‘Because we are the only ones in the community!’ Protest and daily life in poor South African neighborhoods Jérôme Tournadre To cite this version: Jérôme Tournadre. ‘Because we are the only ones in the community!’ Protest and daily life in poor South African neighborhoods. Focaal, 2017, Boredom after the global financial crisis, 2017 (78), pp.52-64. ￿10.3167/fcl.2017.780105￿. ￿halshs-01523426v2￿ HAL Id: halshs-01523426 https://shs.hal.science/halshs-01523426v2 Submitted on 13 Dec 2019 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents entific research documents, whether they are pub- scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, lished or not. The documents may come from émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de teaching and research institutions in France or recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires abroad, or from public or private research centers. publics ou privés. “‘Because we are the only ones in the community!’ Protest and daily Life in poor South African Neighborhoods” Focaal. Journal of Global and Historical Anthropology, 78, Spring 2017. Jérôme Tournadre, CNRS (author’s version/version auteur) Abstract: This article is based on research conducted in various South African cities, in contact with organizations involved in demonstrating against poor living conditions. It aims to grasp these collectives outside of their interactions with the political sphere, by moving away from the traditional definitions of a “social movement.” The protesters are here examined in terms of their relationships with their immediate surroundings: the neighborhoods. The point is thus to emphasize the continuities that may exist between protest and daily life. Indeed, one may find elements in the ordinary and the everyday that shed light on some of the logics that structure mobilization and certain practices of protest. Keywords: community, daily life, people’s movement, poor neighborhoods, social protest, South Africa South Africa has, since the late 1990s, witnessed an almost continuous cycle of social protest against the lack of housing and the unaffordable access to water, electricity, and sanitation networks in many poor areas of the country. This article is based on research conducted from 2009 onward in various South African urban areas (Johannesburg, Cape Town, Durban, and Grahamstown) in contact with militants active in protest organizations: the Soweto Electricity Crisis Committee (SECC), the Thembelihle Crisis Committee (TCC), the Anti-Privatisation Forum (APF) in Johannesburg, the Unemployed People’s Movement (UPM) in Grahamstown, Abahlali baseMjondolo (AbM) in Cape Town, and so on. Some of those collectives have disappeared or grown weaker since the early 2010s, but for many years, they gave shape to social discontent in South Africa.1 In what is ultimately a quite traditional way, this research is based on interviews2 and observations. These included observations of public meetings and protest actions but also of apparently more innocuous moments. These can, for example, take the form of the hours spent to no real purpose in the premises used by organizations listening to the most varied conversations between activists and residents of the township or squatter camp, or accompanying activists as they resolved neighborhood conflicts. Each time, it is the protesting collective that I am observing—and its activists continue, even in the course of these activities, to assert their membership of this collective. But, as opposed to what I am able to gather the rest of the time, their words and their gaze are no longer turned toward political power. One might say that protest is no longer simply protest or, at least, that it seems to deviate from the standard definitions. It is not my aim here to question these definitions. My attention will focus instead on an object—the social protest collectives in South Africa—that, in principle, conforms to the canons of the sociology of social movements: they embody a collective and concerted action on behalf of a cause. These post-apartheid protests have been intensively studied since the early 2000s (Ballard et al. 2006; Dawson and Sinwell 2012; McKinley and Veriava 2005; Pithouse 2006) but more often through confrontation with the government or the state. Here, it will be a matter of moving away from this essentially “political” way of looking at things. Thus, the actors of institutionalized politics, notably the African National Congress (ANC), will be relatively absent from the following pages. My main hypothesis is indeed that we cannot see and understand any mobilization as a whole if we only focus on those moments “in which people gathered to make vigorous, visible, public claims, acted on those claims in one way or another, then turned to other business” (Tilly 1995: 32). Instead of the noisy head-to-head confrontations with political authorities, or the rumble of demands being voiced, I examine the relationship between protest and its actors on the one hand and a certain “ordinariness” on the other—more specifically, the ordinariness of their most immediate environment, that of neighborhoods where unemployment and an informal economy are the norm: the poorest areas of the townships and informal settlements. Indeed, an organized protest is not something that hovers above the ground: it is part of the fabric of “normal” (Auyero 2005: 128), or at least mundane or routine relations. This fact is even more pronounced in the case of South Africa, as the poor neighborhoods are at once the stage on which demonstrations take place and the experiential site of the women and men taking part. Several links may then appear between the protest movement and the main temporality of the “ordinary,” the everyday. The idea that there may be something other than a discrepancy or a break between protest and everyday life may not be completely absent from research into social movements (Auyero 2004; Bayat 2007; Mansbridge 2013), but it seems to be regularly dismissed by a certain kind of common sense. It may, however, be in this relationship with the neighborhood, tucked away in certain folds of everyday life, or, in the words of Charles Tilly, in that “other business” with which militants concern themselves when they are not protesting, that those items that may shed light on some of the logics that structure mobilization or certain practices of protest are embedded. This “reembedding” of protest in the “social” world should bring out less visible facets of organizations and militant activity. It should also enable us to verify that the dynamics of protest draw on elements that may lie