The rains were so late that year. But throughout that hot, dry summer those black storm clouds clung in thick folds of brooding darkness along the low horizon. There seemed to be a secret in their activity, because each evening they broke the long, sullen silence of the day, and sent soft rumbles of thunder and flickering slicks of lightning across the empty sky. 
And if the white man thought that Asians were a low, filthy nation, Asians could still smile with relief - at least, they were not Africans. And if the white man thought Africans were a low, filthy nation, Africans in Southern Africa could still smile - at least, they were not Bushmen. 
It is preferable to change the world on the basis of love of mankind. But if that quality be too rare, then common sense seems the next best thing. 
Those who spat at what they thought was inferior were the 'low filthy people' of the earth, because decent people cannot behave that way. 
Something they liked as Africans to pretend themselves incapable of was being exposed as oppressive and prejudiced. They always knew it was there but no oppressor believes in his oppression. He always says he treats his slaves nicely. 
Prejudice is like the old skin of a snake. It has to be removed bit by bit. 
He knew from his own knowledge of himself that true purpose and direction are creative.