Seven Observations

Vandalised Constitution

 

Friends,

Seven observations/parables from my daily walk:

1] Outside the office traders nod, greet and smile. I have heard them from just after 5am setting up their stalls. They will pack up again in the dark. An inspiration in their resilience and perseverance. They look after each other’s stalls for everyone to have an opportunity to find a toilet or get something to eat. They laugh loud and argue passionately. A caring and watchful community. Neighbours who Psalm 139-like, know my coming and going.

2] The rotating group of smokers from an office block huddle together on the corner. Ignoring me, they all greet Jubilee by name.

3] Past the Taj Hotel. It is so good to see hotels alive with activity after being empty and closed for so long due to COVID. A relief to see people crucially employed. Full tour buses. The melody of foreign languages. Luxury vehicles and luxury travel bags. Just across the road people sleep on the pavement on cardboard mattresses in the nooks and corners of Cathedral walls. The intractable inequality is wounding. Security guards make sure wealth and poverty do not meet. What feels like peace to some, feels like threat to others.

4] Under the woven wooden canopy – the arch for the Arch. 14 arched beams, each representing a line from the preamble of the Constitution. Circled on the ground beneath the arch, are 14 brass plates each bearing a line from the Constitution’s preamble. Three have been wrenched off, presumedly to be sold for scrap and possibly to score a hit. A fourth plate is not quite pried off. I speak to the cops who sit in a little booth only 5m away. They have not noticed but will keep an eye out. The next day the fourth plate is also gone. The desperate decaying state of things. The vision of Arch Tutu and the Constitution are struggling to stick.

5] I hear water running beneath my feet. Gushing beneath the paved surface. A reminder of the underground rivers that flow all year round. Free flowing water from the top of Table Mountain through the city gardens and eventually into the sea. A food garden no longer. Why? Surely we are surrounded by more need for nourishing food than ever before. Towering trees tap into the water below. They congregate so densely together that city buildings are hidden from sight. Benches full of people enjoying the abundance of beauty and life. Squirrels leap from branch to branch releasing a rain of leaves to the ground.

6] Then up past the burnt-out parliament buildings to where the avenue opens up left and right. Two children – around 8 years old are throwing stones at the geese on the pond. They are on their own. There are no adults around. I ask them to leave the geese alone. “Give us money” – they reply. I tell them that I don’t have money, but to please leave the geese alone. They continue to throw stones at the geese, saying, “We want money”. It is easy to be angry with the children. What they were doing was cruel. Yet, I am convinced that behind their cruelty lies further cruelty. They were ‘only’ doing to the geese what they have experienced society do to them. And when cruelty replaces care in one direction it is difficult to expect cruelty to be replaced by care in the other direction. When a “social-compact” fails a group of people or even worse, turns against them, then one has little-to-no moral authority to expect them to honour the very same social-compact. The same is true for the above-mentioned Constitutional vandalism. Removing brass plates is a response to a Constitution of justice and healing that one feels removed from. Behind this vandalism is a vandalism more difficult to photograph. The vandalism of the priceless worth of human beings.

 7] Then finally into the paddocks. Quadrants of grass guarded by trees. Seated upright on a bench beneath the trees a person blows into his saxophone. Like a call to prayer. The haunting beauty of jazz floats on the air. The volume rises and falls with the strength of the wind. He plays for himself and yet at the same time he plays for everyone and for all of life. An imperfect offering. A generous gift.

