Written 29 March 2012
I went to the free jazz concert on Greenmarket Square, last night, mainly to give my 13-yr-old a taste of the Cape Town International Jazz Festival, as she hadn’t ‘graduated’ to the main festival yet. It was a beautiful Cape Town night, and the Square buzzed with its special aura. The stage set-up and the colourful lights in the trees created a magical atmosphere, and we waited….. and waited….. until the first band started, about an hour after the advertised time. But the band was worth the wait: a band comprising high school learners from the WCED Jazz Development Programme. I’d heard them at The Fugard last Sunday and was excited that my daughter would get to experience them, too. Their three items went very well, and I was happy for them, imagining what a wow it must be to perform at such an event, so early in your music career.
And then we waited…. and waited…. until the second band appeared. I can’t remember the name of the band, but I recognized the vocalist as a UCT School of Jazz graduate, Spha Mdlalose: she has an amazing voice and a bubbly, engaging stage personality. (At the end of her set, she did an original, and I wondered why jazz vocalists don’t do more of their own compositions, as I know many of them write really good songs.) By this time, however, despite the fact that the sun had set and the evening had all the potential to be utterly wonderful, the magic had started to wane. Significantly.
I’ll make my point, then make some suggestions, which I will also communicate to the organizers, ESP Afrika. All around me, on Greenmarket Square, were people smoking. If I looked to the left, I inhaled smoke, if I looked to the right, the same, etc. This morning, I have all kinds of symptoms associated with having inhaled second-hand smoke, and I feel terrible. But that was just one half of the problem: everywhere around me, people were consuming alcohol, getting steadily drunker and forcing me to deal with the fallout - quite literally. For some reason or other, beer is sold in huge plastic cups, which people insist on putting on the cobbled ground, and which invariably get knocked over by others walking past, in the increasingly-congested space. Judging by the numbers of people who arrived with their cooler boxes, it was clear that watching live jazz on one of our city’s most historic and unpretensiously beautiful spots was not the main priority for the night. The smoky environment and the obnoxious behaviour of the drunks – both the ‘bergies’ and the well-heeled - created such an unpleasant atmosphere, that we left before the third band started, but not before we’d waited about 45 minutes for the crew to set them up!
Browsing through a pamphlet for Kirstenbosch Summer Sunset Concerts, I was delighted to see a clear, no-nonsense list of “Do’s and Don’ts”, which includes this simple, direct instruction: “Don’t smoke in the audience.” I live in a country that has made excellent provision to protect me from second-hand smoke wherever I go, and I feel proud of the progress we’ve made in that area. ESP Afrika needs to move with the times. Create some way of cordoning off the Square, and put signs everywhere that say, “Don’t smoke in the audience.” Even better, enforce a clear distinction between the drinking areas and the audience. An outer perimeter with tables and chairs should do the trick. Or, better still, keep the whole Square smoke- and alcohol-free, and let the roads leading off the Square be designated areas for those activities.
It’s advertised as a family event, and many people had come with young children, wanting to share a live jazz experience with them. The organizers need to create the space, in our beautiful Mother City, for families to do so in the healthiest possible way.
We’re South Africans – why should we follow, when we can lead?!
Thursday, 29 March 2012
Friday, 23 March 2012
Human Rights Day 2012
Written Wed. 21 March 2012
00h35, on what is now known in South Africa as Human Rights Day. It was formerly called Sharpeville Day, in commemoration of a peaceful march (on 21 March 1960) against the racist laws of our country, particularly the Pass Laws, which required every black man (and later, woman) to carry a little book, a “pass”, which explained why he was not in his ‘location’ at that time. It was a demeaning law that violated people’s freedom of movement in the country of their birth, a law which turned many ordinary citizens into criminals when they found themselves being arrested and imprisoned for not having said document on them (when confronted by the police). The 1960 event became known as the Sharpeville Massacre, after police killed 69 protestors. These were people who were marching peacefully, expressing their frustration at, and rejection of, the Pass Laws.
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21h55
And so ends another day, special because it was a public holiday, but, in our post-apartheid country, special to different people for different reasons. Listening to some people give their opinions on the evening news, I was reminded that the change of name from Sharpeville Day to Human Rights Day was still contentious, and that many people regarded it as yet another act of over-compensation, as they do the national anthem. I have to be honest, after years of not singing ‘Die Stem’ (apartheid South Africa’s national anthem, an Afrikaans song of patriotism that made unenfranchised people gag), it’s very hard for me to sing that section of the new anthem (which, in the spirit of reconciliation espoused by Nelson Mandela, is a mixture of the old anthem and the freedom song/hymn, Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika). Somehow……. it’s hard to explain……. it just feels weird. I don’t have an explanation beyond merely this: EVERY South African who lived through the apartheid era carries some sort of baggage.
