Black History Month – Hurt People, Hurt People: My Journey from Apartheid South Africa to Healing Through Activism

Growing up in apartheid South Africa, I did not recognize that I was a victim of discrimination. As a racialized person, I believed what I was taught in school and told by society: that European settlers had brought civilization to South Africa in 1652. In fact, this was the first line in my history textbook. I accepted that I belonged to an inferior race, that I deserved to be segregated from white people, and that I lacked the intellectual capacity to study in the “Whites Only” institutions. I did not question why I could never aspire to jobs reserved for white South Africans. This was my reality, and it felt normal—until my world was turned upside down by a simple vacation.

At the age of twelve, my father took us to Canada for a holiday. It was my first experience outside South Africa and my first time in a country without apartheid. I was excited to see snow, to taste pizza and burgers, to do things that I only saw in the movies, but what fascinated me most was how friendly people were. For the first time, a white person smiled and greeted me. I was so afraid that I didn’t know how to react. I had my first real conversation with a white teenager and quickly realized that I was not inferior. For the first time in my life, I felt what it was like to be treated as a normal human being.

Returning to South Africa, I was a different person. I now saw and felt the weight of discrimination more than ever before. I was angry and hurt. I began recognizing every little injustice I endured and questioning it. I questioned why I wasn’t allowed to eat in certain restaurants, why the best beaches were classified as “Whites Only,” and why I had to walk for kilometers to get to a “Non-White” public transit route that could not enter the downtown core where “Whites Only” busses were allowed to enter?

As I grew older, I started questioning the broader injustices of apartheid. Why were non-whites limited to certain jobs? Why was I not allowed to run for public office or vote? Why would I be imprisoned simply for asking these questions? My brief exposure to life in Canada had made living in South Africa much more difficult. But it had also ignited a passion for human rights within me. I knew that if I wanted to advocate for justice without the constant threat of imprisonment, I had to return to Canada.

When I finally moved back to Canada, I felt a sense of freedom that is difficult to describe. My mind was free from the shackles of apartheid. I could now speak openly about the atrocities of apartheid without fear. At first, sharing my experiences felt cathartic, but over time, it became frustrating. I was invited to talk at high schools, universities and even at faculty dinner parties. People listened, but did not want to act. It felt like my pain had become a form of entertainment for them, and that hurt me deeply. That hurt made me more confrontational, and I soon found myself in heated arguments with those who downplayed apartheid, comparing it to other global atrocities. This conflict extended to my family and friends, who eventually encouraged me to seek counseling.

Counseling was a revelation. After recounting the traumas I had endured, I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It was then that I truly understood the phrase, “Hurt people, hurt people.” My unresolved pain had led me to lash out at those who cared about me. I knew I had to find a way to channel my hurt into something constructive, something that would help me stop hurting others—and myself.

That was when I found healing through service. I became involved in volunteer work, helping refugees in Canada adjust to their new lives. I counseled them by sharing my experiences and how I overcame my trauma. Additionally, I took on a more active role in advocacy, serving as a National Human Rights Officer for racialized members in the Union of National Employees. By helping others navigate the trauma of discrimination, I found the strength to heal my own wounds.

Today, I continue to fight for justice, not out of anger, but out of love and a deep commitment to human rights. I have learned that the cycle of pain can be broken—not by suppressing it, but by transforming it into action, empathy, and empowerment. “Hurt people, hurt people” is a truth, but so is its antidote: healed people help heal people.

Sam Padayachee

Sam Padayachee is a former member of UNE, now retired. His contributions to the UNE Human Rights portfolio continue in his writing.