I started writing this post a while back when I was in one of my “moods”. But a few things have happened and I’ve met a few people that changed my mind just a little. So I changed the ending a bit…
I have always tried to believe that there isn’t an us and a them. That there is just us. That we will all care about each other if we really try a little bit harder. If we just sat still for a moment and looked around us. If we just took the time to share a meal. Or a hug. Or a handshake even. Just start a conversation and we’ll all be okay with each other.
But now I am not so sure. I don’t know about “us”. I think there might be us and them. Maybe we are more fundamentally divided as a human race. More divided than just amongst those fake walls of religion, politics, race and whatever other lies we tell ourselves. I’m not saying any of those are naturally bad – just that we sometimes use them to keep us apart instead of using it to pull us together. A divider and not a uniter. And maybe the divide is deeper than the bridges we can build.
Divided between those who care about the world and the people who live among us and those who only care about themselves and their own self interest. Divided between those who care about the individual in the group and those who believe the individual is more important than anything else. Divided between those of us who believe in the us and those who believe in the me. Ubuntu compared to me-me-me.
I want to live in a world where we all care about each other. Where we care about our actions. And our decisions. But we don’t live in that world.
We live in a world where too many of those who rule rule only for themselves or for those who look/believe/talk/walk like them. Where decisions are made not in the best interest of everyone but in the interest of the few. Where people do what they want to do to get their own fill and damn the consequences. A world of those who have and want more versus those who have little and just want enough to make it to tomorrow. A world where the actions of a few can damn the many into poverty. An economy where those looking after the me can drag us down while they stay on top. A world of injustice. A world of inequality. A world of limited freedom. A world of no liberty. A world of those who have it and will keep it and those who have little but will still share. A world of us and them.
…
And then I met a few people on the road again. I looked at my kids and realized the world is still not black and white. It’s still shades of gray. I walked into a few old friends and made a few new friends. And I realized that we will be okay. It’s fun to fight injustice. It’s good to take on inequality. It’s right to demand freedom. It’s better to ask for liberty. Because us few can change the world. Little by little. And we can live while doing it. We can have life while doing it.
We can save one child and that will be fine. We can work with one farmer to make it better. We can fight one disease ridden community at a time. We can stop one rape and make a difference.
Yes, the world isn’t black and white. There are so many good people out there fighting the good fight. Not just people but companies and politicians and activists. A company I love reminded me of that. Good people. Not questioning whether they should be doing all this but just doing it. Ha! Never thought I would find inspiration amongst the evil money-makers! But they are not evil. Not even close. They make a damn fine… hum… product. And they are good people. On our side.
Some of us will protest in the streets. Some of us will run our businesses to make it better. Some of us will just make a difference without thinking. Some of us will help the old lady cross the road. Some of us will speak up when we see something wrong. Some of us will stand up for justice alone and feel the power of the others. Some of us will share our last meal with the hungry outside the door. Some of us will tell our children. Some of us… Some of us will never forget. And all of us will make a difference in our own way. Nothing is too small and nothing is too big. A difference is a difference… No matter who makes it.
We are together even if we don’t know it. And even when we forget we are together and we are there for each other without knowing. Us. Separate. Divided. Alone. And together…
Together we will overcome. You and me and them. We are few. But we are strong. And we will never give up.
Ubuntu. I am because you are. I am because we are. We are…
Not this time...
Today my beautiful country will go an vote in the general election. I won’t. I could if I really wanted to but I decided not to vote. Why? Well, two reasons really.
Firstly, I don’t believe that South African living abroad should vote. WTF? Yes, you heard me right. I don’t think they should allow me and the others outside South Africa to vote. And no, it’s not because so many South Africans abroad moan and bitches so much about South Africa. It’s a fair point though… Why should you vote if all you want is the “good old days” of Apartheid and/or have nothing good to say about the “new” South Africa? But hell, everyone should be allowed their opinion so I won’t hold it against them or withhold their right to vote. For me it is a simple matter of economics.