within the ordinary relation to the political, within the infrapolitical—what is practiced outside the visible spectrum of what usually passes for political activity (Scott 1990)—but also on things that are neither fundamentally “politicized” nor “politicizing.” In the social structure of poor neighborhoods South African social protest rarely ventures beyond the physical limits of the poorest areas in the townships or the alleys that twist between the shacks made of tin and the various recycled materials that comprise the informal settlements. For reasons that lie at the intersection of a geography inherited from apartheid and their own socioeconomic status, it is sometimes difficult for some residents to escape from these residential areas. The blame lies with the segregationist and racist policies that relegated nonwhites to the outskirts of towns, sometimes to a distance of dozens of miles from the centers, and with a democracy that has still not remedied this situation. The poorest inhabitants must thus rely on mediocre bus services or shared taxis whose cost often proves prohibitive. Protest is anchored in these residential areas (formal and informal), and is taken up first and foremost in the organizational forms that protest has favored since the late 1990s. In most cases, these collectives adopt the model of umbrella organizations: a first stage, set up at the level of a city, an urban conglomeration, or a region, coordinates the activities of associations affiliated to it whose activity is detectable on the level of a township, a squatter camp, or a neighborhood. These affiliates are similar to groups of people formed around a few very committed activists with a high degree of visibility in the community. Here we find a type of structure quite familiar to the women and men living in these modest or poor residential areas. The social fabric of these areas is sometimes traversed by various associations—collectives of retirees, committees of “concerned residents” or “crisis” committees, sports associations, vigilance committees, burial societies, neighborhood credit organizations (Bähre 2007)—that can be traced back to the late nineteenth century in certain black neighborhoods (Bundy 2000). This form of association enjoyed a revival in the 1970s thanks to the movement of civics3 that were instructed by the exiled leaders of the ANC to “make the townships ungovernable.” Contemporary protest organizations thus resort to relatively routine group models, when they do not directly take over from existing associations or groups. In Mandela Park (Cape Town), for instance, the Anti- Eviction Campaign set up in the first half of the 2000s was a carbon copy of the local vigilance committee that had officiated a few years previously. At the same time, in Isipingo, near Durban, one of the branches of the Concerned Citizens’ Forum was created by a teacher who reactivated the networks of the civic that had become moribund in his neighborhood. Sometimes, an overt effort was made by common consent to ensure that the new collective became part of this tradition and was included within the history of the territory, as suggested by the words of one of the founders of the SECC: So we decided . . . let’s found the organization . . . and then we called it the Soweto Electricity Crisis Committee, because in Soweto, there was an organization during the struggle against apartheid . . . in the ’80s. It was called the Soweto Education Crisis Committee. It was very strong in putting together students and parents against apartheid. [And the people from this organization came . . .] No, no . . . just memory. [He brings his right hand up to his temple, as if to suggest thinking.] [To make a link?] Yeah, yeah. It was the Soweto Education Crisis Committee . . . so we said, “We are the Soweto Electricity Crisis Committee.” (interview, Durban, 7 July 2009) So contemporary protest collectives emerge from a social structure that existed before them, and they may in principle derive some benefit from it. This situation very often means they can have access to resources known to be essential for moving into action (McAdam 1982): a meeting place, leaders versed in methods of organization, or, even more, a preexisting group of individuals. The latter element also appears to be central in the formation of contemporary protest organizations or, more precisely, in the composition of their original militant core. At Orange Farm, on the outskirts of Johannesburg, the gathering of residents in the Orange Farm Water Crisis Committee is orchestrated by women and men who have left the local branches of the ANC to denounce the inactivity of their leaders in the face of the water and power cuts that have become increasingly common since 1996. Mutual acquaintances also play an important subsequent role. Those who join organizations once they have been formed and comprise their social basis when they participate, more or less occasionally, in marches or rallies, often discover the group through a friend or neighbor who was already a member, or after accompanying a relative to one of the many public meetings led by activists. These gatherings are interesting in several ways. Sometimes standing out in the cold or at dusk, on the edge of housing areas or in neighborhood community centers, they are open to all residents, who sometimes take young children along with them. Speech is supposed to be free; it circulates and focuses on very local problems. Activists also rarely denounce national leaders of the ANC; criticism is generally aimed at municipal representatives. The protesters, who see this as an opportunity to convince others of the need to join their cause, may occasionally recall the past “successes” of their organization: the installation by the municipality of toilets in a squatter camp, the obtaining of a moratorium on the cutting off of electricity, and so on. Admittedly, at such moments, demands resurface; the betrayal of the hopes of 1994 is—albeit implicitly— denounced, local officials are criticized for being responsible for the underdevelopment of the area: in short, we here have, in principle, the traditional characteristics of a social movement. However, the most important factor is perhaps less what these practices and discourses are than what they are deemed to be, namely, incorporated into a political form fully controlled by the residents and in sync with their daily troubles—a politics that could almost be described as elementary, being in the vanguard of what is seen as “essential” and “fundamental.” This political form could more simply be described as “popular.” Social protest and “popular