Listening to my children say that, once again, they’d had to fill in forms at school where the category “Race” appeared, I could feel my blood pressure rising! On the one hand, I understand that we’re still gathering statistics, and that government funding to schools is linked to the demographics of the school population, but on the other hand, I’m sick of it. My question remains: what’s the point in our teaching our children that they’re all South African, if they’re still asked to ascribe racial labels to themselves? And what about children who have parents from different ethnic groups?! It’s as crazy as saying, “I know we’re supposed to have equality in our country, but just for today, only White students may sit on the benches in the school grounds.” It forces children who generally don’t go around thinking of each other in racial/ethnic terms to do just that.
Or maybe I’m being naïve?
***************************************************************************
In a Criminology class I was teaching, recently, I was confronted with extremely sexist views by some of the males in the class, who rejected the notion of marital rape. Not only did they not accept the term, but they believed - strongly – that, once a woman was married, she had no right to say no if her husband wanted to have sex. At first, I thought they were joking, and that, knowing how ardent I was about women’s rights, they were riling me. But I soon realised that they were dead serious. What bothered me immensely – and I raised this point – was that a few of the young men asserting these unfortunate views were outspoken political activists! I reminded them that Mandela himself had said that no country could call itself liberated until its women were liberated.
One of the young female students asked, with all the disbelief of a modern, empowered woman who’d assumed her classmates were equally enlightened, “But why would a man even want to have sex with someone who’s clearly stating she doesn’t want to?!” This was in response to a student saying that if a man’s wife said ‘no’, he should just overpower her and get his needs met, regardless. I raised the point that, if you married someone because you loved her, surely that included respect. There seemed to be an attitude that the matter of a man’s sexual needs stood alone – they didn’t see it as wrong for a man to force sex on his wife, because she was supposed to be ready whenever he was; that’s what a wife was supposed to do.
There was such machismo during the discussion, that, when I asked if the same applied to a woman wanting sex when her husband didn’t, or what happened when the woman’s libido was more pronounced than her husband’s, they laughed, incredulous that I could even suggest such a likelihood.
I must admit, I felt sick afterwards. Maybe I’m so used to being around mature people, who live the ideals of justice, equality and freedom for all, that I’d forgotten we have a huge sector of our population who are growing up saturated with American television, the internet and the sexist rubbish found in the lyrics of songs from certain genres. Many of these things contain offensive words and attitudes, and young people who are not presented with healthier alternatives are lapping up those values, perpetuating the gender insensitivity that results in South Africa having one of the highest levels of rape and family violence, generally inflicted by males on females.
I happened to be watching tv today, when my friend, Sandi Schultz (actress and clothing designer), came on as the guest of Noeleen (host of “3 Talk”, a talk show on SABC 3), on her special Human Rights Day programme. Last year, Sandi and some others organised a public march in Johannesburg, entitled “Slutwalk”, to protest against, and raise awareness of, the ridiculousness of blaming what women wear for the high incidence of rape in our country. From what I can remember, the idea caught on, and there was also a Cape Town march. Noeleen, showing just how conservative and crowd-pleasing she actually is, asked Sandi if the name of the event wasn’t a bit too bold (I can’t remember her actual words) and if it wasn’t likely to have scared off potential supporters.
(If you’re referring to those ‘tannies’ watching your show, Noeleen, they wouldn’t EVER take part in protest marches, so let’s not delude ourselves that the name of that particular march put YOUR viewers off.)
I watched my friend’s face closely as she answered the question with all the diplomacy she could muster. Ah, Sandi, you’re absolutely professional, every step of the way! Haha – I wonder what you were thinking!
(That’s the whole point, Noeleen – people judge women by what they wear, calling them sluts if their skirts are too short or their necklines too low. Naming the protest march “Slutwalk” confronts that very stereotype!)
I loved the slogans of one of the marchers: “We don’t attack you when you run shirtless in public.”
CHECK OUT SANDI'S NEW WEBSITE: www.isaidno.co.za
***************************************************************************
Our country still has a lot of work to do, before we have a nation of people who rate gender equality as seriously as “racial” equality. Maybe we all need to take a good, long look at our meticulously-documented Bill of Rights.
Cry, the Beloved Constitution.
00h35, on what is now known in South Africa as Human Rights Day. It was formerly called Sharpeville Day, in commemoration of a peaceful march (on 21 March 1960) against the racist laws of our country, particularly the Pass Laws, which required every black man (and later, woman) to carry a little book, a “pass”, which explained why he was not in his ‘location’ at that time. It was a demeaning law that violated people’s freedom of movement in the country of their birth, a law which turned many ordinary citizens into criminals when they found themselves being arrested and imprisoned for not having said document on them (when confronted by the police). The 1960 event became known as the Sharpeville Massacre, after police killed 69 protestors. These were people who were marching peacefully, expressing their frustration at, and rejection of, the Pass Laws.