We are not a rich country by any stretch of the imagination. Somewhere in the middle. Not Gabon but not Luxembourg either. I just see every single Rand (or Dollar) being spend on having someone vote in a foreign outpost in Vietnam or somewhere as a waste. That money could provide drugs for someone dying of Aids. Or maybe help put another cop on the street to stop the rape. Or feed a hungry street kid. Why should the money go to a few South Africans who could “afford” to go overseas? And if you do it for one person in one country then you have to do it for all of them in every single country. You can’t just pick the UK and the US because there are so many South Africans there. Nope – that would be discriminating against the minority hanging out in Venezuela or Fiji somewhere. You know how much money is going to be wasted giving those 16,000 odd people the chance to vote? Yes, that is how many South African abroad registered to vote. Millions of Rands going to a few…
And don’t give me that crap about the government wasting money on other things like the stupid arms deal or some big fancy party. Remember what your mother used to say? “Are you going to jump in the fire if they do?” Two wrongs don’t make a right. And two stupid actions don’t make either of them right. They are wrong and so are you. At least stop moaning about their waste if you do go and vote or fought for your right to vote in a foreign country. You are part of the waste cycle now. I hope you are proud.
Talking about the South African government…
My second reason…
I have been an ANC supporter for most of my life. Proudly so. And that is why I can’t go and vote this time. I have always voted for them but no more…
I don’t like Zuma. He is a bad reflection on the “struggle”. I remember listening to him at a COSATU conference many years back. Man… Man, man, man. I looked at my “comrades” and we just shook our heads. He was one stupid dude. Sorry to say it but that was what we thought back then and we said it out loud. And I am ashamed that my same COSATU buddies are supporting him. A snake oil seller. You’ve been duped brothers and sisters. Hum… I mean comrades.
I know the ANC is never about a single leader. It has always been about the movement. The movement to bring an end to Apartheid and give every South African the same rights. But leaders do play a role. They lead our people. Zuma? How can he lead us? He is a populist who showed his ignorance during the rape case against him. Yes he got away with that one. And even if he is innocent – tell me how can we make someone our President who thinks that washing yourself afterwards will stop the spread of Aids? Oh, he didn’t deny sleeping with the young girl who was a family friend. He just said it was a “mutual thing”. Real proud guys. Real proud…
And maybe he got a “get out of jail card” with the corruption charges. Maybe he didn’t take any money. Maybe Mbeki planned it all. So what? Being innocent doesn’t make him a leader. It just makes him innocent. Zuma is no leader. Not a leader to be proud of. Not a leader who can really carry the hope of our young nation on his shoulders.
So that’s why I don’t want to vote. I am an ANC man through and through. The DA is a bunch of weaklings that reminds me of those yapping little dogs. Lots of noise but you know they don’t have any substance. I’ve had the “pleasure” to work with a few of them and boy… Let me tell you… They are lightweight and “skelm“. (Skelm – not to be trusted, devious.) I don’t trust them as far as what I can throw a rock at them.
It leaves me with very few choices. The PAC doesn’t mean anything anymore. A leadership vacuum that slurps up the dirt left behind. Patricia could do it but she is a one-woman show. UDM… Bantu… Puh-leeze. An ex-General from the homelands? Get real! COPE? Maybe. Just maybe. I like Terror. He’s a good one. But I don’t know enough about them right now. They are still young. Hopefully the true soul of the ANC. Hopefully the new ANC going back to our roots. But it’s too early to tell. For now I must sit on the sidelines and watch my once proud movement slowly kill itself. Falling off the moral high ground. And it’s a long way down.
I love my country. I loved the ANC (and maybe one day we can meet up again.) But not Zuma. Not for me. Not for my country. Not now. Not ever.
No more “Long Live the ANC! ” or “Viva ANC!” or “Amandla ANC!” for me. I’ll sit and watch and see if the soul is still there. I don’t see it from over here. But you never know. You just never know. We always said that the struggle was bigger than one person. Let’s see if the ANC still believes in that. I’ll be waiting…
Ain't it pretty?
Did you hear the news? About the stars? You know, those people we look up to and can’t wait to read about. Yes… The “stars”.
