I was one of the millions who watched a smiling Nelson Mandela walk free in February 1990, having served twenty-seven years in prison. I still feel goose pimples when I remember it. That year I turned 21. The economy was booming, and the Berlin Wall had fallen only three months earlier. As a young brown face among white ones, I had experienced isolated incidents of racism even in our open and tolerant country. But to have to live in a state where racism was state-organised was, for me, unimaginable.