In grace,
Alan

Isaiah 59:1-16a

Friends,

Here are a few words from Isaiah. I do not know how accurately Isaiah’s words describe the context of his day, but I do know that his words are very accurate for our day…

Grace, Alan

 

Isaiah 59:1-16a

See, the Lord’s hand is not too short to save,
    nor his ear too dull to hear.
2Rather, your iniquities have been barriers
    between you and your God,
and your sins have hidden his face from you
    so that he does not hear.
3For your hands are defiled with blood,
    and your fingers with iniquity;
your lips have spoken lies,
    your tongue mutters wickedness.
4No one brings suit justly,
    no one goes to law honestly;
they rely on empty pleas, they speak lies,
    conceiving mischief and begetting iniquity.
5They hatch adders’ eggs,
    and weave the spider’s web;
whoever eats their eggs dies,
    and the crushed egg hatches out a viper.
6Their webs cannot serve as clothing;
    they cannot cover themselves with what they
    make. Their works are works of iniquity,
    and deeds of violence are in their hands.
7Their feet run to evil,
    and they rush to shed innocent blood;
    their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity,
    desolation and destruction are in their highways.
8The way of peace they do not know,
    and there is no justice in their paths.
Their roads they have made crooked;
    no one who walks in them knows peace.

9Therefore justice is far from us,
    and righteousness does not reach us;
we wait for light, and lo! there is darkness;
    and for brightness, but we walk in gloom.
10We grope like the blind along a wall,
    groping like those who have no eyes;
we stumble at noon as in the twilight,
    among the vigorous as though we were dead.
11We all growl like bears;
    like doves we moan mournfully.
We wait for justice, but there is none;
    for salvation, but it is far from us.
12For our transgressions before you are many,
    and our sins testify against us.
Our transgressions indeed are with us,
    and we know our iniquities:
13transgressing, and denying the Lord,
    and turning away from following our God,
talking oppression and revolt,
    conceiving lying words and uttering them from the
    heart.
14Justice is turned back,
    and righteousness stands at a distance;
for truth stumbles in the public square,
    and uprightness cannot enter.
15Truth is lacking,
    and whoever turns from evil is despoiled.

The Lord saw it, and it displeased him
    that there was no justice.
16aHe saw that there was no one,
    and was appalled that there was no one to intervene.

 

Becoming what we hate

Friends,

The great psychotherapist, Carl Jung wrote: “You always become the thing you fight the most”. And Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s propaganda minister reputedly said, “Even if we lose, we shall win, for our ideals will have penetrated the hearts of our enemies”. Yes, it is true, we can become what we hate. Two grim examples this past week prove this to be so…

1] The thuggish attack by the Deputy President’s security unit on the side of a highway is reminiscent of our Apartheid past. A past that was “never, never, and never again” to be repeated. Brazen bullies in broad daylight kicking and stomping people on the ground. As if they were the ground. Gratuitous violence caught on camera making us wonder how much happens that is never filmed. It was a sickening disregard for the humanity of another. This extreme misuse of position and power was followed by bland and generic condemnations. The Deputy President’s office spoke of the “unfortunate incident”. Bringing to mind Rev William Barber’s words, “Too many people in power were too comfortable with other people’s deaths”. It is not a random case. We witnessed this kind of thuggery when the military and cops were deployed during the COVID-19 lock down. Violence without restraint. Violence without fear of accountability. A law unto themselves. A police force with no sense of service. All this reminds us how deeply broken and brutalised we are as a South African people.

2] The past week we witnessed Apartheid-Israel’s violent occupation become full-scale warfare as they attacked Jenin in the north of the occupied West Bank. Cynically called Operation Home and Garden – which is just sick! The largest onslaught in 20 years. With drone strikes and up to 2 000 ground troops plus the dreaded demolishing bulldozers. Leaving an aftermath of death and destruction.

Apartheid-Israel has become what they hate. They have so internalised being victims that they are unable to see themselves as perpetrators. But perpetrators they are. They do to the Palestinians what others had done to them.

What silences many on this matter of oppression is the fear of being labelled an anti-Semite. We are right to be sensitive about this but not silenced. No nation gets a free pass on oppression. We stand in solidarity with Jews all over the world who say: “Not in my name”. We also stand in solidarity with people everywhere who say: “Not in God’s name”.