Okay, maybe not those stars. I mean the stars of Wall Street. The beautiful people on the cover of the Wall Street Journal and Business Week. Or at least somewhere on the pages in the middle. Not really a typical centrefold but still… You see, the stars are leaving the big banks and financial houses. It looks like they are leaving in the droves. Moving on to smaller investment firms still trying to make a name for itself. The “Stars” of Wall Street. Now moving on to “bigger and better things”.
Stars? Why? Because they made loads before they… hum… messed up. Just like most celebrities in the world we live in today – these stars are fake stars. Famous for just being famous. Rich for just being rich. Privileged for just being privileged.
How did they make their money? Risk… Nothing wrong with risk but it gets out of control if there is no one to check their behaviour or nothing to prevent them from crashing and burning. And taking everything in their path down with them.
Again, just like the celebrities of today. Clickity-click-click. You’re famous. Flash us some naughty bits. Or a risky deal. We love that. You’re such a star! You made the front page of People. Great… For what? For being an idiot with behavioural problems? For being the new “It Girl” or “Hawt Guy” (Sorry Paris)? Plastic lives. We look at these fake celebrities and call them plastic. Well… These Wall Street celebs knows a lot about plastic… Drive the risk high enough and go into debt and more debt. Gamble and skim a bit off the top for yourself as no one is checking while you go wild. And we’re left with some hot plastic in our hands. And not a loan in sight to cover the burns.
But they are just like the plastic celebs. They were/are a one pony trick. Risk? Actually no…
It wasn’t risk that drove them wild. Anyone with half a decent ambition will face risk and take a few risks. The problem was that they took risk without any fear of failure. Or a few rules to keep them in check. Or a threat that might come back to haunt them. “Here, have some money and then some more. You’ll never fail. At least not fail big enough…” Nothing to cover us if they failed. A bit like paying a celeb a huge sum of money to be in some B-rated movie and hope you will score big. But we know for every Titanic there is Waterworld ready to sink.
And anyway… Like “real celeb stars” they don’t want to take the responsibility of failure but happy to take it if the movie makes a mint. I don’t get it. The market runs wild and everyone is smoking cigars and drinking Cristal. And they throw money at the “stars”. But was it the market or was it the “star”? Because these same people were behind the wheel when it all came crashing down… But they didn’t want to take the breathalyzer test when they got caught driving under the influence of power… Can you dig that?
But the small firms are a bit like those cool indy films. The “stars” go to them to get some “legit”. But it is still a crap movie with a fancy name and a plot no one understands. So we felt stupid and hide our insecurities by calling it brilliant. Same with the Wall Street “stars”. They still do the same old same old crap and still have no clue what they are doing. But a fancy name for the investment firm and a sweet smell of selling of snake oil investments makes them “brilliant”. Because we are the idiots who don’t understand what they do and hide our stupidity by calling them “stars”. Puh-leeze… We have a cat who eats too much each day and throws up afterwards. I don’t understand that cat. But I do know that the cat is still pretty stupid for doing it every single day. The same thing over and over. But it’s in its nature I guess. It doesn’t know better…
So these stars are running from Wall Street. Please don’t mind me if I don’t look that worried. Or that I don’t care too much about them leaving. Maybe they can close the door on their way out. I’ll walk across the road and buy myself a Starbucks, wearing my Levi jeans and Timberland boots. Shop at Wal-Mart and drive my Ford. I’ll put my money on things that I can touch. Stuff I can feel. Stuff I can take back if it doesn’t work. Yes, I’ll take my chances on the real thing.
The King is dead. Long live the King!
Look up at the stars tonight. I love shooting stars…
The voice from the “right”: “Less regulation! No! Wait… I mean, more regulation! Oops… Not that type though!”
No, this is not about economics or bailouts. Nothing as fundamental as that… Just another something that has been bugging me. (As if that is something new…) No, this is about the argument “some” make that they are in favor of less regulations. Unfortunately, they lie. They love regulations. The more the merrier.
