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What is the context? Who was involved? What type of document is it? Where did it happen? Why or How did it happen?

What is the context? Who was involved? What type of document is it? Where did it happen? Why or How did it happen?

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What is the context? Who was involved? What type of document is it? Where did it happen? Why or How did it happen?
Document 3: Debbie Wolfe writes about growing up as a white child under apartheid I was born in South Africa, under apartheid -- a white child with every privilege. It was the year 1969, five years after Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life in prison. While my parents weren't wealthy, my dad was an engineer, and a graduate of the University of Cape Town. We had a pretty little townhouse in the suburbs of Cape Town. I had good food to eat. There were dolls to play with, and presents under the tree at Christmas. I went to ballet lessons, and my lovely preschool down the road. I had never heard the name 'Nelson Mandela'. I was too little to understand what was happening in my country, or what apartheid meant. I got the faintest glimpse every couple of weeks, when we rode the train into Cape Town to meet my father for lunch. Those were the only days that I actually saw black children. But it was always from far away, or through the window of a train. In the first six years of my life, I never got to speak or play with a child whose skin was a different colour than mine. On those train rides, my mother and I waited on a platform designated for 'whites' waiting to board the train cars for 'whites'. There was a separate platform for 'blacks'. Once on the train, we'd pass parks and beaches clearly marked 'white' and 'black'. In Cape Town, if we needed to go to the bank, we'd approach a different counter than families with black children. Source: Debbie Wolf, I Grew Up In South Africa During Apartheid, Huffington Post, December 6,
Transcribed Image Text:Document 3: Debbie Wolfe writes about growing up as a white child under apartheid I was born in South Africa, under apartheid -- a white child with every privilege. It was the year 1969, five years after Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life in prison. While my parents weren't wealthy, my dad was an engineer, and a graduate of the University of Cape Town. We had a pretty little townhouse in the suburbs of Cape Town. I had good food to eat. There were dolls to play with, and presents under the tree at Christmas. I went to ballet lessons, and my lovely preschool down the road. I had never heard the name 'Nelson Mandela'. I was too little to understand what was happening in my country, or what apartheid meant. I got the faintest glimpse every couple of weeks, when we rode the train into Cape Town to meet my father for lunch. Those were the only days that I actually saw black children. But it was always from far away, or through the window of a train. In the first six years of my life, I never got to speak or play with a child whose skin was a different colour than mine. On those train rides, my mother and I waited on a platform designated for 'whites' waiting to board the train cars for 'whites'. There was a separate platform for 'blacks'. Once on the train, we'd pass parks and beaches clearly marked 'white' and 'black'. In Cape Town, if we needed to go to the bank, we'd approach a different counter than families with black children. Source: Debbie Wolf, I Grew Up In South Africa During Apartheid, Huffington Post, December 6,
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