but I don’t with my daughter. We refer to her first family or her birth mom and dad. If you are fortunate enough to have details about your child’s first family, you could also use their names and a descriptor. Some social workers suggest “tummy mommy” for toddlers, and adult adoptees sometimes use “natural family” to describe their birth parents. Either way, please make sure that your language honours your child’s other family and where possible, take your lead from your adoptee.
Language related to abandoned children is particularly problematic. Many parents struggle to be truthful, but not hurtful. Still, it should go without saying (but sadly doesn’t), that you should never tell your child that they were “thrown away” or “discarded”. Parents often feel justified in using this catastrophic language when their child has been abandoned unsafely. But it’s worth remembering that adoptive parents usually have no idea what circumstances drove their child’s birth mother to abandonment, so even if you feel angry about it, please try to empathise with her. In addition, a child’s sense of worth is tied up in the act. Reinforcing it emphasises the child’s feelings of rejection. My preference is therefore to refer to abandoned children as foundlings, thus highlighting the (more) positive part of their story rather than focusing on the desperate act of abandonment.
As a caveat, I recently heard of a social worker speaking about “good abandonment” (versus bad, I guess). According to experts, this is a misnomer. Although it is essential to honour women who, when forced to abandon, don’t put their children in danger, no abandonment is “good”. There is always loss of identity, relationship, and a feeling of rejection that comes with abandonment, and using that term may inadvertently downplay your child’s loss. A more helpful distinction is between safe (where the child’s life is not placed in danger and there is some form of handover, often through a baby safe or a mother dropping a child off at a Place of Safety), and unsafe abandonment (which is itself on a spectrum, but where the child’s life is endangered by the act).
Please see part two of this article for the remaining three top tips.
First published on Becoming a Mom: 09.11.2018
To cite please use the authors’ names, the year of publication, and the title of the article
by Robyn Wolfson Vorster | Dec 17, 2017 | Undocumented Children
By Robyn Wolfson Vorster and Talia Jade Magnes.
School is out, and as the class of 2017 await their final results, two young women will be conspicuously absent. One a South African, the other Congolese, they had little in common other than the tragic way that they died. Both committed suicide after being denied an opportunity to write matric.
When Brenda Sithole killed herself in July this year, her death called into question the South African government’s policy of not allowing undocumented minors to write matric. The Department of Education, in conjunction with Home Affairs, seems to have justified the policy of forcing undocumented children out of the school system by citing scarce resources in education, resources that the government does not want to share with foreigners.
But using documentation to weed out foreigners is a flawed approach because of the number of South Africans who are also undocumented. Brenda was one of them. There was no justifiable reason for her not having an ID number. Brenda’s mother had simply neglected to register her birth. She then moved in with her boyfriend, leaving Brenda to be raised by family members. Circumstances intervened, and after Brenda’s mother passed away, the family was unable to navigate the lengthy and adversarial process for the late registration of her birth (despite having proof that Brenda’s mother was a South African citizen and that she was deceased, so not available to help her obtain her documentation). The delay proved deadly for Brenda.
In late July, schools were instructed to send undocumented learners home and not allow them to return unless or until they could provide valid documents. Instructed is a polite term; some principals, who will not speak on the record, claim that they were threatened and told they would lose their jobs if they continued to allow undocumented learners into their schools. In her suicide note, poignantly cut into the shape of a heart, Brenda explained, “I did not have a future even [though] I had big dreams… I was [going to] be kicked out of school because I did not have the rights like having an ID to show where I belong.” Her final words were: “Am sorry. Am just useless…”
Brenda’s tragic death occurred just months after the death of another young woman. Amani* was Congolese. Having survived her war-torn homeland, she fled to South Africa to pursue a better life. But despite having valid asylum seeker documentation, she was not permitted to write matric.
She is not alone. A short, animated movie, A Precious life in a scary world, created by the Three2Six project, about the lives of migrant children in South Africa, graphically illustrates the problems experienced by asylum seekers who try to obtain the correct documents from Home Affairs so that they can go to school.
Amani’s story is noteworthy because not only was she a valid asylum seeker, she also had a court order placing her in state care. As a ward of the state, she should have been entitled to education. But the blanket requirement to present the requisite documentation – which is seemingly impossible to obtain – or to leave school, was applied to her, and to many others placed in care by the court. Without the opportunity for education, she, like Brenda, despaired of having a future, and sadly chose to end her life.
Although not all resort to suicide, for children placed in Child and Youth Care Centres, but lacking the right documentation, the crushing reality of not being able to get a formal education has become the norm. Eli* is one of the affected children. Originally from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Eli and his brother were brought to South Africa by their parents, and abandoned with an aunt when they returned to the DRC. The aunt cared for them for a while before leaving them with a grandmother, who later passed away. After travelling to South Africa, being abandoned repeatedly and experiencing the trauma of the loss of another family member, Eli’s brother died. Shortly thereafter, the court determined that Eli was in need of care, and placed him in a Child and Youth Care Centre in Benoni. Eli had an asylum document that was issued when he arrived in the country. But, as a result of him being repeatedly abandoned by family members, no one renewed his papers, so he is currently undocumented.
Eli was also part of the class of 2017, but halfway through his matric year, the principal of his school told him that he had two weeks to get documentation, or he would not be able to return to school to write matric. This occurred despite the state court order placing him in care. His Child and Youth Care Centre persuaded the school to allow him to write matric, but because he is undocumented, he will not be given a matric certificate.