They talk a good talk. But they don’t walk a good walk. You see, they only want to regulate so that everything fits their behaviour model. “This is me and everybody damn well be like me”. They live bigotry. Why bigotry? Let’s first look at the definition of being a bigot and what bigotry means…
“A bigot is a person who is intolerant of opinions, lifestyles, or identities differing from his or her own, and bigotry is the corresponding state of mind. Bigot is often used as a pejorative term against a person who is obstinately devoted to prejudices even when these views are challenged or proven to be false or not universally applicable or acceptable.” Thank you Wikipedia…
It.. p… hum… you know… me off. Let’s just say it gets under my skin. This bigotry. But it is bigotry of self. Intolerance of their own opinions. We are aware of the “standard” bigotry of anti this and anti that, hidden or blatant racism etc. But there is a deeper level of bigotry happening here. These people are actually intolerant of their own ideas. WTF?
Good question. They say they don’t like regulations, but they actually love regulations. They don’t like to regulate the market. (In fairness, they do like it now that the market tanked.) But, as I said, it goes beyond the market. They love regulating behaviour. They are bigots when it comes to social behaviour. They say they don’t want government to interfere? Hmm, I think they might be lying. No, I know they are lying.
You want the right to own a gun? Yep – don’t regulate that buddy. Don’t want no government to regulate that. “Step away from that regulation sir. Put your pen where I can see it.”
You want to chop down that tree? Yep – don’t regulate that. “It’s my yard and my bloody tree. Go hug your own tree.”
You want to join the KKK? Yep – don’t regulate that. “It’s my voice and I can pretty much say what the hell I want to. And join what ever I want.”
You want to form your own little sect down South? Yep – don’t regulate that. “It’s my religion and my sect so don’t dare go there. Really, the kids are very happy here.”
You want to scream “kill him” at your political opponent? Yep – don’t regulate that. “People died to protect my ability and right to shout what the heck I want to.”
It’s a noble principle. And one I agree with. To be able to have freedom I have to accept the freedom of others who do not look, speak, think, act or live like me. My freedom is dependent on that racist being able to say what he wants to say. My freedom is guaranteed by the loony also being able to carry a gun. That nutcase shouting “Kill him” embodies the freedom I enjoy to shout him down. The weirdo who has a few indoctrinated souls in the house of sects secures my right and freedom to walk around my house as an equal to others. The tough guy chopping down the trees makes me chaining myself to those same trees possible. It’s the beauty of being anti-regulation. It ensures freedoms we might not like but freedom that ensures our own freedom.
But… And this is a BIG but… (Single “t”.) That’s not what the American “right” really believes in. They don’t want freedom. They want their life just their way and no other way. So freedom for them but not for others. Only their “freedom”. That’s the bigotry. Sorry people, freedom goes both ways. You have to take the bad to have the good. But you don’t believe in that do you? You want “freedom” that is false and limited. The result is no freedom at all.
Why do I say that?
Well, easy… I’ll just give you one example of your bigotry of self.
Marriage. Gay marriages to be more specific. Look, I am not asking you whether you are gay. Or whether you want a man to be able to marry a man. Or whether you like the idea of a woman marrying another woman. All I am asking you… Why regulate? Why regulate who can marry who? Why regulate marriages but not guns? The one kills and the other doesn’t. I thought you don’t like regulations. Or is that just a double bigot I see? The one who doesn’t like anyone who isn’t as narrow-minded as yourself… And the one who likes to really regulate but who says he doesn’t? I call it snake oil bigotry. You say freedom but give us all chains. You included. Because your limitation of freedom for all means limitations for yourself. Of thought and of deeds. Bang-bang! Double whammy for you. A bigot with a forked tongue. A bigot of self.
Gay marriages. It’s not your call. I don’t like guns. I don’t like racist. I love trees. I don’t like sects. I don’t like people screaming rude insults ta rallies. But I acknowledge your right to carry a gun as part of the freedom that secures the freedoms I cherish. I know you chopping down the trees might be helping in killing this earth slowly, but I know it gives me the chance to plant some more. I despise you screaming stupid hate filled slogans at rallies, but I know it gives me a change to show those fence sitters how ill informed you are and get them on my side. And I know your racial hatred might make me vomit, but I know it is balanced by my right and freedom to shout you down and show to the world how pathetic you are.
