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A
drive through a xenophobic landscape
Steve Faulkner, Pambazuka News
May 19, 2008
http://www.pambazuka.org/en/category/features/48319
Friends, this is simply
an account of what I saw and experienced in a twenty four period.
It might be incomplete. It is not an analytical piece as such, but
I hope a small step towards trying to understand what had taken
place in this city, in this country that I have come to love.
Last night as we drove
from the centre of Joburg to the eastern suburb of Kensington, we
wondered why the police helicopter was circling over Jeppes Town,
the historic centre of this city built on gold. The area is now
mostly an industrial relic and has seen far better times, part wasteland,
part small enterprises and a big part, home of one of the largest
men-s hostels in the City.
We had been discussing
earlier the violence in Alex, the eruptions in other parts, and
what we felt was the cause, and the inadequate response of the State.
We had participated earlier in the day in a demonstration called
by our Union Federation to protest against rising food prices, and
against xenophobia, an issue that had been tagged on after foreigners
had been brutally attacked in Alexandria township and other places.
We had taken our son and his friend, and their enthusiasm had helped
to minimise the disappointingly low numbers who had turned up.
We slept that night within
earshot of police sirens and the whirring of helicopters and wondered
what we would wake to.
At 9.00am Lesego rang
the bell. A small boy for his sixteen years, wiry but capable of
dribbling a football as if his feet had magnetic powers. I let him
in, and he looked terrified. He had traveled from Soweto, as he
did every fortnight, to come and do odd jobs to earn an allowance
that he depends on to survive. We would normally have a talk about
his schooling, the continuing absence of contact with his mother,
and his living conditions. We hoped this might help him be capable
of getting through the next hurdles he inevitably faced.
But this morning, it
was fear that was etched on his face. Scrunched up in his pocket
was the small round hat favored by members of the Moslem community.
Getting off the taxi at Jeppe Station, he noticed a crowd of men
beating two people on the ground with knobkerries. One of those
doing the beating looked up, saw him and shouted, 'Hey you,
alien, come here-. He didn-t wait to answer. Snatching
the hat from his head, he sprinted like a springbok, and ran the
kilometer to our house in sheer terror.
A quiet and reserved
young man, we somehow managed to calm him down with sweet tea and
reassurances. He was thinking hard before he finally spoke.
'These people have
not been educated- he said. 'They think it is the foreigners
who are to blame. I fear them, but I also feel sorry for them. They
think that killing poor people like themselves is going to make
it better for them-.
Later I dropped him in
town to connect with his taxi to Soweto, and the shack where he
lived alone without electricity to read his homework and prepare
for his exams the next day. Without the means to cook himself even
a simple supper.
As I circled town to
return home I came across hundreds and hundreds of bedraggled people,
milling around an infamous taxi rank area. I pulled up next to a
police woman on duty. I asked her what was going on. 'It-s
the Zimbabweans- she said matter of factly, 'They have
come out of the Methodist Centre because there is trouble there-
And when I asked her what sort of trouble she simply said 'Something
to do with Bishop Verryn-.
Some months
earlier, the Methodist centre managed by the Bishop as a makeshift
refuge for hundreds of destitute Zimbabweans, had been raided
by the police in a military style operation that belonged to another
era. Purportedly looking for 'illegals- the police had
unceremoniously thrown the destitute and their few possessions into
the street, had publicly assaulted perfectly innocent people, and
then arrested many of them on completely spurious grounds. Bishop
Paul and others were later to respond by having the entire action
severely criticized by a court of law, and declared completely illegal.
But the damage had been done.
The leadership of the
police had given a very public indication that they regarded 'aliens-
as unworthy of fair treatment under the law. Refugees, wherever
they were from, were to be treated as if they were less than human,
and therefore human rights guarantees under the famed South African
Constitution, were not to apply.
Worse, they sent a clear
message to the persecuted Zimbabwean community. Do not look to the
police for protection. These thoughts returned many times over the
next few hours.
By now, radio news reports
had started to tell what had happened the previous night, but not
before my partner had phoned them and reminded them of their duty
to report what was happening on our doorsteps. When approached,
the public broadcaster listened carefully and promised to increase
reportage, and did by the time of the next hourly bulletin. The
commercial station was less receptive, and continued to air a truncated
and inaccurate report for three more hours.
As I drove up Main Street
in Jeppes Town, events of the previous night were clear to see.
Buildings, once occupied by tens of families were still smouldering,
a fire engine stood nearby, several police cars with lights flashing
had blocked roads leading to the Jeppe Hostel.
Jeppe Hostel, as it is
known locally, had been at the centre of other storms in the past.
In the tumultuous eighties and nineties it had been the centre for
Inkatha Freedom Party activity in the area. ANC and COSATU activists
who ventured there took their life in their hands. So called 'black
on black- violence that resulted in dozens of deaths were
centred on the train station in Jeppes Town.
