What's NOT news in South Africa

I love to read the newspaper here in my new country, South Africa, always searching for clues as to the causes and cures of its societal problems that are leading to high crime rates, violence against women and children, poverty and disease.  I am shocked by what is NOT news here.  Recently there was a front page headline and a long story with thorough investigation and many people interviewed, “Man killed for his lunch box.”  One man. 
 

Then buried in the back of the paper, in one little paragraph with very few details, 23 boys die in initiation rituals in Mpumalanga (Ndbele initiation into manhood).  And another:  20 boys kidnapped and circumcised without parental consent at a medical clinic then returned to school.  Why isn’t there an uproar over these stories?  Can you imagine such a thing happening in America and no country wide scandal ensuing?  Why aren’t people outraged and calling for answers?

Then I was reminded of an incident that happened when I was still living in Pretoria and working at AFnetAid.  I went out to the movies with some girlfriends and it was so good to laugh.  There really IS something therapeutic about laughter.  Even when your job is as rewarding as caring for AIDS orphans, it is draining each day knowing you are not doing enough.  I could go big chunks of time with no laughter and the weight on my soul getting heavier and heavier.  

So I was feeling happy and light for the first time in a long time as we walked out of the movie, but what happened next disturbed me.  Actually, what really concerned me was the fact that it didn’t concern me at the time.  Liezel and I waited at the car while Charlotte went to go pay for parking.  As she was walking to the machine, security guards went running past her, yelling into their walkie talkies.  Liezel jokingly called out to Charlotte, “Watch out for bullets!”  I added, “Zig zag, Charlotte, zig zag!”  That’s the running pattern you take to avoid gunfire.  After a few minutes, Charlotte hadn’t returned so it wasn’t so funny anymore.

I went to see what had happened to her.  She was standing at the edge of a crowd outside the mall entrance watching the security guards beating up on a man laying on the sidewalk.  I asked her, “What’s going on?”  She said she didn’t know if he was caught stealing or what but the guards were beating him.  A large crowd was watching but nobody got involved.  Charlotte and I walked back to the car.  

When I got home, it occurred to me that it never occurred to me to go over there and stop the beating, or to find out if it was justified, or to wait for police to arrive and offer my name as a witness if it wasn’t justified.  Where was the passion for justice that I proudly and loudly proclaim to have?  It’s not like I thought to myself, I should go over there but it’s too dangerous.  There was no weighing of the risks.  I saw it and I walked away.  Why wasn’t I shocked by the scene and moved to act?  Have I become hardened to it because I see it every night on the news? 

It seems that every time I watch the news there is footage of someone being beat – protesters getting beaten on by police, police beaten on by protesters, Zimbabweans beaten by township residents (hatred fueled by xenophobia and frustration at 50% unemployment rates).

I think it is because I am overwhelmed by the number of issues there are to take on in this country.  I am ready to fight for the children.  I am ready to take on the issue of rape.  But I can’t fight all the battles, I can’t get riled up about every issue.  It is too much to handle emotionally.  I don’t want to become one of those people who rants and raves about all the problems but then never does anything about it.  I want to focus and throw myself 100% into affecting change, taking action.  

I am doing that through two avenues:  empowering the youth at Purpose Leadership Adventure for Youth and decreasing rape by building the programs at the Jes Foord Foundation.  But how do I not become hardened or apathetic about all the rest of the battles I cannot fight?  I pray that I never get to the point where I feel the deaths of 23 children is worth 5 lines on page 10.  I worry that I already placed a foot on that slippery slope by walking away from the beating.  How do you balance it?  Where do you draw the line between caring and action?  Or should you?