In this week’s Slice, Gasant Abarder – out of desperation – writes to the late homeless newspaper columnist Danny Oosthuizen, who passed away in 2019, to send us a sign that will show our authorities how to treat the homeless of our city with dignity.
Abarder, who recently launched his book, Hack with a Grenade, is among the country’s most influential media voices. Catch his weekly column here, exclusive to Cape {town} Etc.
Dear Danny,
I don’t mean to burden you. I know you’re sipping piña coladas with Madonna’s greatest hits on repeat and wearing the most fabulous Gucci couture in heaven. I also know you don’t want me to grieve for you but I do.
I’m writing to you, albeit posthumously, because our Mother City needs your activism, wisdom and humanity.
You opened doors and thawed attitudes against the homeless. I’ve seen you in action; your gentle way in appealing to authorities to afford basic human rights to the homeless and your fresh perspective in the newsroom.
You had the knack of bringing to life what it means to be homeless. You moved us with your courage. Your humour and frankness made us look at the homeless in a different light: that all you really wanted was to be acknowledged, to be looked in the eye and to be greeted by a fellow Capetonian.
You certainly opened my eyes.
Before I met you, and before you joined the newsroom as a weekly columnist, there were many things I took for granted: taking a shower whenever I wanted to, washing my clothing or having three meals a day. I changed my awful habit of looking straight ahead at a traffic light when a homeless person knocked on my window – as if they were invisible or some kind of sub-human species.
In the newsroom, when I first invited you to work from our offices, it raised a few eyebrows. But your honesty and eloquence in your writing made us reconsider our prejudices. Your piece about the harrowing experience of a homeless woman with her period struck a chord.
You wrote about how homeless people resort to hiding their meagre belongings and IDs in the drains of our CBD so it can’t be confiscated by law enforcement. How public toilets get locked at a certain time so you’re forced to answer the call of nature with no dignity.
Then you made the breakthrough of being the ambassador of the homeless. The Central City Improvement District folks were now firmly in the corner of the homeless. When you came to our news conferences you reminded us about our blind spots. “But what about…?” was your favourite refrain.
You read and read and read and trained journalists could learn a lesson or three about the world around us from you. Your views weren’t limited to local challenges either. You gave us fresh insights on Palestine, the Orange One in the US and other global challenges.
Danny, you see, we’ve lost our way.
Since you left this world, just before a pandemic started, those who run this city have taken a hard stance against the homeless. Their answer to the hard lockdown was to round up the homeless in a camp – forming a disparate community of misfits, which was by all accounts a human rights disaster.
City bosses started fining the homeless with a raft of new by-laws. When you get into trouble with the law and you’re homeless, how do you pay a fine? There is no bail without a fixed address. Like a game of Monopoly, it means go straight to jail, do not pass begin, and do not collect R200 from the banker. It can be months awaiting trial before a case comes to court. A stint in Pollsmoor can be a death sentence for a homeless person with a mental health or substance abuse challenge.
Danny, my friend, how do I reach you now? I’ve resorted to re-reading your insightful weekly columns for inspiration. If you had this deep sense of humanity, then I must have it. And somewhere deep down, I know the mayor and his colleagues have it too.
We’ve let you down and I am sorry. But give us a sign, Danny. You showed us the way. You reminded us we’re all a few paycheques away from ending up on the streets. But with a bit of purpose and dignity, and an opportunity to show your worth, you showed everyone how a homeless man can serve society.
My friend, now I leave you to listen to Madonna. I write in the hope you can offer a solution – be it via a dream or through your wonderful columns that appealed to our humanity. I miss you. We could do with a dose of Danny right now.
Your friend,
Gasant
