5 police interactions: impunity, mismanagement and our own hypocracy

POLICE INTERACTION #1:

On the 10th of August, I returned to Paballo Ya Batho, the soup kitchen I was part of last year. Each Wednesday night, the Paballo team takes soup around three stops in Johannesburg’s inner city. You share a meal, a handshake and a conversation. This time around, we run into the Metro Police at the second stop. Having heard many and written some stories about the Metro Police and the “beautification” process of the inner city, especially during the World Cup, I am surprised to see the Metro Police ready for action with my own eyes. They usually prefer not to have potentially problematic witnesses such as humanitarian groups. Yet they come out of their van with sticks ready for beating that night, a woman at their lead: a Sergeant from the Johannesburg Central Metro Police. Without much ado, they oust away the homeless from their fire and use it to burn all plastic-bag-stored possessions. Finally, they take away the blankets that have been provided by organisations similar to Paballo.

“Could you please tell us what is going on,” several of us demand. The female Sergeant abruptly turns to us: “It is against South African law to occupy the streets. And you are not helping by giving them food. There are shelters they should be going to.”

The homeless argue that the shelters are full and that they have to wait until the 19^th of August, the following week Friday, to get a free spot. It is always full during the winter time. Although they are supposedly free, some shelters demand that they pay up to eight rand per night, they say. Only persons with a South African ID are allowed to stay and only for up to three months. And then what, they ask. What if we do not find a job in three months, then we are back on the street.

As the discussion goes on, the Metro police retreats into their van and waits for us to go away. Don’t leave, they are just waiting for you to leave so they can beat us up, the young and old men surrounding us say. We stand with them and wait. Time goes by; finally the police van approaches us again, reversing. Leave, they say to us, a sense of threat in the lady Sergeant’s voice. After several minutes of arguing back and forth – with her sitting in the car and me standing on the street by her car window, plastic soup cups in my gloved hands (it is one of the coldest nights of the year) – she says to me that she will have to arrest me for loitering if I refuse to leave. The mood is getting tense; finally, we need to leave. There is still another stop to go to. We give our telephone numbers to a young man who has been taking the lead in discussing with the police to call us in case the Metro police does return to beat them up.

As we drive to the next stop in town, the police van follows us. We get out, a long line of at least fifty people already waiting for their dinner by our car; the police parks a few meteres away and waits. We serve food, but it is already late, almost ten at night, and we cannot stay for long. As we leave, the police van slowly follows us once more, but they end up staying behind. After a hurried consultation and good-byes back at the Methodist Church, we see a man who warns the crowd of homeless folks that usually sleep by the Methodist Church: Hide your blankets; the Metro police is on a mission.

POLICE INTERACTION #2:

In Hillbrow, we are invited to participate in a raid through hijacked buildings in the inner city. Occupants of those houses, often very poor foreigners, are given a 24-hour notice to leave the building, without an alternative housing arrangement.  “But dress in military wear,” South African Police Department (SAPS) Youth Desk members tell us.

 

A hijacked building in Hillbrow, photograph by Anna Premo

 

POLICE INTERACTION #3:

One mad evening, I am out with friends and all of us drank maybe just a little too much, even the friend driving the car. Being reunited and young is often enough to become irresponsible. As we are about to approach a familiar corner, the police stops us. We are literally five minutes away from our respective houses and curse ourselves for not having driven slower. The police asks us to follow their car. We freak out for our respective reasons while following the police car to a nearby police station. What to do with the remaining beer bottles in the back of the car? How to go about getting home once the intoxicated driver is locked up? Oh, and what to do about that criminal record and spending a night in one of Johannesburg’s police stations? 

Finally, we stop in the back of the police station, “a good sign,” according to the more experienced ones among us. We offer to pay some kind of immediate punishment fee for our mistakes and finally agree on 200 rand. We, the ones complaining about police corruption and dysfunctionality, bribed the police and felt relieved — one of the most hypocritical acts I’ve ever witnessed and participated in. One of those acts you regret afterwards, almost immediately.

POLICE INTERACTION #4:

One day, we call a Hillbrow police man for an interview.

“Where are you right now?” he asks.