The hostel itself is
now chronically overcrowded, squalid and seriously unfit for habitation,
it houses thousands of poor working class men and some of their
partners. It is surrounded by an urban squatter camp, made up of
once busy outlets, workshops and factories that are now lived in
by those who cannot or who are unable to live in the hostel. Adjoining
factory floor space is divided by makeshift curtains to mark the
living spaces of the working and unemployed poor. Sanitation, electricity,
clean water, privacy, safety are all luxuries in this community.
As I continued up the
road I noticed that despite the police presence, large groups of
men carrying 'cultural weapons- (various clubs, machetes,
bottles) were standing on the corners, watching, waiting. Many others,
mostly family groups, were standing in their doorways looking anxiously
out.
Further up the road still,
I slowed to pass the building where Lesego had witnessed the beatings
and from where his pursuers had emerged. A miserable building of
perhaps ten electricity deprived flats. A large group of men, some
middle aged, others in their early twenties were standing and watching
passers by, their weapons visible for all to see. The police it
seemed were keeping a safe distance.
Back at home, we listen
to the news reports, and start to receive anxious calls from friends.
One comrade, Paul, who worked for the trade unions in Zimbabwe for
many years is here to receive treatment and staying with his brother
in Cleveland, a working class suburb close by. He and his brother-s
family have sought refuge in the local Catholic church. He described
how he witnessed mobs of drunken men from the large Denver Hostel
moving from house to house asking the occupants questions in Zulu.
If the reply was made in Zulu, then the visitors asked for money
and moved to the next house. If not, the house was looted, the occupants
assaulted, and thrown out onto the street to make a hasty escape
as best they could. In between these raids, dozens of people are
'arrested- by the same mobs walking in the street, and
are interrogated, systematically robbed and assaulted. Calls to
the police for protection produced nothing.
'Are you safe in
the church- I enquire. 'Well we have nothing-
he replies, 'and we have heard that our place was raided for
a second time an hour ago, and so we don-t expect to find
anything left, if and when we return. Right now we are at the mercy
of the Salvation Army and the Red Cross. They are bringing food
and blankets-.
I think to myself, the
Red Cross are saving people in suburban Johannesburg.
Later in the morning
I pulled into a garage to buy newspapers and see almost fifty men
in groups talking on phones and to each other in a very excited
manner. I started a conversation and discover that these are all
displaced Nigerians who live in the Malvern suburb of Johannesburg.
They mostly left their homes last night. Some slept at friends,
and others in their cars. One had his car burned out when trying
to escape, and managed to run into the back of a supermarket and
hide. They describe how the night before, hundreds of hostel dwellers
chanting 'Zula Nation- surged into their neighbourhoods
and started breaking into houses and cars, and assaulting those
walking the streets.
One older man told me
of a South African neighbour who climbed over the garden fence and
provided an escape route through a broken fence into a park. For
most of the men, their anxieties centre on the plight of their families
who they had left behind. Many had South African partners and their
children stayed behind in the hope that they would be able to 'pass
the Zulu test-, make a cash 'contribution- and
be left in peace.
One middle aged man who
works in the local hospital as a radiographer-s assistant
told me that his wife speaks Zulu and his children too. He left
them behind last night as the neighbourhood shop was being ransacked
and destroyed. In a distressed state he said, 'I couldn-t
take them with me. If we had been caught they would have been treated
like foreigners, and who knows what would have happened. This is
truly horrible. This would never happen to you people in Nigeria-
he said.
This is certainly an
instance of cell phone technology being a life line. I noticed that
a pump attendant has run an extension cord around the back of the
garage to the place where the Nigerians were huddled, and they are
busy recharging their phones.
I ask a small group if
they have plans to somehow try and organize to protect one another
and their communities, to ensure that they do not become victims.
A young man of around thirty takes his time to reply. 'Can
you imagine the reaction of the police, the media and the government
if we organised a self defense or community safety organization?
We would become the target, not those who are attacking us. The
police hate us already, the newspapers call us drug barons and pimps,
and who do you think ordinary South Africans are going to believe?-
Everyone was silent.
A phone rang. The same young man answered, listened carefully and
then said, 'The Nigerian High Commissioner has told us all
to stay calm-.
As I return home I pass
another group outside a local church. They have the look of North
or East Africans, and I pull up and ask if they are OK. 'The
priest is coming to meet us here- says one. I ask where they
have come from, and they point towards Bez Valley, another working
class suburb near by. They are Somali-s and I ask if they
have experienced any trouble. No, they say, but rumours are making
them afraid. Last night there was gun fire close by, and they know
they will be targets if the situation worsens. We look like foreigners
says one.
Later in the afternoon
I receive more calls from Paul and his Zimbabwean family from inside
the church haven in Cleveland. They have had news that a neighbour
tried to resist a forced entry, and has been murdered. Stabbed repeatedly
and left in the front garden of his house.
