It doesn't matter whether you're black or white, or Chinese

'Do you feel more white or Chinese?" I asked my son, after returning from my first visit to South Africa - its history of apartheid still fresh in my mind.

At the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, visitors are given a ticket randomly assigning them "white" or "non-white". Visitors must then enter through the designated gates. At the entrance, the walls close in to form an impenetrable steel fence separating the two sides. You can see the others through the cage but physical contact is limited to a few fingers wiggled through the holes.

As we walked inside, dozens of poster-sized ID cards from the 50s to the 80s swung above our heads. They carried the person's name, photo, place and race: "white", "black" and "colored". I found it interesting that a couple of men who could pass for my uncles weren't listed as Chinese but colored - and they had very un-Chinese names such as "Brown" or "Doben".

When I married, I chose to take on my husband's Anglo-Saxon name, but for these grim faced Asian men on the ID cards, I presumed they were given their names under different and less joyous circumstances.

My husband, ironically, was on the other side of the fence, having pulled a "non-white" ticket. Intellectually I knew that this was a constructed exercise to expose visitors to a glimpse of life lived under segregation but the all-too-real bars gave me an unstoppable sliver of panic. I was relieved to find the exit and be able to hold his hand once more.

Reading through the history of apartheid, I learned that justice, privilege and wealth was systematically and strictly enforced for the very few. Beginning in 1948, comprehensive plans for the segregation of all races in South Africa was formalized. Whites were at the top, blacks at the bottom.

Where did the Chinese fit in? Variously designated as Asian/sub-section Chinese or colored, they were restricted to lower quality living areas, schools, employment, and facilities. For well-to-do Chinese families, there was the possibility of moving into a white neighborhood if and only when all the white neighbors had given their permission.

Special approval was also required for any Chinese student wanting to enroll in a white school. Their restrictions and conditions were better than for blacks but even the most ambitious Chinese person knew there was a racial ceiling over their heads - any advancement was guaranteed to be limited.

It was the small things that daily reminded people what place they held in society, such as signs allowing you to sit on a park bench or warning you to stay off. There were overcrowded buses for some and first class train compartments for others.

The freedom to swim in the ocean, and lunch on the beach was a right for citizens but citizenship itself was unjustly denied to others. Whole neighborhoods were evicted and relocated according to their race, forcing apart family members. Interracial relationships were outlawed even though the growing colored population was proof that South Africans dared to cross the racial line.

In 1994, after decades of struggle, protest and worldwide support, the people of South Africa rejected the system of apartheid and the barriers - physical and psychological - came down. What struck me most was not the decades of brutality or injustice handed out to the majority of South Africans during the apartheid years, but led by Nelson Mandela, the very people who were oppressed showed forgiveness and worked hard toward unity and a peaceful reconciliation.

It's hard to imagine a life predicated on the color of your skin. Privileges and restrictions based on how you look rather than what you merit. A life of hope or despair decided at birth. And with this in mind, I'm thankful to be living in a time when my son's answer as to whether he feels more white or Chinese is just a point of discussion rather than a factor that will determine his future.

Contact the writer at dinahchinadaily@gmail.com.