“By the Hillbrow Theatre.”

“Stay there. I’ll be there just now.”

Ten minutes later, he picks us up. He does come out of the car to say hello, but then asks us to “jump on.” He still needs to drive and patrol a bit. I climb on in front, next to him; Anna goes in the back. As we cruise around, I feel elevated. The huge police van floats above the buzzing Hillbrow crowd. As we drive through the “hot spots,” the really bad places and the good ones, he tells us of the new police strategy: Hillbrow is being sliced up into smaller, more manageable sectors; cameras are being installed at every corner, hijacked buildings are raided, and the community reports crimes once again because the police is working hard on changing from being a force to providing a service. During the conversation, we pick up two of his friends who join Anna in the back of the police van. Then, we all share a big bottle of Fanta and some candies. It all does feel like a jolly service, relaxing with some friends rather than being in a police van. Finally, since there are tourists from overseas on board, he decides that we should all go to a famous strip club in Hillbrow, but only if we get in for free (tourists in police car=big deal). The owner insists on the 60 Rand charge, so we leave. The police van drops us off at Bree taxi rank, we exchange thanks and intentions for future party/cruise endeavors, and slide shut the heavy door. As we enter the taxi rank, I see the van’s bright-green side turn the corner.

POLICE INTERACTION #5:

Diepsloot

In Diepsloot (some call it one of, others the most dangerous settlement in Johannesburg), we interview two Community Policing Forum leaders. Both are very careful concerning their identity (Diepsloot can be a grudge-ful community) and both emphasize the positive developments in Diepsloot. Too dark is the picture already painted by mass media. 

During our second interview, in extension seven, we were sitting in the headquarters of the CPF when a woman comes in yelling from the outside. We ask what is wrong. The CPF leader says that some guy was threatening to burn down the lady’s car. But it is not a problem, not to worry, he assures us. We continue the interview, but after a while, the woman’s yells return. Three men are beating up the intoxicated man outside. They push the man into the shack. He is wearing a ripped shirt and falls off a chair, furiously yelling at everyone around him in Zulu. We leave the shack to let the CPF do their work. Spectators from the outside tell us that the three men who were beating the forth one up were enjoying it far too much, but they remain around, clearly also intoxicated, possibly looking for another go. The CPF calls the police who arrive and arrest the man after some time. We ask what will happen now, once the police takes over. The answer remains unclear. At the back of the police car, the man shakes the iron bars and screams. The other three men stand around and watch.

People waiting in front of the CPF headquarters, photograph by Anna Premo.

beer-drinking voyeurs

When we first arrived to Johannesburg in the beginning of August, my friend Christof came over to pick us up for a welcome. In his car, we drove to Melville where we got six large bottles of Black Label beer at Paul’s Tavern (located in the legendary house that hosts a Karate centre at the top, a church in the middle and a tavern at the bottom). We drove the beers to the Melville Koppies, the hills of Melville. The area can get less safe at night, but we came at the right sunset time. A group of the African Independent or Initiated Church goers was conducting an open-air service. They were dancing in a circle, drumming and singing, dressed in traditional green-blue garment. This religious movement is said to have originated in the early 20th century in America. Here, they call them “Zionists” (belonging to the Zion Christian Church in South Africa). 

We sat down on some rocks, maybe 300 meters away to watch the fabulous sight, while drinking our beers, like little mischievous voyeurs. They soon went a little farther down the hill and we’d only see them sporadically. Once, two men in traditional gear took a walk to the other side of the Koppies. Between them was a woman, dressed in comtemporary clothes. They seemed to be discussing something important.

Christof, Anna and I spoke of what is wrong with the U.S., the debt ceiling crisis, what is wrong with South Africa, tribal conflicts and racism, Christof and I smoking one cigarette after another, lighting them with the old familiar yellow South African lion-matches. At some point, a traditionally clothed man stepped in our field of view to speak on his cell phone. He was looking out onto the Johannesburg skyline. Maybe he was not and it was just my imagination, but to me it was the perfect image: the skyline with the setting sun and the mix of tradition and modernity, and us sitting there, beer-drinking voyeurs — Johannesburg.