As God spoke directly to the people of Israel through the prophets of biblical times, God speaks again through those same prophets: Hear, O Apartheid-Israel, “Your works are works of iniquity, and deeds of violence are in your hands. Your feet run to evil, and you rush to shed innocent blood … the way of peace you do not know and there is no justice in your paths.” [Isaiah 59:7-8].

For persons, systems, and nations it is a recurring challenge to resist becoming what we hate. The world is desperate – literally groaning in pangs of childbirth – for these resisters to be revealed. Jesus, the great resister, not only shows us it is possible he invites us to practice his way. The first step of his way is to pray for those who persecute us. In other words, to pray for those who we are most likely to hate. What does prayer do? Prayer keeps our enemies’ humanity alive to us. All other steps will flow from this step. Only when the humanity of our enemy is alive to us, can we both regard and resist our enemy at the same time. Regard for our enemies’ humanity prevents us from dehumanising them. Resistance of our enemy refuses to allow them to dehumanise us.

In grappling with the same stuff, Paul will later remind his fellow resisters that their struggle is not against flesh and blood … making Ephesians 6:10-20 further reading for our practice.

In grace, Alan

Half ‘n Half?

Friends,

Is the glass half empty or half full? We all know that this is not really a question. It is a metaphor. It is an enquiry into a person’s perspective. Are they optimistic or pessimistic? This metaphor is applied to myriads of situations from the state of the world or country or economy or business to the state of our physical health and intimate relationships.

Yet there is something quite obvious about a half full or half empty glass of water that the metaphor seems to encourage us to miss. That is, if it is one, it is also the other. It is both. Pick one, any one and the other is there staring back at us. A glass half full is by definition also half empty and vice versa. I wonder if reminding ourselves of this may not deepen and complicate our perspective in mature and enriching ways. This is not to suggest that every situation is balanced equally by opposites. Far from it. Remember this is a metaphor and not real life. Nevertheless, this is a simple invitation for a more blended and less binary way of seeing things.

Most importantly I wonder if keeping this in mind may free us to honour all our feelings associated with any given situation. Freeing us to feel paradoxical feelings. Joy and sadness. Resentment and gratitude. Anger and calm. Faith and doubt. We can be devastated with shock and grief while also celebrating the beauty that is revealed in this new landscape of vulnerability. The one does not deny or undermine the other. They can both be. Because they both are.

I was reminded recently that “numbing is not an exact surgery”. Meaning, to ignore or block or numb a particular feeling causes other feelings to be cauterised in the process. Strangely, feelings very different to the intended numbed feeling are affected. Sometimes the very feeling we want to protect is the primary casualty. For example, to numb all feelings of sadness may end up robbing us of joy.

To honour all our feelings does not mean we must follow them or act on them. It simply means that we feel them. In fact, denying them may cause us to be more determined by them, yet unknowingly so. To respect our feelings we tune into them, as we do to the different members of an orchestra. In the very least acknowledging them, if not always appreciating their presence.

There is a “half-full type of Christianity” that insinuates that believers are meant to be “half-full kind of people”. That “true faith” blocks out doubt. That “joy in the Lord” removes all sadness. In short, the worship of happiness. Often this is encouraged by the overwhelming bias towards happy hymns that are sung on a Sunday compared to songs of protest and lament. Songs that demand justice. Songs with more questions than answers. Songs found in the hymnbook of scripture, like the set psalm for today: “How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?” (Psalm 13)

For this reason, we are reminded every Sunday in our “Benediction of Disturbance”: May God bless us with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that we may live from deep within our hearts.

