Unfriend the Police
Lockdown day 90-ish or something close enough — I’ve not checked and I was not even sure I’d make the deadline for this piece, so I’m leaving this detail a little fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy — not unlike the connections remade during lockdown with people from the distant and recent past.
A friend from years ago reached out during lockdown and we ended up spending hours over the past few weeks catching up, making sense of life and talking through some of the current moments happening in the world. Let’s for the purpose of this blog call her Martha and she is probably going to torture me for choosing this name for her, because she is of course, anything but Martha. But this is part writing exercise, part blog and part what a friend on LinkedIn called a historical record. Another friend reminded me that he’s basically in exile far and away from the holy land and reading Letters and Statues was great insight.
Which reminded me of being away from the holy land for bits here and there; sometimes for weeks on end and once with Martha — swanning around the northern regions of this planet, in the long days of midsummer, good beverages at hand, enjoying that distinctly holiday feel of our colonisers homelands in their brief and beautiful summers. To travel is always a unique experience, and rendered so much more special by the presence of engaging human company. The endless supply of so much excellent local food and just the idea that I was getting to have a few weeks of holiday and work-from-home all bundled together made it all the sweeter. That I had just about enough moolah to afford it without having to charge it all to AMEX, was the bonus.
This was a couple of years ago — when work from home or working remotely was still met with deep suspicion even amongst the supposedly progressive. Still, I pushed through with the plan because it was a good plan and I had already chosen my harami path, so there was no going back. Choosing a peaceful life and living freely over the indoctrinated work, work, work and look like you’re working harder than anyone else; until you keel over and die or have a major medical incident that suddenly makes the very people that are working you 16 hours a day, say: You look tired, you should have a break, we can get back to this in an hour. Like LOL dude.
But let me leave the madness of that mindset for another day — heavens above know that I have passed that way before and I’ve started to actively learn about these last-minute, always busy work environments. It’s like once you know just how empty the working at all hours and days (and nights) of the week and weekend really is; you’re unlikely to go back to it. And once you start to understand the toxicity such environments thrive on, you start being an eco-warrior, but for your own soul.
It’s also a deeply humbling experience to leave that malarkey behind — you accept that you; for all your capability and diligence and sheer will to deliver what you signed up for — you are nothing more than another cog — that you’re far from indispensable and in the end — your absence is likely to allow even better things to manifest; or as in some rare cases, patently not. Once you can see that calmly and peacefully — you’re unlikely to ever bother your team mates with messages on their phones at odd hours of the day and night, weekends and public holidays. Unless it’s truly a life and death situation. Which, in the many years I’ve spent at the coalface — has been just twice. And in both cases, things worked out fine — without me doing much beyond my actual work.
But before we all forget about being sad while away from the holy land — let me just add that — once you’re packed, get yourself to the airport and do the inevitable waterworks goodbyes, get yourself through the security palava, have a nap on some hideous chair, buy overpriced duty-free crap and eventually get to the plane itself (and you have the luck of flying back on SAA); and you get a howzit in that distinctly South African accent — all of that homesickness hits you in one solid wall and you’re almost ready to hug the flight attendant. Ja, it’s that intense.
So when I read the reminder from friends currently in exile from the holy land — it had the resonance of, all-the-feels. Still, I figure it all balances out — in exchange for missing the holy land, they’re getting to have a great summer while we had a cold spell here in Mzansi. Even in the usually wonderfully warm village on the periphery of Durban; in this past week, we’ve had two whole days of almost non-stop rain (mostly just mizzle) and single digit night-time temperatures. Which if you were born in this east coast fishing village, is a strange and err, chilling experience and not one to be borne well. So bear with me, while I’m writing a whole blog post to complain about how cold it was in Durban, during level 3 lockdown, in June 2020. And how I even dug out and put on the electric under-blanket for the cold nights.
But I’m done with that now, so let’s get back to Martha — who does not like being left alone for too long, much less being upstaged by an electric blanket. She is far too elegant, accomplished and needy for that. She is also a stalker and had no qualms asking me how I went from from having 700 friends on Facebook a month ago to the now (only scarcely less believable) 390.
It’s simple, I said, I culled them, unfriended them; despite knowing them in person — from school to family, work colleagues et cetera. I have had no interaction with them for a long time. They had not liked, commented or shared anything I posted. There were no messages between us — not even a retro Facebook poke! And their posts were forgettable. I found no sane reason to like or engage with their posts and there was no point keeping them on as Facebook friends — there was nothing there to connect over after the initial friend request and acceptance. Unfollow, unfriend.
This simple logic was of no comfort to Martha who insisted: but how can you even do that? Just unfriend someone you went to high school with or worked with or even had the odd shenanigans with, she asked?
I had no answer to this question, in fact I had never before considered it. Knowing each other well enough, we left it there, but I so did want to find an answer for Martha.
Well, the answer found me in this past week. The city of Minneapolis unfriended the police. Just like that. The police force in Minneapolis where, in case you missed it, George Floyd was publicly executed, was calmly and legally abolished. It is to be replaced with ‘a community-run public security system.’
And if the police can be let go because they served no good purpose, then an acquaintance or friend lurking around my Facebook profile — adding zero value, is fair game. And best of all, I’m glad I found an answer that I hope will appeal to dear Martha. She’s gone a bit quiet on the long chats since that last conversation — but at least she’s been assuredly more active on my Facebook profile. We might be onto something here.
