June 22, 2017 (the shortest day of the year in the southern hemisphere)
Everyone down under has been asking me why I\’m staying 50 days in South Africa this California Summer (southern hemisphere winter). I reply: To get away from all-things-Trump — a comment generally met by an understanding chuckle (though there are educated, non-American, Trump supporters out here). Brother Paul has suggested that I won\’t be back for 8 years…
But foreign-born Trump backers don\’t support him for the same reasons his American backers do (all-of-those hate-tinged empty promises). Instead, they seem pleased that he is rattling the World while protecting Wall Street.
So, even though Killary (a nickname I\’ve recently heard) has been labeled \”a nasty bit of baggage\” — women and people of color may have received a much better \”shake\” under her rule. Which brings me to the topic of \”The Color Line\”…but before I do, a quick aside:
In dinner conversation the other day an old acquaintance informed me that the Australian government only removed the statute of legal aboriginal hunting in 1968. Wow! One wonders how shit like this passed under the Apartheid Radar! (Elsewhere I have written about The Rabbit Fence and the White-managed \’conditioning\’ camps for aboriginal youth.)
The Color Line is the foolish notion that the White Man is superior to People of Color — and that the lighter your skin — the higher your rating on the \”deserving\” scale…
South Africa\’s transition into the Rainbow Nation has been accompanied by the characteristic violence that the removal of a repressive regime invariably engenders. This violence almost struck me the other day — as 4 African lads could only have wanted my wedding band and my prescription Ray Bans when they cornered me (out of public view) at the lifeguard clubhouse. Thankfully a burly fellow walked onto the beach. I think he may have been White, or mixed race — I\’m just glad he was \”burly.\”
But my rescuers in the Cape Flats were definitely men of color.
I made an ill-advised turn into the Flats with Son Austen (who accompanied me on part of this trip) and landed us in an intersection with traffic lights that no one was obeying. Before I could take defensive action we were trapped 6-cars-deep in our lane — as cars hopped curbs and came from every direction! There had to be 100 cars vying for passage and only 3 White people that I could see: US and the person in the car in front of US.
This Friday Afternoon in Cape Flats rush hour was no place for White Folk.
Glancing in my rear-view mirror, I saw a cop truck (yes, a pick-up truck) with 4-5 Black African cops in it. They were right behind us! We were saved!! These guys were going to direct traffic and sort the mess out! And they did…at least for themselves. They managed to get through the intersection and kept on going.
Somehow (I truly have no clue how) we wound up in the middle of the intersection and I\’m still not sure how cars weren\’t damaged in this melee). With people honking and yelling at me to move I threw up my arms in impotence and despair — there was nothing I could do.
Then, suddenly, the taxi van directly in front of me somehow carved out a space to get by me –leaving a vacuum for me to slide into. Another seeming angel moved the \”other\” White car through a narrow lane that he had forged and motioned for us to follow. After thinking we were Dead Men — Austen and I were saved! I had only contemplated death for 45 minutes.
The next day Austen returned for the Saturday Braai (barbecue) held weekly in-the-Flat. Then it was fine for White Folk to hangout.
My farmer friend, Johnny, a Republican through-and-through (and currently awaiting his American citizenship) — bagged a kudu on his farm the other day. Austen got a firsthand look at a field dressing of a large mammal — replete with the sound effects of gurgling blood streaming in the dust of the bush.
Johnny didn\’t shoot the creature for himself, however. He shot it for his 2 farmhands and their families to have meat while he was in the U.S.
I guess Johnny\’s next evolutionary step in ethnic relations would be to leave his rifle for his workers to do their own hunting…but 4000 White farmers and their families have been murdered in the past 23 years (including his neighbor) — making most farmers lovers of their guns.
South Africa is facing a hellova social intersection — with many not following the new traffic lights — which are a damned sight better than shades of white or black. Miraculously — people are getting through, unscathed…and the rainbow continues to widen and deepen…