With grace, Alan

 

 

Friends,

Today is Local Preacher Sunday in the Methodist Church. Once a year Local Preachers, sometimes known as Lay Preachers, fill every Methodist pulpit throughout the land. The truth is that this is not far from the reality of every other Sunday. It is estimated that Local Preachers conduct around two-thirds of all Methodist worship services each week. This may be surprising for us at CMM for we are used to having ordained clergy present just about every week. Yet throughout the country the number of Methodist churches / worship services far outnumber the clergy available on any given Sunday. In most situations ordained clergy oversee multiple Methodist congregations – sometimes over 20 – especially in rural areas. In these situations, clergy may only connect with a congregation once every 2 or 3 months. Every other Sunday Local Preachers hold sacred space for the people called Methodists to gather in worship. Today it is privilege to have Marion Rhode at CMM. Marion is from the Bellville Circuit. Welcome!

 

Here is a little Wikipedia history regarding Local preachers in the Methodist tradition:

Local preachers have been a characteristic of Methodism from its beginnings as a revival movement in 18th-century England. John Wesley tried to avoid a schism with the Church of England, and encouraged those who attended his revival meetings to attend their parish churches, but they also attended Methodist preaching services which were held elsewhere and met in “classes” (small cell groups). It quickly became necessary to build “preaching houses” where the Methodist meetings could be held. These began to function as alternative churches, often depending on the attitude of the local Anglican clergy.

One such preaching house was The Foundery, which served as Wesley’s base in London. In about 1740, Wesley was away on business and had left a young man, Thomas Maxfield, in charge of The Foundery. Since no clergymen were available, Maxfield took it upon himself to preach to the congregation. Wesley was annoyed by this and returned to London in order to confront Maxfield. However, his mother, Susanna Wesley, persuaded him to hear Maxfield out, suggesting that he had as much right to preach as Wesley. Wesley was sufficiently impressed by Maxfield’s preaching to see it as God’s work and let the matter drop, with Maxfield becoming one of Methodism’s earliest lay preachers.

Methodism formally broke with the Anglican church as a result of Wesley’s 1784 ordination of ministers to serve in the United States. Before the schism, Wesley had as accredited preachers only a handful of fellow Anglican priests who shared his view of the need to take the gospel to the people where they were. Because of the limited number of ordained ministers he could call on, Wesley appointed local preachers who were not ordained but whom he examined, and whom he felt he could trust to lead worship and preach: though not to minister sacraments.

PREACHER PATRIARCHY: Women local preachers were at some point restricted to addressing women-only meetings. In 1804 even though the Wesleyan Conference was very short of male preachers, it would not sanction the use of women. Some women, such as Sarah Mallett, however, ignored this ban. From 1910 the blanket ban was repealed, and from 1918 on, Wesleyan Methodism recruited and deployed women local preachers on exactly the same basis as men.

 

Long live the spirits of Thomas Maxfield and Sarah Mallet – long live.

Is preaching your calling? Some people feel sure of their ‘call to preach’ at an early stage, but for others the first steps are very tentative, and it is not unusual to feel ill-equipped. But those exploring this call are not alone – it is a process of discernment that is shared by the Church, including theological and biblical studies as well as practical experience in leading worship and preaching. If you would like to find out more please do speak with me.

Grace,
Alan

 

Water is life

 

Friends,

When I visited the Karoo in January this year it was 40 degrees. I fell in love with a windmill. The clunking sound followed by the swish of water surging up through the pipe. Strangely soothing. The windmill kept the reservoir dam replenished and dog and humans refreshed.

This time the Karoo was cold and wet. Very wet. Staying overnight in Laingsburg, not far from the river with bucketing rain. It was impossible not to remember the devastating floods of 1981 that are traumatised into historical memory. Rain didn’t quite stop play, but it did change the intended destination. Re-routing to Prince Albert. A very wet Prince Albert. Here I fell in love again. This time with “leiwater”. In English “lead water” just doesn’t get it. The Afrikaans sounds as if it is … flowing.

