For South Africans in the US, protests ring a bell

TALI FEINBERG

Although she left South Africa 30 years ago, seeing George Floyd die under the knee of a policeman was a heartbreaking yet familiar moment for Buntman, whose primary research areas are prisons, law and power, and inequality, especially in the United States and South Africa.

“I felt horror, disgust, and anger at such cruelty. It happened in broad daylight, with both the victim and the public begging for him to stop. Only my training in social science allowed me to watch it and try to understand it, my human self didn’t understand.”

An assistant professor of sociology at George Washington University, she says, “So far, I’ve avoided protests because of COVID-19 health concerns, but I’m fully supportive and appreciative of them, including supporting my 17-year-old twin daughters in attending them. I support racial and social justice in other ways, from having #BLM and similar signs on our house so passers-by can see them, to donating money to Black-Jewish dialogue groups, to solidarity and mentoring, to education on criminal-justice issues.

“The looting has thankfully been limited,” Buntman says. “The fact that looting is minimal is a testament to the majority of the protesters and the leaders of various resistance groups. These people, far more than police, have prevented most of the looting. Trevor Noah was also on the mark when he said that if you felt unease watching the looting, then, ‘Try to imagine how it must feel for black Americans when they watch themselves being looted every single day’.”

George Floyd’s death is just one of a number of recent incidents that sparked the protests, Buntman says. “When I came to the United States, I was naive to the depth of racial inequality that exists.

“In the thirty years that I have lived here, I have never seen a moment like this, when so many people, no matter what their background, are talking about the same thing. People are coming out in their millions. They are aware of the health risks, but feel that there are bigger issues at stake. A lot of it also has to do with [President Donald] Trump. People are worried that our democracy is in serious danger of not surviving him. Personally, I’m more scared of Trump than the looters, just like I was always scared of the apartheid police, not the anti-apartheid protests.”

She isn’t alone. Nicky Wheat moved to the US from Johannesburg in 2017, and lives on Mercer Island, east of Seattle. “It’s a very white community, and we are now learning that people of colour have never felt very welcome. I attended a vigil organised by a woman who grew up here, but always felt ostracised. She told us she was so overwhelmed that people attended, as she always felt that no one ‘saw her’, and didn’t think people cared.

“It was a peaceful event, organised with the police, ahead of curfew. People lit candles, sang songs, and shared stories. I went because I care, and because of my Habonim background. I love where I live, and it pains me that people feel they don’t belong.”

Wheat has also experienced the effect of looting by protestors. In the city of Seattle where she works, “the bottom-floor windows of every high-rise building are boarded up, either after being smashed or to prevent them from being looted. It was a bit scary knowing this was ten minutes away. Tensions are high.”

Talya Chalef, originally from Cape Town, has lived in New York for 10 years. She attended a protest and took photographs at Cadman Plaza in Brooklyn, where a memorial service for George Floyd was held, and a sit-in at Fort Greene Park.

“I have been wary of attending events because I’m on a visa and can’t afford to get arrested,” she says. “But the memorial service, which was at a World War II memorial, was beautiful. It felt hopeful, engaged, energised, and sincere. One thing that stood out was how mixed the crowd was. Young, old, families, black, white, mixed. It felt very much like the spirit of New York – proud, defiant, kind, loud, expressive, empathetic, and liberal. It also felt historic, almost nostalgic, like we were at a rally in the 60s.

“I couldn’t hear the actual service very well, but the cheers, chants, and applause from the crowd of thousands was moving. The degree of organisation was also surprising. Given the fact that we’re still technically on lockdown, I was taken aback by how many were out, and how everyone had a mask on. Volunteers were handing out masks, hand sanitiser, snacks, and water.

“The Fort Greene sit-in was a quieter event. Pitched as a way to regenerate, the idea was to ‘take a breath’. Different speakers facilitated breathing meditations, and there was a silence of 8.46 minutes across the park.”

Jackie Maris, formerly of Cape Town, also lives in New York City. “I have just returned to NYC after two weeks in Ohio, so I haven’t yet been involved in the protests in person. I hope to attend rallies and protests in coming days,” she says.

“Friends who have attended protests say that the crowds are fired up, but acting peacefully. Wariness of police is a factor.” Maris cites an incident on Friday night as an example. “Police trapped hundreds of New Yorkers on Manhattan Bridge for no clear reason. They lined each end of the bridge, and wouldn’t let the marchers move. It was believed to be a scare tactic. After several hours in the dark with little communication from police, protesters were allowed off the bridge.

“I recognise that I have benefited from a white-supremacist system, both in the US and back home in South Africa,” she says. “It’s on me and all white people to do the work of unlearning racism, and to put that work into action. A start would be to challenge overtly racist comments at Shabbat dinner tables, to call out the micro-aggressions that Jews of colour face in our communities, and to do the work necessary to unlearn racially prejudiced patterns.”