You call yourself someone who doesn’t like big government? You call yourself an American who doesn’t like being told what to do? Right. But you can’t have it both ways. You are either for freedom or not. Not selective freedom. Selective freedom and rights are not what make America great. Freedom from interference… Freedom from over regulation…. Freedom for all no matter what… That’s what made America great. Can you handle it? Can you handle freedom? Can you handle being American?
I’m not even American but I sure like what it stands for. Freedom…
And once you taste real freedom… Damn, those pesky little ”freedoms” sure go down well over here. It’s worth it. It’s worth being American. It think so. Do you?
The G20 protest in London is all the news today. CNN can’t stop showing the few people protesting and hoping that something would happen. Something “news worthy”… Yawn. Big bore. These people don’t know how to protest. I remember the last real protest I was involved in. Back in 1999… Seattle… The WTO… And the streets were filled with protesters. (Okay, some were demonstrators because they didn’t really know what they were against or for but that is just a minor technicality.) It was fun…
Let's play...
The Battle of Seattle and me
I was as excited as hell. Minister Alec Erwin, then Minister of Trade and Industry of South Africa, asked me to be part of the Ministerial Team to go to the WTO round in Seattle. Not only was it an incredible honour to represent my country, but this was going to be my first trip to the US. USA here we come!
It was a long, long flight to Seattle. It’s a 14 hour flight to Miami and another 7 hours to Seattle. And a few hours hanging around Miami waiting for our connecting flight. It took me just more than 24 hours to get from Cape Town to Seattle. Remember, those were my smoking days…
No luck in having a smoke in Miami. Welcome to the US – where smoking was already banned. I was held up by security for a while. I guess my diplomatic passport didn’t do the job. Yep, got one of those but only for the duration of Seattle WTO round. No time for a smoke. I was slowly dying by this time.
Actually it wasn’t that bad. I am like Pavlov’s Dog when it comes to flying. I fall asleep the second I feel the engines starting. So I slept pretty much for 20 hours plus. I was wide awake by the time we got to Seattle in the middle of the night. Time to hit the bars then.
Dennis George, from another trade union federation, and myself decided to go for a few beers and see if that would get us ready for bed. The theory was that we will either get tired or pass out if we drank enough. So we sat in an almost empty bar and had a few bad beers – my first Bud was my last Bud. Might be the worse beer I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some odd beers in weird places. The only other people in the bar was the barman, one fat middle aged with a walking stick (me today minus the walking stick) and a beautiful girl in her 20′s. They weren’t together.
The girl got up to leave and started walking in our direction to get out – we sat close to the exit. Dennis looked at her and as she came closer – well more of a stare than a look. You need to know Dennis… She almost passed us when Dennis mumbled a hello. She stopped and turned towards us – and looked at us for a few seconds. And then she asked if she could join us.
That was odd. Neither Dennis or myself are much to look at. Our beauty is more internal… Dennis bought her a drink and I just looked at her trying to figure out why she wanted to join us. So I asked, “what do you do for a living?” She was a “private exotic dancer”, she said. I was trying to figure it out – and then it hit me. “So, what does a private exotic dancer do?” “Anything you would like me to do. In private.” Confirmed – she was a prostitute.
With that out the way it made it easier to talk. I wasn’t going to sleep with anyone or pay for that matter. I would have to leave if she wasn’t a prostitute. I am happily married and have no interest in other women. But with her being a prostitute it meant that she wouldn’t want to sleep with me in any case – I wasn’t going to pay! No interest from either party. We could just sit and chat. And I told her so.
We had a nice chat. She came from somewhere I can’t recall. Somewhere in California I think – San Something. She came to Seattle to ‘work’ the WTO delegates and already had a few ‘hits’. I asked her how much she charged – $400 per hour. Bloody hell! Three strikes and I am out – love my wife, won’t pay and can’t afford anyway. But Dennis had other ideas.
