Getting it on in public

My experience of white middle-class South Africans is that we tend to be very wary of others. Whether tucked away in gated communities, encapsulated in our cars, or running in the gym with headphones on, we like to keep at a distance from others. Even when in public, at the shops for example, we are there for specific reasons, and not for the sake of being surrounded by other people. As such, when in those spaces we prefer not to engage with, or be disturbed by others. We seldom greet fellow shoppers, or chat to anyone in the street. We are polite, but seldom engaging. We assume that anyone who approaches us is either going to mug us, want to sell us something, or probably ask for money. A good Samaritan is someone to be suspicious of, rather than grateful for.

Perhaps our reactions are due to crime, or horrible stories read in the media. Perhaps some flinch when approached because, as they say, they are “just so sick of being asked for money”. Maybe it’s because we don’t have anything in common. Perhaps these reactions are not peculiar to South Africa. Perhaps they are completely justified. But the bottom line is that while we may be a rainbow nation with many colours, creeds, and classes, we are also a rainbow nation of people that are afraid to mix.

It’s debatable whether our isolation is caused by our wariness, or if it is an effect thereof: are we wary of others because we lead such isolated lives, or are we isolated from others because we are wary of them? Whichever way around it is, the result tends to be that we stick within our boundaries.

Now obviously there are instances where my cynicism doesn’t hold. But those are the instances I love most: those occasions where two or more strangers do connect and share something on some human level. And the ability to create so many of these opportunities has been one of the most profound aspects of the World Cup. While the fan parks and stadiums provide two good examples, for me the most inspiring moments have taken place on the fan walks, and on those occasions where people have moved out into the streets to celebrate. It’s in those moments that each person changes from spectator to participant, someone who feeds into the overall energy of the event, rather than merely observing it. We become participants, and not just consumers. These are the moments where people have occupied public spaces precisely because they are public; where the most important thing is that they are in public and others are there to share in the experience with them. It’s a time where we actively and purposefully engage with people when ordinarily we would not have; a time where we are reminded of the humanity of others.

Then there have been those who have (re)discovered public transport. With no option but to leave the comfort and quiet of their cars, many have found — to their complete surprise — that trains and taxis aren’t what they’d expected them to be. While I’m not sure what exactly they were expecting, there have been numerous occasions where I’ve actually heard people ask if the trains “are always like this?”. The same can be said for those who ventured into Soweto for the first time, again completely surprised by what they found there. And I think the level of this surprise is indicative of just how isolated we are, so cut off from others that we assume their otherness is a function of their being fundamentally different, and not just a matter of our unfamiliarity (perhaps even prejudice).

However it is by far the miraculously loud and colourful vuvuzela which has been the most iconic expression of our re-engagement with the public space. Exemplifying our tendency towards isolation are those who would bemoan its resonating buzz. They are the ones who become annoyed by its noise, an invasion of their preciously crafted (and rather brittle) privacy. However on the flip side, and far outnumbering the former, are those who lift their vuvuzelas in response to another’s trumpeting as if to say “yes, yes I am here, and I feel your excitement too!” For this is the most endearing feature of the vuvuzela: its ability to blast through the walls we have erected; the very antithesis of the discreet manner in which we usually conduct ourselves in public.

The World Cup, then, has provided us with a space in which we can re-examine our wariness of others, confront the “otherness” that has come to surround them, and glimpse what a truly open society may look like. Long may it last.