IN 2007 I stumbled into a parallel universe, one in which it is illegal to be Jewish. Apparently my identity is triggering for some people and apartheid never happened? I say this because I was locked up for antagonizing a Muslim news anchor at Heart 104.9 with my complaint about the suppression of a Robbie Jansen interview, and Media24’s obscene, racist inquiry into my faith. The result fundamentally changed the way I view the world.

You can read about the earlier incident here.

I am being carted in a packed Prison Services truck to Pollsmoor, Cape Town’s notorious prison controlled by the numbers gangs, for the crime of simply opening my case file before Zulpha Khan and presenter Nick Feinberg.

My reeboks have been stolen, along with my eyebrow piercing. The convict next to me is trying to steal the laceless dog-ear shoes exchanged by the petty criminal who stole my sneakers, as if I am a shop floor mannequin, during an assault in the holding cells beneath Cape Town Magistrate court. How did I get to be here?

Lets wind back the clock a few months. After SAHRC refused to entertain my initial antisemitism complaint, following my ejection from a Media24 community newspapers newsroom, claiming the matter was already before the Labour Court, I was left without legal assistance. Outside the CCMA hearing, I am accosted by a tussle-haired young male Afrikaner, a News24 journalist, who is more than a little aggressive.

He is hurling abuse at me, angry perhaps, because of the failed gagging attempt by the company after I had fliered the first Cape Town Book Fair (CTBF) held in June 2006, with pamphlets seeking to expose newsroom racism and race profiling — the fliers elicited an invitation to lunch with renowned anti-apartheid activist Dennis Brutus, and a dinner with photographer George Hallet.

After the book fair, Media24 had promptly issued notice of their intention to seek a gagging order via their attorney’s, Jan S De Villiers, and I had managed to counter with a pro bono attorney Sarah Dodd. We had raised a point of law — corporations as juristic persons do not possess feelings — then a letter by Naeem Jennah & Simon Delaney from Freedom of Expression Institute explained the NGO backed my ‘freedom of expression’, stating “We are dismayed that Media24 has sought to muzzle one of your former employees, David Lewis with threats of a defamation suit …”, this is where the matter rested.

Commission for Cooking the Books.

So far as the CCMA near Cape Town Castle was concerned, and as the SAHRC averred, the matter was immediately referred to the labour court (a process that would take another four years and extend beyond the banning of the Dalai Lama by the corrupt Zuma administration). Reason being, the respondent failed to participate in any mediation. An article by Karen Breytenbach at the time incorrectly noted a complaint about extended hours of work involving an extraordinary period in which there was no weekly breaks, as the central issue of the case, while merely alluding to the primary complaint of racism. [note: the company later argued ‘exigency of the situation’ to justify its treatment of employees].

Media24 is recorded as rejecting allegations of racism and a claim of race profiling and/or segregation of news concerns on the basis the ‘title catered for all different communities between False Bay and Cape Town.’

After meeting with poet Gabeeba Badaroon in Athlone, to explain why I would no longer be interviewing her on behalf of Media24, I had attempted to file an insurance claim in the ensuing weeks via LegalWise which might have expedited the matter. The claim was immediately repudiated on the basis that since it involved defamation, it met an exclusion clause. The appeal to the short-term insurance Ombudsman, met with further calumny.

According to the Ombud, I had ‘framed an obvious defamation case as a labour case‘ in order to seek legal aid. It constantly amazes me that lawyers compartmentalize their lives, then proceed to commit category errors of this nature.

Cape Town’s not beat.

So there I sat on a Heart 104.9 “Cape Town’s beat” sofa in colourful Green Point, without any representation in either matter, but with the labour matter, roughly filed by a legalwise attorney, still underway. No support from the press.

When I first arrived at legalwise on Cape Town’s foreshore to extricate the rest of my salary after the primary incident at Media24, I was met with general level of incompetence. Just getting the assigned paralegal to write a ‘free letter of demand’, whilst disclosing the nature of the offensive inquiry into my faith was problematic. I ended up with a bizarre letter marked ‘without prejudice’ demanding the rest of my salary and informing Media24 that Jews generally-speaking, observe Shabbat from Friday evening to Saturday’.

All of these papers were now in my Roxley punch folder, which I opened before Zulpha Khan. My inquiry at the radio station front desk in Green Point, where I requested to speak to the news editor had elicited a brunette news anchor. She sat next to me a little aghast, as I opened my file to show her the paper trail. At first I explained who I was, how I got to be in a Media24 newsroom. I explained the interviews with Chris Syren, and Robbie Jansen’s comments about Jimi Dludlu, then my experience at SAHRC, and the attempted gagging, and of course, the CCMA. Khan looked, nodded, but did not ask any questions.