Dennis started talking about the possibility of them coming to a financial agreement that suited both of them. He was trying to negotiate a ‘living wage’ related price – like any a good trade union negotiator should. But she got down to $250 and wouldn’t move from their. Still way off the $50 Dennis was willing to pay. South African trade unionist were cheap – we didn’t get paid that much. And we earned South African Rands. But Dennis was arguing that he wouldn’t take more than 15 minutes at most and that made it $200 per hour. I think he was pushing with the 15 minutes claim – that was just subtle bragging.
I started losing interest in their discussion and concentrated on my beer and the guy in the bar. He was having this incredible chat with the barman about his shares. And the barman was talking about his shares. The middle aged guy was a fisherman (with a walking stick?). Two average guys talking about their investments. So different from South Africa where only the rich can even think about investments – never mind actually investing. Welcome to the US where they talk about their investments and not about surviving another day.
The middle aged guy got up and started walking towards us to leave. He was about to exit when he turned around and looked at the prostitute and tilted his cap and said, “Evening mam. Send my regards to your family” and then walked on. She didn’t hear him. I asked her if she knew the guy that walked past and she said that she doesn’t know him from a bar of soap. “Well, I think you just missed a customer as he was talking to you and said something about your family”. She jumped up in a flash and ran after him with all the composure she could muster. They spoke for a few second and then got into the lift and disappeared. She didn’t even say goodbye. Dennis was shell shocked. “Hey Dennis, you’ll thank me in the morning when you look at your wallet”. And with that I went off to bed. To sleep. Alone. If Dennis thought she charged a huge amount wait until he tried it with me…
The next day was boring. We sat around and discussed tactics for the following day when negotiations was due to start. I was to focus on the African group of countries. The African countries negotiated a common position before we came over and it was my job to ensure we stick with this deal. With that done – time to explore the city and have a few beers.
Hit the jackpot at the first bar. I saw a group of people with steelworkers t-shirt drinking together. Well, I was a trade unionist and decided to join them for the evening. Had a ball. Shared trade union stories – they were all on permanent protest against a company that fired them a few years back. I didn’t tell them I was a WTO delegate as it became clear that they were in town to protest at the WTO meeting. It also became clear that they expected a huge protest the next day. People from all over will be in the streets – treehuggers, activists, trade unionist, anarchist all joining together for the first time to protest against something you could all agree on – their hatred of the WTO. It was late in the evening when we parted – and they gave me a steward’s badge for the protests planned the next day. I was now both a delegate at the WTO meeting and a steward and marshall at the protest against the WTO meeting!
President Clinton was going to have an official welcome on day one – and I was asked to represent South Africa with Minister Erwin and Kevin Wakeford who headed up the business delegation. Needless to say, they expected me to dress the part – suit and all. But no, thanks to my steelwork friends, I knew that the protest was going to huge and dressed like a protester instead – khaki trousers, boots, suede jacket, cap and backpack. Easy to turn into something more presentable if I tucked in my shirt and took off the cap.
Of course Alec Erwin was less impressed with my choice of attire. We all got together in his much fancier hotel room before we left. I walked into his room and he stared at my clothes for a while before saying, “Mr H, I know you like a more casual approach to clothing, but you do know that we are going to the official opening to represent our country. And we are going to meet President Clinton.” I smiled at him and said, “We’ll have to see who makes it into the building first.” He had a perplexed look on his face but just shrugged and said, “Lets go.”
Alec and Kevin had suits on – and their WTO delegate umbrella and ID cards (hanging around their necks). That was the standard WTO delegate dress for the day. Needless to say, they stood out like a sore thumb in the streets where everyone was wearing protester clothing. We turned the corner to the building where the WTO meeting was to be held and just saw a sea of protesters. It seemed as if all 50,000 protesters turned our way and, seeing the suits and umbrellas advertising their WTO status, they all shouted ‘delegates!’ And then they surrounded our little group of three. Shouting and screaming insults – and making sure we don’t get any further.
