What is around us that would tacitly or implicitly give permission to someone to pick up a gun and kill nine people? All the signs, all the permission he ever needed was in a flag, in a sentence, in a supposedly harmless joke, in the privacy of a car, in a home late at night, in a status update. All of it, was always just there.
In the summer of 1966, my parents, Robert and Ethel Kennedy, traveled to South Africa at the invitation of Ian Robertson, President of the National Union of South African Students, or NUSAS. NUSAS, which opposed the racist Apartheid regime then in power in South Africa, wanted my father to deliver the keynote address at the annual Day of Reaffirmation of Academic and Human Freedom at the University of Cape Town.