6 February 2009 – Parliament Opens

Today was a day unparalleled by any other we’ve spent in Cape Town. It was a day of political grandeur and social activism, of traditional formality and radical demonstration. For every official ceremony that took place at or around Parliament, there seemed to be an organized activist event somewhere else in the city to balance it out – and so it was a day of intriguing dichotomies. Adding to the excitement were our group’s various connections to these events, and our individual involvement in the social and political activities that took place throughout the morning and afternoon.

On assignment from Black Sash, Cassidy and I had to meet other members of the organization at the front gate of Parliament a little after twelve o’clock, so we decided to head into town in the morning to catch some of the fanfare preceding the interim president’s State of the Nation address. The bus and minibus stations were eerily quiet and empty when we arrived around 9:45, but as we made our way up Plein St. past the Black Sash office, the streets began to fill with business people and curious Capetonians, many of whom were interested in watching the marching bands and motorcades heading to Parliament.

The security was very tight, so the roads were blockaded to give the motorcade route at least a one-block buffer. Onlookers wound up leaning over the crowd-control fences at certain intersections and peering down long avenues filled with police and military units just to get a glimpse of the government vehicles that passed. Unlike similar events in the United States, the procession was not very organized or constant. The police in charge of keeping the small crowds of interested citizens at bay seemed almost as unsure about the progression of events as we did. In retrospect, the police presence was rather overwhelming all morning and afternoon, as the aloof, uniformed men and women hovered in groups on all of the corners, ever vigilant in the way they scoped the crowds with shrewd eyes. More than once I was asked to please step back or told that I didn’t have the authorization to take a photo from a certain spot. It was clear by their influence over the crowds, however, that their authority was not quite equivalent to that of American police.

After an hour along one of the street barricades, we had seen just a few small factions of Parliament-bound cars and marchers. Today was indisputably the hottest day we’ve encountered since we arrived (and surprisingly wind-less) so when the sun crept around the corner of the building at our back, we decided to keep moving up the street towards Parliament to find a some more shade and a new viewing location. Cars that had peeled of the stunted motorcades continued to pass us on the otherwise blocked-off street, and we were struck by the fact that most of these vans and armored cars were Mercedes and BMWs, despite their rather nondescript appearance.

Cassidy and I stopped in a corner café for water, already dripping with sweat beneath our too-large Black Sash t-shirts and jeans. Then we walked the rest of the way to the front side of the Parliament building, where we just happened to run into three other members of our group, sitting on the curb in the sectioned-off viewing area, across the street. We watched and listened – through the black bars of the gate and throngs of people on the other side – as the band played the national anthem, the cannons blasted something similar to the 21-gun salute, and five fighter jets tore through the sky overhead. It was certainly a thrilling few minutes of formal introduction to Parliament. But it was followed shortly after by the disbanding of the guard and marching bands and the progression of any lingering diplomats into the building for the closed-door presidential address.
At that point, Cassidy and I headed up the street again to see if we could intercept the Arms March protestors, who’d begun the trek to Roeland St around 11AM. It was nearly noon, so we were not surprised to find the 500 or so marchers standing about five blocks from Parliament (they weren’t allowed to approach any further), roped into a very specific area by police tape and listening with rapt attention to the Social Justice Coalition’s (SJC) speakers as they denounced the misuse of government funds on an arms deal. The SJC had organized the event over the past few weeks to address government corruption and expenditures arms, as health and civil service programs in the townships remain incredibly underfunded. Dan is interning at the Treatment Action Campaign (TAC), which helped to organize the march/rally with the SJC, and he had a hand in organizing the event. Accordingly, about half our group of 15 attended the march, wielding their large, home-made signs and enthusiastically joining in the chanting and singing that took place during the roughly two-hour event.
Having never before attended a protest, my only real frames of reference were movies and documentaries about American social movements during the ‘60s and ‘70s. I expected lots of vigorous cheering and chanting, people packed shoulder to shoulder waving banners and wearing shirts with radical slogans, and coordinators standing on soap boxes shouting morale-boosting, revolutionary indictments against the government.
Surprisingly, the scene we encountered (and briefly joined), matched this description almost perfectly, except that instead of a soap box, the coordinators perched on the back of a flatbed truck at the roadside, with a microphone and stacks of clunky speakers projecting their rally cries all the way up Roeland St.
It really seemed to be the epitome of a South African grass-roots rally.

We spent about twenty minutes with Dan and the other five or six students who’d marched – once again having run into them effortlessly, without any plans to meet up. Despite our group’s involvement in many of the biggest organized events of the day, it was still very bizarre to run into familiar faces everywhere we went in the city. Additionally, wherever Cassidy and I walked, our Black Sash t-shirts attracted a lot of attention and affirming exclamations. (We’ve heard that the same was true of the SJC Arms Protest shirts that the marchers wore.) Our shirts also helped three different members of the Black Sash staff identify and approach us on the streets around Parliament throughout the morning.
At 12:30, we walked back to Parliament, where security was even more heightened as the ceremony came to a close. A half dozen coach buses now blocked the pedestrian view of the Parliament gate and wide courtyard area, which was bisected by a long red carpet and dotted with camera equipment and security personnel. Our directions for meeting up and gaining entrance to the post-address press event had been very minimal, so we were left to our own devices to try to get as close to the action as possible. There seemed to be several levels of press and Parliamentary access, at the core of which lay the Parliament steps, riddled with schmoozing diplomats. Just outside of that was a buffer zone through which only select security and press passed, followed by a ring of lesser security, press, and civil service reps. Then came the big iron gate and the small entry zone, in which police and a few more photographers clustered, lining the path between the Parliament property and the coach buses. Through this channel, dozens and dozens of diplomats and dignitaries made their exits, striding nobly past in their striking African dress.The farthest we could talk our way into these rings of security was just beyond the buses and police in the entry area. It was clear that without specific ID or the help of our Black Sash contacts inside the event area, we wouldn’t be getting inside the main gate. So for about an hour, we stood amongst the “lesser” security and press, watching VIPs filter past in garments ranging from common Western suits to vibrantly printed African wrap-dresses and broad, feathery hats. All of this was set against the backdrop of the white pillared, European-style Parliament building, and framed by the granite cliffs of Signal Hill, Lion’s Head, and Table Mountain. For the umpteenth time – even the pictures won’t do it justice.

Around 1:15, most of the Parliament courtyard had emptied out, and the security had dwindled a bit, so we decided to make a calculated approach to the gate. Just inside, we spotted one of our Black Sash “coworkers”, Nyembezi, who beckoned us closer to the red carpet and Parliament steps. Appropriately hesitant, we skittered past a few more rows of police and press, and spent the next few minutes taking photos for the Black Sash website and talking with a few photographers and Black Sash staff. Nyembezi had had tickets to see the State of the Nation, and he explained how the event had transpired, and how the organization deals with giving press statements and official responses after addresses like these. Simply being so close to such a big event – regardless of the fact that it was in its final stages of conclusion, by that time – was both very powerful and slightly bizarre.In the hours since, it’s dawned on me how significant an opportunity it was to have been able to experience a major national event from such a unique perspective. It’s also made me further appreciate how fortunate we are to have such strong and influential connections here in Cape Town.