“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” From his famous August 1963 speech “, Dr Martin Luther King
These powerful words sprang to mind this morning, as for the first time in well over a year, I had to brave the traffic from the North to the City Center of Cape Town. This commute is a reality for hundreds of thousands daily, a legacy of poor planning and the cancerous spread of development past old Durbanville and beyond. My step-daughter is training for a new waitressing job in Town, and asked if I could give her a lift on the motorbike, seeing as she can’t afford the daily parking in Town (lets call this number 2 on my issues of today). But I digress…
My thoughts on the words of the late Dr King were swirling in my mind while riding in, because clearly the ongoing and today resurgent protest action on the other main road to the City, the N2, was somehow causing extra traffic flow on the N1. And I was thinking about the protest action – the action is once again around the City of Cape Town’s ongoing failure to make any type of impact on the water situation and toilets in the informal settlements, Townships is perhaps a better word.
Now anyone who knows Cape Town will tell you about the mutliple personalities of this amazing city. Situated in arguably one of the most picturesque locations in the world, Cape Tourism esposes this beauty to far and distant corners of the world, and pre covid19, tourists from all over would visit this natural beauty.
The other side of her personality, the one less seen, perhaps even made invisible to those tourists, is the one most residents of Cape Town know all too well. Spatial planning at it’s very worst, the legacy of the infamous Group Areas Act still felt by thousands of working class people, roads designed around areas that could be blocked by Police in minutes, keeping the ‘elements’ sealed off. Areas like Mitchell’s Plain, a vibrant yet troubled township, socio-economically containing both moderately well off and very poor, all of whom leave daily to secure an income (of sorts) in the City. The N2, that artery feeding the heart of Cape Town, mostly by bus and taxi, the thousands of workers who couldn’t work from home even if they wanted to, braving the traffic. The R300, the line that connects the north to the south, feeding people from Delft and Blue Downs, the petri dish experiment gone awry..and in the distance, in her Majesty, lies Table Mountain, a world wonder….
Cape Town, I love this city. I was born here, and lived on the Cape Flats for many years. And yet deep down, there is a loathing, a hate for this city and what it has spurned out over a few hundred years. The segregation that still runs so deep, and the beauty that masks it all. The fragile truce between the Constantia mommies, and just down the road, the aunties in Grassy Park. The hidden behind masks grimaces, when families are seen in Claremont’s malls, the eyes still betraying the fear when a group of young men walk by, dressed in baggy jeans and sneakers, tattoos showing off and interesting choices of facial jewelry visible, the tightening of a grip on a handbag, and that hurried pace off to another pop in at the Le Cruset shop. This is the side of Cape Town that makes me nauseous (naar, in the local vernacular).
Dr Kings vision, albeit for Black Americans at the time, represents ALL people of colour today, and that is what makes me sick today. This City is in a perpetual fight with its people of colour. With Black and Coloured people who live in dismal surroundings, but are expected to smile and serve when they go to work in the V&A Waterfront, and Tygervalley. And then go home, sometimes to a shack, with no sanitation, no water, and no electricity.
Finding people to blame is easy, but doesn’t alleviate the plight of the people who suffer quietly, and sometimes, like today, not so quietly. But I hear people talk – ‘they’ are at it again. ‘The Elements’ are creating havoc again. That word ‘THEY” being slipped in to frustrated conversations, at coffee shops that charge R28 for a cappucino…the Barista smiles behind his mask. He was ‘lucky’ to have left for work at 5.00 a.m, just before the protests started, so he could go and earn his living today…
Sadly, we are nowhere near that vision. Our children will still be having the argument about what exactly constitues White Privelege ???Why Black people are still fighting for equality ???Why the Coloured man is still seen mainly as a gangster, especially when he chooses to drive a nice car ???Why, in 2021, we are still talking about ‘them’ and ‘us’ ??? And why politicians continue to fan the flames of hate ??? Why the Mayor, his Lordship of the Golden Chains, has forgotten where he comes from, and tells a resident, someone he works FOR, to Shut Up, when said resident asks an innoucous question ???
Too many questions to justify using a single bold (?)!
I love you Cape Town. But I refuse to allow myslef to be blinded by your beauty. I refuse to be seduced by you hoiking up your skirts on a day like today, showing more than just a little inner thigh. I refuse to lie with you, on your virgin beaches, while just on the other side ‘They’ are still being treated as Lesser Than humans. While men are dragged naked out of shacks, paraded before Police Officers, keepers and protectors of the law…while just a few kilomoters away, naked men and women are allowed to proudly display their nudity, in protest, with the same Police Offices looking on, laughing and taking selfies with them. Sies! Today Cape Town, you emabarass me, and I reject you!
PS: Parking Fees in Cape Town must fall. Ridiculous, when Public Transport is not an option for so many. Fix it Cape Town. Asseblief!