Okay, they didn’t surround our group of three. They actually surrounded the group of two – Alec and Kevin. You see, I looked like a protester with my clothes, backpack and lack of WTO umbrella and id card (tucked away in my backpack and pocket). Alec and Kevin couldn’t move. They were surrounded. I looked at Alec and Kevin, winked and moved into the crowd. See ya later, suckers!
Everywhere I walked there were little groups of delegates surrounded by protesters. None of the delegates were allowed to move and no one could get close to the WTO building. But I was free to walk amongst the protesters. Especially with my steward badge and all.
It was a sea of faces and dresses. Turtles, dolphins and even a few cows. It was something to see. Everyone standing for anything joined together for one day of protesting against a common enemy – the WTO. And the teamsters did their bit as well. Surrounding the place with trucks and buses. Making it impossible for anyone to get in or out. Man, it was beautiful and looked for a minute like the dawn of something new and powerful – people’s power.
I walked around to see if there was a way in. But the teamsters did their work pretty well. The trucks and buses blocked every angle. And they had people manning every opening to ensure no one got in. But I had to get in. That was my job.
I got to the building where Clinton was going to open the meeting. A few buses between me and the building. And a few protesters on top of the buses. And then the riot police waiting on the other side. Only one way in – over the buses we go.
I got on top of a bus and looked around. Good choice. No one else on this one. Just two cops on the other side waiting. But that shouldn’t be a problem. I have a WTO ID card. I jumped down the other side and the cops came running towards me – their riot gear shaking and weapons aimed and ready. I shouted at them that I am a delegate. They stopped about 2 meter away from me and told me to get back ‘sir!’. WTF? I repeated that I am a delegate – just let me get my ID card. But they told me to get back. Their orders were to not let anyone in. What? Not even delegates! These guys were taking orders way too seriously. The first order of the day was not to allow anyone to get through, but they forgot to tell them that they should at least allow the delegates through! (Tip for their superiors. Speak slowly, clearly and in single syllables. And remember. These guys don’t interpret orders. They just execute it – to the ‘t’).
They were getting agro and I knew that the best move would be to go back the way I came – over the bus. By now a few protesters have started to take notice of me on the cop side of the buses. And they started to shout encouragement! Booing the cops. They still didn’t know that I was a WTO delegate. I moved back to the bus and a few protesters extended their hands to help me back up. ‘Great stuff’, ‘yea, take them on’, and ‘way to go brother’ greeted me as I got back into the crowd. I was a hero amongst the protesters for a little while…
But I had to get in. That was my job. I started moving towards the front of the main WTO building. But a human chain blocked my way in everywhere. I played the game – walking around as a marshall and steward telling people to strengthen the lines. All the while looking for a way in.
Things were starting to look bad though. The crowd was losing control. The anarchists started burning tires, throwing bricks and stones at windows, and climbing on top of building shouting and taunting the cops. I have been at enough protests marches in South Africa to know that this was only heading one way – a clash.
I got close to the front of the main protest facing the riot police. I was about 3 people away from the front when people started to sit down. Bad move. I have learned from experience that you don’t sit down in front of cops when they want you to move. And then came the teargas. It was like being home in South Africa back in the 80′s all over again – protesting, riot police, teargas and stones versus rubber bullets.
The guy in front of me got hit by a teargas canister and it went off in his face. He started wailing and puking almost immediately. I grabbed my handkerchief, wet it with my water bottle and covered my face (a lesson learnt from many protests in South Africa – be prepared). It burned, but it was easier to breathe this way. And then I grabbed the guy that got hit by the teargas by the collar and started pulling him towards the side and away from the protesters – towards the WTO building.
Make no mistake. I didn’t do it to help the guy. I saw him as my ticket to get into the WTO building. I dragged him to the human chain and shouted at them that I needed to get him to a medic – and flashed them my steward badge. They opened up and the medics were just a few meters away. I threw the guy at the medics and shouted at them to help him.