politics” Expressing your displeasure by throwing yourself into a toyi-toyi,4 going to meetings that have been called to discuss the problems threatening your area, participating in the election of community leaders, joining residents’ committees, and so on—these are all elements of this political form whose essence seems to lie in its being directly part and parcel of the daily life of the district. The very term “popular politics” certainly owes more to a process of intellectual and academic conceptualization than to the words of the women and men who are its primary actors and witnesses. It is also unlikely that the latter will systematically ascribe a political dimension to what they do every day (or almost). Some of their actions, such as going to a residents’ meeting, can even be performed without conviction, out of social conformity (Mariot 2011), or in the name of a habit whose foundations are hardly questioned: because it is self-evident or because “everyone does it.” However, beyond a few necessary practical precautions, there is in principle no doubt that this category—“popular politics”—brings together activities, moments, narratives, discourses, prescriptions, and representations whose common factor is that they claim to regulate and govern local life. The set of these factors, indeed, is displayed as a harmonious encounter between the social and the political. For example, the SECC meetings held each week within the walls or in the court of the Careers Centre in Diepkloof (Soweto) regularly end with offers to share information or a technical or practical skill: one of the members of the audience, whether it be just a resident who has come to voice a complaint or an activist, can take this opportunity to offer classes in sewing or mechanics to those who, a few minutes earlier, were waxing indignant at the power cuts ordered by the paragovernmental company. To put this all in context, we need to remember that “culture is historical before being ‘cultural’” (Bayart 1981: 57). Popular politics can indeed draw on a certain historical depth—the forms of neighborhood sociability that, from the late nineteenth century onward, appeared among black populations. The institutionalization of segregation and the formal prohibition on nonwhites participating in official political life further strengthened this and gave it a new shape in the middle of the twentieth century. Popular politics then became indistinguishable from the principle of “people’s power” and its logic of bypassing the institutions imposed by apartheid and crystallizing around specific beliefs, including the belief that it was shaped by and for the people. All of these elements are also the object of systematization and regular maintenance by groups posing as guardians of popular politics: community leaders, members of the many street committees and neighborhood and civics’ committees, or, these days, militant protesters. All these groups are constantly updating these activities, giving them new meaning and, even more, presenting them as the foundation of a political tradition perfectly and permanently assimilated by the inhabitants; this makes it quite unlike the “other” politics, the sort practiced in the world of liberal democracy. In the early 1990s, the words of certain community leaders also emphasized the centrality of such a politics. On the eve of the first democratic local elections, they claimed there was no need for local elections because civics already constituted a democratic form of local government (Friedman and Reitzes 1995). The border is, however, “indistinct” (Bayart 1981: 57) between a political form that is prized by the people of the townships and a political form promoted by the rulers who act as guarantors of the political order established in 1994. On the one hand, the latter (i.e., mainly ANC officials) often grew up in the townships and were partially socialized by what would comprise the specificity of popular politics. They also never fail to highlight this aspect of their political identity, especially when, in the name of “back to basics,” they fit certain of its elements into their own approaches to liberal democracy. Think, for example, of the organization of imbizos5 by the ANC governments since the beginning of the 2000s (Kassner 2014: 113–114). On the other hand, since the first half of the 1990s, we have witnessed the appropriation of certain swathes of popular politics by a political and administrative power that institutionalizes them. The same applies to its participatory dimension and its propensity to develop discussion areas, as evidenced by the proliferation of structures (community policing forum, development forum, RDP forum,6 ward committee, etc.) intended to enable a dialogue between rulers and ruled on the subject of local concerns (security, housing, etc.). Finally, we must not overlook the fact that the poorest South African populations, like their Indian counterparts investigated by Parta Chatterjee (2004: 40–41), may make a strategic use of the institutions of liberal democracy—as witnessed by the many occasions on which they resort to the courts to denounce their living conditions (Dugard 2010). The border between “popular politics” and the “official” one is therefore porous. To serve the community In what is essentially a quite traditional way, organizations work primarily to stimulate and guide the mobilization of people in these poor areas of South Africa. An analysis of everyday activism (Mansbridge 2013; Neveu 2011) allows us to glimpse another type of relationship with the district and its population. This relationship underlies things that are less visible, being less spectacular, than a political demonstration. What we have here is mainly a whole series of more or less significant services. The very principle of service is admittedly to be found at the heart of the practice of protest, primarily in the form of reconnecting to the network households that have not paid their water and electricity bills. In Soweto in the 2000s, activists regularly connected households to suit individual requests: the inhabitants directly contacted the committee of the organization or went to one of the public meetings organized by activists to tell people of their “disconnected” status. In response, “electrician-activists” rushed to their homes to try and remedy the problem using makeshift equipment. This involved accepting the risk inherent in the illegality of such a practice. We still connect. We symbolize reconnection, you know? So everyone is connecting for themselves and not paying . . . When they’re in trouble, they come to us: “Please, come