Instead of explaining, that she was then, just an anchor at the station with no remit to deal with actual news stories, she played along as if I was a kid, delivering donuts or asking for some pocket money.

TRC Report causes offense

It was when I pulled out letters from the Truth & Reconciliation Unit, implicating Naspers/Media24, and started requesting Khan’s assistance with gaining access to an attorney, that things began to get truly weird. She calls Nick Feinberg, who arrives, hands me his card. She leaves. I am about to repeat the process of retelling my story. Instead, Nick starts asking me questions about my involvement with MK (“uMkhonto weSizwe,” the former paramilitary wing of the ANC), by trying to explain that he is similarly involved.

I explain I am not comfortable with his questions, and so he gets up and leaves.

I am left sitting on the Heart 104.9 couch, looking at the glossy pictures of radio personalities lining the wall. The station has literally dumped the Robbie Jansen story, showing no concern for Cape Town history, let alone the history of Jazz music which supposedly drives their station. As I am leaving Heart 104.9, I say to the receptionist out loud: so you want me to scorn you?

Do I regret my words said with some irritation at not being heard?

Not in the slightest. I make it down the stairs, trying not to fall, walk out into the street below and am moving up De Smidt Street, as I turn into Waterkant St near the Cape Quarter where I have parked my motorcycle, a SAPS van suddenly arrives. Two police officers get out with guns drawn, I am told to get on the ground.

Wrongful arrest.

When I arrived at Caledon Square, the news radio is apparently carrying a story about what appeared to be a hostage drama. A Jewish terrorist has apparently taken hostages at Heart 104.9, attempting to go on air with a story about a ‘black magician’. Some outlets carry the typo, others refer to a black musician.

“A journalist who demanded the right to vent his feelings of rejection on Radio Heart 104.9 because his story involving a black musician was rejected, is to go on trial for intimidation” reads one of many similar stories published by the apartheid press syndicate.

I am given a piece of paper with the charge, it says ‘intimidation’. After my assault in the holding cells, where I am knocked unconscious by several gangsters, I find a new piece of paper in my pocket, the charge now reads, ‘assault by threats’.

I am taken into custody on a Thursday. My attorney Mike Jennings only arrives on Monday morning. I hand him Feinberg’s card, telling him there must be some confusion in political providers? One of my interlocutors it seems has called the cops. There is not enough time to fully brief him before my first appearance. The black magistrate reminds me of Idi Amin, he takes one look at the charge sheet, sends me down on remand.

As the Prison truck nears Pollsmoor in Tokai, I hear an eerie wailing sound — Africans lamenting their loved ones, all locked up on spurious charges inside the prison system? It is late in the evening, I am ordered to strip off my clothes, am naked and told to do press-ups on the cold ground by the warden. (Note: If this is Greta Thunberg’s version of state torture, than I am being tortured by the South African justice system, simply for being Jewish.)

The processing hall of Pollsmoor is an overcrowded cattle market. There is hardly any English spoken. I hear Afrikaans, the Dutch creole, spoken in a version known as Afrikaaps, alongside a smattering of pidgin English. The next warden asks me if I want a good night’s sleep in a private cell with two others, or the communal cell? Looking at the private cells, I am overcome by claustrophobia, the stench of the prison system, before many of the social innovations were introduced by Edwin Cameron.

I choose the communal cell known as E-Section. My only hope is to make friends with a bunch of Khayalitsha cowboys, one man I have come to know from my four day stay at Caledon Square, is known as Thabo. His story is that he robbed a petrol station after he was laid off as a pump jocky without severance pay. Went back without any disguise, with a gun, got handed some money by his own men. Things went well, he managed to get work on the mines, then one day, when he was coming up from his shift, the Police were waiting for him.

He has been sent back to Cape Town because that is where the robbery occurred. At least I know where I stand. The important thing is to stay away from the violent numbers gangs. The 28s, 27s, and 26s, that rule the Cape Flats, the Nigerians gambling over drugs and guns.

I notice two blonde-haired white kids, on the opposite side of the cell, they can’t be older than 18.

During the night, one of the 28s, is playing at being a conductor. He is literally a maestro directing the outrageous rhapsody of prison rape, the currency upon which the South African Republic has built its moral perfidy.

I spend the night reciting a mantra, incantations to the universe, by morning, I am teaching the cell how to do Yoga.

SEE: “It’s all about a black magician”. The Heart 104.9 incident (part 2)

Tag: life