At four thirty, I travel
with a friend to Malvern to help evacuate a Rwandan family who settled
in South Africa after the genocide in that country. Small groups
of young men are walking up and down the surrounding streets. Police
sirens and shouting can be heard nearby. The family gather up a
few belongings and are resettled in a local hotel courtesy of the
NGO who employ the mother. We take the children, and the parents
follow closely behind in their own car. It-s a solemn drive
for the three children and our attempts at humour are politely tolerated.
I have a conversation
with another Rwandan and he tells me that some people might think
that evacuation is an over reaction, but he says, 'We have
learnt to smell danger of this type. The marauding gangs, the inability
of the police to keep control, the under-reporting on the radio,
the pent up frustrations, the absence of neighbours ready to help
or warn. All of these things we have seen before, and now we can
smell them-.
At five thirty I make
my way back towards Jeppes Town to collect my son from his friend-s
house where he had spent the night. He had heard shooting earlier,
and the police sirens and had seen the helicopter circling. They
had stayed within the grounds of the closed estate, and played football.
On the way home, I fielded dozens of questions from him about what
had been happening, and as if on cue he said 'If you are poor,
how can you blame others who are also as poor as you, it doesn-t
make sense Dad?-
Later that night, we
drove down Jules Street and saw municipal workers starting to clear
up the mess left behind from shop burnouts and looting. A row of
ten shops was completely destroyed, and small groups of men carrying
clubs were still to be seen in full view of the police. We came
away from the scene feeling that this was not over. There was more
and possibly worse to come.
On the news late last
night, the police said they had restored law and order in most parts,
and that arrests of suspects had been made, and serious charges
would be made against them.
This morning, my Zimbabwean
friend called to say that two more people had been killed a short
way from the church where he was hiding, and that gunshots and screams
had kept everyone awake all night.
The newspapers carry
a front page photograph of a man who was set alight by a mob. It
reminds me of the Buddhist monks who campaigned against the war
in Vietnam. Is this a war?
Meanwhile the politicians
and media commentators proffer explanations and condemnations, and
it suddenly dawns on me that the only people I have not spoken to
or have heard from are the perpetrators. And I wonder, what on earth
do they think they are hoping to achieve?
22 May
2008
Three
days later, and it seems everyone is aware of the gravity of the
crisis. The President of the country has sanctioned the use of the
army though they are not yet deployed to keep the peace.
Two days I ago I went
to visit my comrade Paul from Zimbabwe, who had been sleeping in
Germiston Town Hall for the past two nights. He is a born organiser
and has been serving on the committee that manages the food, sanitation,
facilities for children, and security.
He takes me on a tour
of the Town Hall, a place we have used in the past for May Day rallies.
It-s a little run down but still maintains some of its former
glory. Now it is one massive bedroom. More than three thousand people
are staying here, and most are very afraid. I speak to many others,
and hear very similar stories of extreme bullying, violence, theft,
and a sense that they have been abandoned to their fate. My friend
has been sleeping on a chair because floor space is limited, and
its getting cold. Not everyone has a charity blanket, and there
is not enough food to feed all. In the absence of proper communications,
rumours ripple like Mexican waves across the multitude that are
assembled outside, and generate fear.
One large room has been
reserved for women, and many are carrying small children and receiving
baby food and nappies. It-s clear that many are in a traumatized
state, and barely smile when greeted. One can only shudder when
thinking about what they have gone through.
I have a brief conversation
with a couple of municipal workers inside the building who are members
of my union, and am struck by their sympathy towards the refugees
despite the increased workload, and near impossible conditions.
The toilets have limited capacity, and the kitchen has never had
to be put to use to feed such numbers, but union members are working
hard, being decent and helpful. One of the shop stewards tells me
'Everyone here is so grateful for the little that we can do,
but I cant stop feeling ashamed that this is happening in my locality.
No one deserves to be treated like this-
Paul collects his few
possessions and we leave for home where he will stay for the foreseeable,
but not before he says a tearful farewell to his committee members,
and is reassured that his relatives and others are in relatively
safe hands.
This morning the news
reports of attacks on communities seem to be more sporadic, although
they do appear to be spreading into other Provinces.
Another demonstration
has been called for Saturday, by a conglomeration of left groups
and community campaigns. I am hoping that there can be a united
response, that is inclusive, and non sectarian. I hope the unions
will support it despite difficulties that exist between the left
groups and the trade union movement.
There is a great deal
of speculation about the 'troubles- being started by
a 'third force-, some form of underground organization
bent on subverting the peace and creating disharmony. It-s
mostly speculative. It is clear however that many of the attacks
have been coordinated, and especially at a local level. Similar
sized groups have been moving from house to house on assigned streets
for example, and of course, chanting and demanding the same things.
But there are also attacks that appear more opportunistic, and often
following a rally or large gathering.
Much of the commentary
and analysis from both left and right seems to me to be very simplistic,
as if the analysts are not talking to people on the ground, are
not asking questions like for example, why in the gatherings of
the xenophobic there are so few women? What does this tell you about
the men of this country? Why for example, there has been virtually
no action against white people? What does this tell you about what
is happening in communities that experience grinding poverty? So
many questions. So much to be done.
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