Each property with “leiwater rights” is allocated a turn – once or twice a week. Property owners have the responsibility to open and close their sluice gates accordingly – to let water into a property or to let the water pass onto a neighbour. Sometimes the allocated time is at 1 a.m. in the morning – which can’t be too much fun – but water is life. It doesn’t take a lot to imagine the number of “water wars” over the years, especially because Prince Albert tends to run out or come close to running out of water most Decembers. So, the temptation to run the leiwater a litter longer into one’s property must be devilishly difficult to resist. Furthermore, not taking one’s turn can lead to flooding for the people located at the bottom of town. So, all in all the town survives on sharing. A finely balanced neighbourliness. Which is actually true for all towns but not as easily evident. As they say: Love thy neighbourhood.

Here is a delightful story about leiwater in Prince Albert – perhaps even a parable for the role of the church.

In grace,
Alan

Two farmers eye-balled each other over the water furrow running alongside the main street of the tiny Karoo town of Prince Albert. This was the 1960s and water to irrigate their small-holdings was scarce. It hadn’t rained for months and the constant trickle of “leiwater” from a spring in the Swartberg Mountains was all they could rely on to feed their crops.

“You are stealing my water,” accused one, brandishing a spade. “This is my water,” spat the other also raising a spade.

Defiantly the first man tried to close the furrow into his neighbour’s dam.

“Touch that water and I will stop you with this spade.” The second lunged at his neighbour threatening to knock his knees out from underneath him. A crowd was growing to watch the fight but after a few tense minutes the second farmer closed his furrow and allowed his neighbour to have water.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said looking at his watch.

The first farmer glared at him. “Your watch is slow,” he grumbled.

“No, your watch is fast.”

Squinting under the harsh light of the Karoo the two sun-browned old men examined each other’s watches. It was true – one was too fast and the other was too slow. Neither knew for sure when his “leiwater” turn started or ended. At that moment the church clock struck the hour.

“The church clock is never wrong,” said the representative from the town’s Irrigation Board who, relieved that the spades had finally been laid down, spoke up for the first time. “Why don’t you both set your watches by the church clock and then maybe next week you won’t fight.”

Reluctantly the men changed their watches. The following week, when it was once more time for them to take water, they suspiciously studied the church clock as the “leiwater” trickled into one small dam and then the other. For the first time in years both agreed on the other’s time for water.

This story, told by the chairman of Prince Albert’s Kweekvallei Irrigation Board, Sas de Kock, highlights the importance of proper management of water in an environment where regular rainfall in unpredictable.

From that day onwards the “leiwater” turns in Prince Albert have run strictly to the time on the church clock – it’s the only way ownership of this scarce resource in the remote semi-desert village hasn’t ended in murder.

 

 

Story from: TheWaterWheel November/December2003

A time to reflect and question

 

Friends
Two Poems to Ponder and a Quote to Question.
Peace, Alan

 

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

– ©Naomi Shihab Nye. Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. 1995

The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window? 

– Pat Schneider (Another River: New and Selected Poems (Amherst Writers and Artists Press, 2005).

“He asks of us only one thing: to move our gaze from seeing to beholding the world. He would call that Silver-Branch perception. And there the trouble begins. Because that beholding can instigate disintegration. The money-lenders flee the temple. We begin to understand the sacredness of defeat. There’s a world far bigger than our temporary ambitions. Rilke tells us it’s what we secretly long for, that defeat … that our hubris aches to kneel at immensity’s door.”

– Martin Shaw (A Hut at the Edge of the Village)

Ask yourself the following question: “What do you understand by the “sacredness of defeat”?  

Christianity is a slow-opening flower for me. All at once and it would wipe me out. Too much reality. I have to chew on one breadcrumb at a time. There are announcements of the heart so prestigious I am floored, and then lots that feels nutty and restrictive. Then a year later that in turn feels like absolute wisdom. I’m learning not to make too many pronouncements too early. One simply doesn’t know till you’ve tried, and tried for a while at that.

