Afrikaner, Have You Forgotten?
At a rally for the Boer people in South Africa, one speaker posed a powerful question: "Do you know who you are?" This question stirred something deep within the crowd, reminding them of their forgotten legacy.
Afrikaner Patriot
Mar 31, 2025 - 4:52 PM
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Do You Know Who You Are?
A few days ago, I stood in the rain among fellow South Africans at a rally, one not for politicians or parties but for the Boer people. For the mothers and fathers who have buried their children. For the farmers were slaughtered not for what they did but for who they were. And for the silent graves on the hilltops - forgotten, voiceless. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was powerful. The man who spoke brought no slogans or political clichés. Instead, he posed a single question, one that landed deep in every chest present:
“Do you know who you are?”
He knew we’d forgotten. And I saw it in the eyes around me: something stirring. Something raw. Honest. A nostalgia that whispered: Your roots matter. Not just here in South Africa, but everywhere where people are taught to forget.
He spoke of our ancestors. Men who made empires tremble. Women who stood firm with nothing but faith and barefoot children. People who trekked across thousands of kilometers with little more than an ox-wagon and hope, not because they had to, but because they believed in something more. He said, “Do you know what blood pumps through your veins? The kind that made the English quake and the Zulu run.”
No cheers followed. No applause. It wasn’t that kind of moment. We weren’t listening with our ears but with something more profound, with hearts that have longed to remember. We’ve forgotten what our people did when they left the Cape, forgotten how they stood against the greatest empire the world had seen twice, and forgotten how they built from dust and defended it with their lives.
They Try to Shame Us
Today, we are told to be ashamed of our names. Our language. Our past. Even our future. But here’s the truth: We don’t have to stand back. We can be proud. Proud of survival. Proud of resilience. Proud of the quiet, stubborn courage passed down through generations.
The speaker quoted Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, who once wrote that the Boers were “one of the most rugged, virile, unconquerable races ever seen upon earth.” That wasn’t flattery. It was a fact. We are not settlers. We are not Europeans. We are Africans. This is our home. And yet we are bleeding again.
The Present is Brutal
The war may look different now, but the pain remains unchanged. South Africa has one of the highest murder rates in the world - more than 6,900 murders in just three months, according to the South African Police Service. But farm murders are different. They’re brutal. Personal. Filled with hate. One farmer is murdered every week, and faces an attack nearly every day.
Farmers and their families are living in fear. Gates locked. Rifles loaded. Eyes watching the treeline. It shouldn’t be this way. But here we are. And we stay because if we leave, more than just the land dies. The stories, the language, and the heritage die.
The Weight We Carry
Farmers are sitting ducks. Staying is not easy, not with race-based laws, discrimination, land grabs, and the constant weight of being seen as “wrong” for simply existing. But we are the keepers now. The torch didn’t pass us by; it was handed to us. And even when our hands shake, we must hold them because we are sons and daughters of one Fatherland. We are the heirs of one inheritance, and if we don’t protect it, no one will. This isn’t a speech of hate but a speech of hope.
He didn’t speak with bitterness. He talked with belief and faith. The kind that pulled wagons across rivers and carried starving children through drought and fire. He said, “Africa has never been soft on us. But it has shaped us. We have always survived.” And we have: we survived concentration camps; the killing of our children; the burning of our homes and farms; the betrayal of our own; we walked barefoot into history and carved our name in blood and dust. We will survive this, too. But not if we run. Not if we hide. Not if we forget.
The Question Remains
Do you know who you are? Do you recall the stories your grandfather used to tell? Do you remember what it feels like to belong somewhere? This land isn’t perfect. It’s brutal. But it’s ours. Our story. Our blood. Our scars. And that makes it worth everything.
Because Boer is not just a name, it’s a legacy. A burden. A blessing. A promise. We will not be the forgotten generation. We will be the ones who remember.
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Afrikaner Patriot