**************************************************************************
21h55
And so ends another day, special because it was a public holiday, but, in our post-apartheid country, special to different people for different reasons. Listening to some people give their opinions on the evening news, I was reminded that the change of name from Sharpeville Day to Human Rights Day was still contentious, and that many people regarded it as yet another act of over-compensation, as they do the national anthem. I have to be honest, after years of not singing ‘Die Stem’ (apartheid South Africa’s national anthem, an Afrikaans song of patriotism that made unenfranchised people gag), it’s very hard for me to sing that section of the new anthem (which, in the spirit of reconciliation espoused by Nelson Mandela, is a mixture of the old anthem and the freedom song/hymn, Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika). Somehow……. it’s hard to explain……. it just feels weird. I don’t have an explanation beyond merely this: EVERY South African who lived through the apartheid era carries some sort of baggage.
Listening to my children say that, once again, they’d had to fill in forms at school where the category “Race” appeared, I could feel my blood pressure rising! On the one hand, I understand that we’re still gathering statistics, and that government funding to schools is linked to the demographics of the school population, but on the other hand, I’m sick of it. My question remains: what’s the point in our teaching our children that they’re all South African, if they’re still asked to ascribe racial labels to themselves? And what about children who have parents from different ethnic groups?! It’s as crazy as saying, “I know we’re supposed to have equality in our country, but just for today, only White students may sit on the benches in the school grounds.” It forces children who generally don’t go around thinking of each other in racial/ethnic terms to do just that.
Or maybe I’m being naïve?
***************************************************************************
In a Criminology class I was teaching, recently, I was confronted with extremely sexist views by some of the males in the class, who rejected the notion of marital rape. Not only did they not accept the term, but they believed - strongly – that, once a woman was married, she had no right to say no if her husband wanted to have sex. At first, I thought they were joking, and that, knowing how ardent I was about women’s rights, they were riling me. But I soon realised that they were dead serious. What bothered me immensely – and I raised this point – was that a few of the young men asserting these unfortunate views were outspoken political activists! I reminded them that Mandela himself had said that no country could call itself liberated until its women were liberated.
One of the young female students asked, with all the disbelief of a modern, empowered woman who’d assumed her classmates were equally enlightened, “But why would a man even want to have sex with someone who’s clearly stating she doesn’t want to?!” This was in response to a student saying that if a man’s wife said ‘no’, he should just overpower her and get his needs met, regardless. I raised the point that, if you married someone because you loved her, surely that included respect. There seemed to be an attitude that the matter of a man’s sexual needs stood alone – they didn’t see it as wrong for a man to force sex on his wife, because she was supposed to be ready whenever he was; that’s what a wife was supposed to do.
There was such machismo during the discussion, that, when I asked if the same applied to a woman wanting sex when her husband didn’t, or what happened when the woman’s libido was more pronounced than her husband’s, they laughed, incredulous that I could even suggest such a likelihood.
I must admit, I felt sick afterwards. Maybe I’m so used to being around mature people, who live the ideals of justice, equality and freedom for all, that I’d forgotten we have a huge sector of our population who are growing up saturated with American television, the internet and the sexist rubbish found in the lyrics of songs from certain genres. Many of these things contain offensive words and attitudes, and young people who are not presented with healthier alternatives are lapping up those values, perpetuating the gender insensitivity that results in South Africa having one of the highest levels of rape and family violence, generally inflicted by males on females.
I happened to be watching tv today, when my friend, Sandi Schultz (actress and clothing designer), came on as the guest of Noeleen (host of “3 Talk”, a talk show on SABC 3), on her special Human Rights Day programme. Last year, Sandi and some others organised a public march in Johannesburg, entitled “Slutwalk”, to protest against, and raise awareness of, the ridiculousness of blaming what women wear for the high incidence of rape in our country. From what I can remember, the idea caught on, and there was also a Cape Town march. Noeleen, showing just how conservative and crowd-pleasing she actually is, asked Sandi if the name of the event wasn’t a bit too bold (I can’t remember her actual words) and if it wasn’t likely to have scared off potential supporters.
(If you’re referring to those ‘tannies’ watching your show, Noeleen, they wouldn’t EVER take part in protest marches, so let’s not delude ourselves that the name of that particular march put YOUR viewers off.)
I watched my friend’s face closely as she answered the question with all the diplomacy she could muster. Ah, Sandi, you’re absolutely professional, every step of the way! Haha – I wonder what you were thinking!
(That’s the whole point, Noeleen – people judge women by what they wear, calling them sluts if their skirts are too short or their necklines too low. Naming the protest march “Slutwalk” confronts that very stereotype!)
I loved the slogans of one of the marchers: “We don’t attack you when you run shirtless in public.”
CHECK OUT SANDI'S NEW WEBSITE: www.isaidno.co.za
***************************************************************************
Our country still has a lot of work to do, before we have a nation of people who rate gender equality as seriously as “racial” equality. Maybe we all need to take a good, long look at our meticulously-documented Bill of Rights.
Cry, the Beloved Constitution.
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