– Martin Shaw  (28 May 2023)

 

Practice Jubilee

 

 

Friends,

Today we celebrate Pentecost. Many speak of Pentecost as the birthday of the church. The date of this birth is 50 days after Easter. The date is more sign or symbol than number. It is a sign or symbol of Jubilee. (Leviticus 25)

Jubilee is the principle and policy of redistribution of wealth. It is the great reset button of the economy. As former slaves fearing the return to slavery more than anything else, the ancient Hebrews built into the structure of society a mechanism of correction. They were humble and honest enough to know that despite their best efforts every 50 years society would be unequally skewed. Therefore, they made sure that those who had much did not have too much and those who had little did not have too little. Limiting inequality extended social stability. It lowered the risk of falling into permanent debt which is the slippery slope to slavery.

Pentecost is the birth of the church because it was the beginning of a community daring to live out Jubilee. The church is birthed whenever a community dares to practice Jubilee. When it makes sure all have enough and that none are in need in society. (Acts 2:43-45) Until then we are a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

In South Africa we desperately need Pentecost. Because we desperately need Jubilee. Because we desperately need to address inequality. Because the vast majority live in desperate need.

In grace,
Alan

 

 

Witnessing Death

Tuesday morning remains of Monday afternoon death.

 

Friends,

On Monday afternoon I was walking through the Company Gardens. Up ahead on the left side of the path (Government Avenue) there was a blur of movement. A person had toppled over. There was no alerting cry. No gasp or yelp. In that slouching moment breath had simply left him. He had no pulse. He was dead.

Soon there was a crowd. Respectful and concerned. The cops came. A triangle area cordoned off. The anonymous person’s body was covered by a space blanket. From outside appearance it was likely the person had been living rough for some time. An unhoused person, like so many on the city streets? He was probably younger than he looked. We wondered: “Who will let who know that their son, father, husband, brother, uncle, friend had died?” We held the sadness of the public, yet loneliness of his death. I fear this winter there will be many more lonely deaths.

Later in the evening I thought of the age-old question: “If a tree falls in the forest, and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?”  Do our lives make a sound if no one hears us? Do our lives matter if we are not noticed? Do we exist if we are never seen? Don’t we sometimes say: “They walked past me like I didn’t exist.”? Unhoused people living on the streets experience this all day every day. They are literally ignored out of existence. Spoken to and not with. They are constantly told to “move on, move on”. 

To declare faith in a God who notices every fallen sparrow is to work for the restructuring of society so that everyone is seen and recognised as precious and essential. Where no one is ignored out of existence. In these days of growing suffering may we be given strength to resist the temptation, out of anxiety and discomfort, to turn our eyes away from the heartache and pain. In all our relationships and encounters with others may we listen in such a way that we affirm not only their existence, but their sacred worth.

In grace, Alan

Below is the extract from Etty Hillesum’s diary [An Interrupted Life] that was quoted during
last week’s sermon.

“In the darkest years of Nazi occupation and genocide, Etty Hillesum remained a celebrant of
life whose lucid intelligence, sympathy, and almost impossible gallantry were themselves a form
of inner resistance. The adult counterpart to Anne Frank, Hillesum testifies to the possibility of
awareness and compassion in the face of the most devastating challenge to one’s humanity. 
She was killed in Auschwitz in 1943 at the age of twenty-nine.” (Quote from book cover.)

 

Sunday Morning Prayer

“Dear God, these are anxious times. Tonight for the first time I lay in the dark with burning eyes as scene after scene of human suffering passed before me.

I shall promise You one thing, God, just one very small thing: I shall never burden my today with cares about my tomorrow, although that takes some practice. Each day is sufficient unto itself. I shall try to help You, God, to stop my strength ebbing away, though I cannot vouch for it in advance. But one thing is becoming increasingly clear to me: that You cannot help us, that we must help You to help ourselves. And that is all we can manage these days and also all that really matters: that we safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves. And perhaps in others as well. Alas, there doesn’t seem to be much You Yourself can do about our circumstances, about our lives.