I sat down, washed my face with the bottled water and then took out my delegate ID card. The cops were moving towards me – ready to either arrest me or kick me back into the protesting crowd. I got up and flashed them my delegate card and shouted, “Will you now please let me in?” They stepped back, pointed to the entrance of the building and shouted ‘go!’. I grabbed my backpack and walked over to the doors wiping the teargas tears from my face.
I got into the building and headed for the escalator to go upstairs to the meeting area. It was one hell of a long escalator. I looked up as I got on the escalator and just saw cameras flashing and rolling. Damn. The press. They have been starved of people to interview all day. No one made it in and here I was – a prey to pounce on. Someone to interview at last.
But I wasn’t meant to speak to the press. I had no training. What do I do? Push past them or say a few words? I quickly decided that I will speak to them. It has been about 3 hours or more since the South African team last saw me disappear into the crowd of protesters. I was sure that they were all back at the hotel room by now. Watching CNN to see what was happening. I will talk to the press to let them know I am okay. I am alive and well. And that I made it in. So I straightened my clothes and neatened my hair. Bring on the cameras baby!
I hit the top and froze. There were cameras and microphones everywhere. People shouting questions left, right and centre. I couldn’t register anything. Then I heard a question coming through my cloudy mind, “Sir, what’s it like out there?” And I said the first thing that came to my mind – never a good idea, “Well, the first thing that went through my mind when I smelled the teargas was home-sweet-home”. And it went out live for the world to see…
And the press loved me for that. I gave them a soundbite and that was what they wanted. I was their favourite for the rest of the day. I don’t know if it was because of my quote or whether I was one of only a handful of people that made it in and that they could interview. But I enjoyed the media attention and had my 15 minutes of fame – stretched to a few hours because of a lack of competition!
So I spend most of the day and evening talking to the press and drinking coffee. Nothing to do. The police had to clear the streets before I could leave the building again. But I did get a great t-shirt. Man the Americans are fast. I got a t-shirt that said ‘My trade minister went to the WTO and all I got was this lousy trade deal’. Still got it.
I eventually went to the hotel at 2 am. The cops escorted me all the way there. Two cop cars in front and one at the back. Me in the limo in the middle. So different from the day of protesting. But by now the streets were empty. Not a soul except for the cops.
I got to the hotel and headed up to Alec’s room. I wasn’t sure whether he would still be awake, but had to check in to make sure. Just to show him I am back. I could hear the tv inside and opened the door. He was still up with most of the team hanging around. He looked at me and shook his head saying (with a little grin on his face), “Home sweet home Mr H?”
Okay, so it wasn’t the best thing to say with the world watching. I wasn’t working for the tourism department or doing advertising for South Africa. Hell, I was never media trained. But then who made it to the meeting and who didn’t?
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(Note: a few other things on my Seattle experience.
Day 2 was even more unbelievable. There were absolutely no one in the streets. You could hear the riot police marching through the streets in typical military style. Their beat echoed off the buildings. Like police patrolling the streets in a police state. A sign of the future world to come?
I was walking the empty streets by myself for a little while – just to take in a bit of Seattle. And I saw my first sex shop. It had Barbie and Ken in S&M clothing in the window. I was dumbstruck and stared at it not knowing what to think. It was so foreign. And so naive. Barbie has never been the same since. A sign of the future South Africa to come?
And of course, all of this happened while my wife and oldest daughter was at home (before the birth of my youngest one). We told my daughter that I was going to Seattle. She was almost three and didn’t get what I was doing there, but she got the fact that I was in Seattle. My wife was cooking when she heard my daughter call from the TV room, “Look mom, daddy in Seattle”. My wife came into the room and saw the absolute chaos happening in Seattle. She knew that I would be one of the people in the rioting crowd. I always want to be in the middle of it – not participate, but try and get a sense of it all. Just take it in and observe people and their behaviour. And she did what she always does – she started worrying. She didn’t go to sleep until I phoned from the hotel many, many hours later. A sign of our future together when I travel?
I always thought that my home-sweet-home comment was just relevant to that moment in Seattle. But it only hit home how true it was when I moved to the US many years later. It still felt like home-sweet-home. Both the good and the bad.
