The Story Behind the Song
Reared by Racists
I was born into apartheid-era South Africa. Raised in a household where the k-word rolled off tongues like it was nothing. Where your melanin determined if you were first-class or fourth-class. Where hate was an inheritance.
But here’s what they don’t tell you about inherited poison: recognising it is only the first step. Unlearning it is the work of a lifetime.
“Unlearning Hate” is the most personal, vulnerable song I’ve ever written. It’s my reckoning with where I came from, who raised me, and the conscious choice to be different.
Rebecca
The song opens with a memory that shaped everything:
“Four years old with He-Man toys / Playing in the sand / Rebecca made the sweetest pap / Held my little hand.”
Rebecca was the woman who cared for me. Fed me when I was hungry. Showed me kindness. She never looked different to me—just the woman who loved me.
“Until the day she disappeared / Like she was never there.”
They said she stole. “They always steal.” That’s what I was taught. But Rebecca fed me. Who’s the thief? Tell me who’s the thief?
That question broke something open. If they lied about Rebecca, what else were they lying about?
The Weight of Witness
Growing up, I witnessed things that carved themselves into my memory. A stranger’s hand across his throat on the metro—gesture saying “you’re the enemy” to a six-year-old kid. My brothers hunting a ginger kid just for speaking Afrikaans while I sobbed helplessly.
But the deepest cut was my father’s rage when my Black friend Lawrence came over. Screaming so loud the neighbors heard. Not because Lawrence did anything wrong. Just because he existed in our space.
“My old man screamed so loud the neighbors heard his rage / Just ’cause my friend was Black, just ’cause we’re living in a cage.”
The Conscious Choice
The rap sections came from the anger—at the system, at my family, at the osmosis of racism that seeps into your pores when you’re not aware:
“I was born into the wrong side of a segregated state / Where your melanin determined if you’re first or fourth or eighth / Where the k-word rolled off tongues like it was nothing just to say.”
But also the responsibility:
“I’m not them, no I refuse to be the same / I’m taking responsibility, not playing victim to the game / You can call me ‘kaffirboetie,’ I will wear it like a crown / ‘Cause I’d rather be a traitor than perpetuate this sound.”
“Kaffirboetie”—derogatory term for white South Africans who associate with Black people. Yeah, I’ll wear it. Proudly.
Building the Sound
Musically, this needed to be upbeat despite heavy themes. Folk rock energy with maskandi guitar, driving rhythm, building toward celebration rather than dwelling in pain.
The chorus is the mantra: “I’m unlearning hate, line by line / Washing the poison out my mind / My father’s words won’t define / The man I’m fighting to find.”
Present tense. Ongoing. Not “I unlearned”—I’m unlearning. It’s daily work.
The Zulu became the resolution: “Uthando luyahlula / Love will overcome / Uthando luyahlula / We choose love, we are one.”
Madiba said it: nobody’s born hating. Hate is taught. Which means it can be untaught.
The Introspection
The second rap section goes deeper into the work:
“Introspection is a mirror that I hold up every day / Examining my thoughts, every automatic thing I say / ‘Cause osmosis is real when racism’s in the air / It seeps into your pores when you’re not even aware.”
That’s the uncomfortable truth. Even when you reject it consciously, the poison lingers. You have to actively excavate it.
What It Means Now
This song makes me cry and makes me angry every time. Cry for Rebecca, for Lawrence, for Mandla who they called “Jelly Bum,” for every person my family hurt with their hate.
Angry that I didn’t speak up more. That I wasn’t braver when it mattered. That it took so long to find my voice.
But also hopeful. Because change is possible. Not easy. Not comfortable. But possible.
The Universal Thread
If you were raised with inherited hate—racism, homophobia, xenophobia, whatever shape it took—you’re not doomed to repeat it.
You can choose differently. Daily. Consciously. It’s hard work examining every automatic thought, every unconscious bias. But it’s the work.
“Reared by racists but I choose / To burn down these bitter roots / Every chain I’m breaking through / I’m unlearning, unlearning you.”
That’s the invitation. Break the cycle. Choose love. Do the work.
Listen to “Unlearning Hate” and choose who you’ll become.
From the album Ancient Roads