Neither do I hold You responsible. You cannot help us but we must help You defend Your dwelling place inside us to the last. There are, it is true, some who, even at this late stage, are putting their vacuum cleaners and silver forks and spoons in safe keeping instead of guarding You, dear God. And there are those who want to put their bodies in safe keeping but who are nothing more now than a shelter for a thousand fears and bitter feelings. And they say, “I shan’t let them get me into their clutches”. But they forget that no one is in their clutches who is in Your arms.

I am beginning to feel a little more peaceful, God, thanks to this conversation with You. I shall have many more conversations with You.

You are sure to go through lean times with me now and then, when my faith weakens a little, but believe me, I shall always labour for You and remain faithful to You and I shall never drive You from my presence”.

 

 

The Joy and Grief of Mothers

Melanie Kiel – mother of Dudley who was murdered 10 years ago
by a “Prinsloo Gun”.

 

Friends,

Today is Mother’s Day. A day when many families celebrate mothers with joy and gratitude. It is also a day of heightened remembrance for those whose mothers have died. And for mothers whose children have died, it is a day of heightened grief. I witnessed the heart wrenching grief of mothers this past week. Mothers recounting the killing and injury of their children from gun violence. Mothers who will feel the heightened pain of loss today.

Cape Town is not a very big place when you think about it. Communities that are just a few kilometres from each other might as well be on different continents – such is the difference in life … and death. The mothers spoke of the trauma of living in communities on the Cape Flats that are saturated with gang and gun violence. They told of the necessity to text each other before they walk to the store. “Is it safe to go now? Is it all clear?” Tragically things can change in an instant and even a text message is soon out of date. Another shooting. Another casualty. Another killing. Another grieving mother.

The mothers were speaking at the launch of a class action lawsuit brought by Gun Free South Africa and partners against the Minister of Police with the aim of: [1] Claiming for damages associated with deaths and injuries resulting from the actions of Christiaan Prinsloo for coordinating the sale of guns to gangs; [2] Addressing failures in the SAPS’ weapons and ammunition management system, which allowed Prinsloo and others to leak guns from police stores undetected, for years.

According to GFSA, in 2012, the South African Police Service began recovering an excessive number of guns on the Cape Flats that had been professionally ‘cleaned’ of identifying marks – proof that a sophisticated gun smuggling syndicate was at work. To track the supplier, two senior police officials, Major-Generals Peter Jacobs and Jeremy Vearey, registered Operation Impi in December 2013. Their investigation led to the arrest in 2015 of Christiaan Prinsloo, a Colonel in SAPS. Prinsloo confessed to his role in smuggling over 2 000 guns, that had been confiscated by, or surrendered to, the police for destruction, to gang leaders on the Cape Flats and entered a plea bargain with the State, providing detailed information on the syndicate in return for a lesser sentence. He was sentenced to 18 years but was released after serving less than four.

Operation Impi revealed that 888 of the guns stolen by Prinsloo were forensically linked to 1,066 murders in the Western Cape between February 2010 and 5 June 2016. 187 children between the ages of one and 17 years were shot and 63 killed with Prinsloo guns. [That is two Marikana Massacres of children]. Of the 2,000+ Prinsloo smuggled guns (from which he earned R2million), 1,000 are still missing … still taking lives.

After Operation Impi received an affidavit in 2016 implicating the then President Zuma in state capture, Operation Impi was shut down and Jacobs and Vearey were demoted. A year later they challenged their demotion and won in the labour court.

You can find out more about the class action at classaction@gfsa.org.za. If you or someone you know was shot, injured or killed from between 2010 till today please inform them or their families about this class action.

One of the mothers who spoke at the launch was Avril Andres from Hanover Park. Her son Alcardo was shot and killed in 2015. She is the founder of Moms Move for Justice. Hers, like so many, is a story of tragedy and incredible resilience. Please see her story here.

In grace, Alan

For more information visit: www.prinslooguns.org.za & www.gfsa.co.za