Despite this, Eli has worked hard and is determined to become somebody. He has a disability: one of his legs is quite significantly longer than the other. Nevertheless, he has found a passion in personal training, and wants to help other children with disabilities like his. He now plans to do a course in personal training, which his Child and Youth Care Centre will facilitate. Although this story may have a happy ending (certainly happier than Amani’s), the government’s decision to deny this child the right to get a matric certificate, even though he has completed his schooling, seems incredibly short-sighted.
But while it is hard for the government to justify withholding education from children who are wards of the state, there are still many who argue that the country has no obligation to provide secondary education to migrants and refugees. They state that South Africa has more than enough of its own citizens with a right to education, and in need of government assistance. It is an argument that may garner some sympathy. However, the Department of Education is increasingly preventing undocumented children (which again, includes a large amount of South African children who have not been registered and don’t have an ID number), from obtaining primary education too.
Now, due to the online registration system, children cannot even enter Grade 1 without documentation. This despite the constitution stating that “everyone has a right to basic education” 29(1)(a), a legal right that is echoed in the Education Act. In addition, the Children’s Act recognises all children under 18, regardless of their country of origin or documentation status. However, the Education Act also states that institutions have the right to request valid documentation for admission. It is a requirement that seems, bewilderingly, to trump the other legislative imperatives. The upshot is that countless children are falling through this legal loophole.
One of them is Tyra*, for whom the right to basic education seems a distant hope. Tyra is from Zimbabwe and also a ward of the state. From birth, she lived with her mother and three siblings in the Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg. But, due to the circumstances there, she and her siblings were removed from their mother’s care. Her eldest sibling was born in Zimbabwe, but Tyra and two of her other siblings were born in South Africa, and have handwritten South African birth certificates (that is, birth certificates issued to the children of foreign parents that do not include a South African ID number). Tyra’s two elder siblings were placed in a Child and Youth Care Centre in Benoni, and have been lucky enough to get into a local school, although they will also not get any formal certificate for completing school.
Tyra and her younger sibling were placed at a different Child and Youth Care Centre and attended its nursery school. Next year she is due to start grade 1. But, the online application system for Grade 1 requires her to have a valid ID number or a valid permit ID. She has neither, so despite her fundamental right to education, and a court order placing her in the care of the state, she cannot get into a school. This bright little girl, who would have thrived academically, will miss out on starting school with her peers. She will have to remain at the home to be taught informally. And, unless the application system changes, or the Department of Education gives schools the option of overriding it to accept undocumented children, she will never be able to obtain any formal education.
Social workers question the wisdom of withholding education from migrant children. Realistically, it is not going to make children leave the country because in many cases they have nothing to go back to, or no connection to their birth country. Many of these children have travelled huge distances, some under terrible circumstances, developing resilience and struggling to survive. As illustrated in the story about “Precious”, many migrant children are very intelligent and would have had unlimited potential in their own countries, under different circumstances. Distressingly, though, when they arrive in South Africa, their potential is lost due to our inability to recognise them as people.
Frustratingly, even if resources are scarce, there are undoubted benefits to educating foreigners so that they can become valuable members of our society. It is what makes projects like Three2Six so exceptional. Hosted by three private schools, the school runs from 3-6pm (after hours for their learners), and during the holidays. Its mission is to provide education for refugee children between the ages of 6 and 13 who could not otherwise access it. Not only does it utilise existing resources to avoid extra costs, but the school also provides employment for refugee teachers who would not otherwise be able to find work. Even Child and Youth Care Centres are doing their best to educate undocumented children. Some are running bridging school programmes which allow these children to have some kind of education, even though they will not obtain a certificate or formal qualification when they complete school.
By contrast, the government’s approach seems to be marked not by innovation and perseverance, but by belligerence and myopia. It is an approach that will result in large numbers of children, many of whom are South African, or in South Africa legitimately, growing up without an education.
Going forward, there are several key questions that the Department of Education and Department of Home Affairs must answer. Firstly, how can they defend a policy that violates the constitution, the Education Act and the Children’s Act, and withholds basic education from children? Secondly, how can we provide children with court orders, place them in child and youth care facilities, yet keep them from being educated? Then, there is the critical question of how the government plans to prevent South Africans from being discriminated against when so many of them also lack proper documentation.
The final question is simply this: is this approach justified? If the goal is to drive children back to their country of origin, it is a poor strategy with an unlikely outcome. But if the goal is to preserve scarce resources, there are many innovative programmes like Three2Six which the country could pursue using vacant schools after hours. Surely the risk of large numbers of children turning 18 and becoming undocumented adults with no formal qualification, who cannot find employment, is huge. Why not instead help these children become contributing members of society? DM
* Names changed to protect their identities.
If you are in South Africa, having suicidal thoughts and in need of urgent assistance, call the Suicide Crisis Line on 0800 567 567 or SMS 31393. Visit the SADAG webpage for additional emergency contact numbers
Robyn Wolfson Vorster is a dedicated wordsmith with a background in social sciences, learning and strategic consulting who opted out of corporate life ten years ago to work as a children’s rights activist. As an adoptive mom to a beautiful daughter, she has a special interest in adoption advocacy and the needs of vulnerable children. Runner up in the 2021 Isu Elihle competition for child-focused journalism, and winner of the Mandy Rossouw award for government accountability, she uses her many words to give children a voice, educate around issues affecting them, and motivate for changes in policy. You can find her at For the Voiceless.
A registered social worker, Talia-Jade Magnes has immersed herself among the migrant communities in Johannesburg. She is committed to the advocacy of human rights and to the protection of children.
First published in the Daily Maverick: 17.12.2017
To cite please use the authors’ names, the year of publication, the title of the article, name of publication, date of publication.
