”For the strike, neh, we need money, of course. You see, you’re supposed to strike but it’s wrong [for strikers] to fight people like us. I’ve got four children and my wife doesn’t work. If you’re not working, there’s no pay. What’s your family going to eat? Nothing.”
The Mail & Guardian’s interview with Johannesburg security guard Roger highlights a paradox — many non-strikers appear to support the goals of the countrywide labour action by security guards, citing the dangers of the job and poor pay.
This is despite continuing strike-related violence, thought to lie behind the grisly deaths this week of six men thrown from a moving East Rand train and the fatal shooting of a unionist in Cape Town. (See accompanying story.)
Non-strikers insist they cannot afford to stop working and complain the strike is ”out of control”.
These views surfaced in interviews with a range of guards in Johannesburg, some of whom have joined the strike, others who have continued working.
Many of the latter have been forced into evasive action. Roger dons blue overalls because he works at a parking garage in town and has seen striking guards nearby. ”If they know me, they’ll attack me. It’s dangerous.”
He has worked at a small security firm, Wing Prop, for eight years. He lost his job of 19 years after a strike in 1996 and says he will never join a union again. He can approach his boss directly if he wants a pay increase, he says.
Perhaps surprisingly, he likes his job. ”It’s nice. You’re not picking up heavy stuff, you dress nice, but your eyes must be sharp. This job is dangerous because you can die any time.”
George, a security guard for 10 years who works for Stallion Security in a residential complex, also seems reasonably happy with the work.
”I like working at night when everyone is sleeping. It’s just me and the tsotsis,” he says with a grin.
”For me security is all right because I don’t use much energy. It’s like now, I’m relaxing. Even if the tsotsis come, I mustn’t be a hero. I must be able to give a report of what happened.
”People say security is not a job; it’s a job for stupid people. But I’m not ashamed to be a security guard. I’ve got food, clothes, a house, through security.”
George belongs to one of the unions that settled for an 8% salary increase when the Congres of South African Trade Unions’s South African Transport and Allied workers Union (Satawu) balked at the offer and continued striking.
”They signed because some of the them are fly-by-night, they are small. Satawu wants to influence the big companies, like Springbok, so they can influence the small ones that signed this vokkin’ 8%.
”Satawu is going out of control now. When they go to companies and make toyi-toyi, they damage property and police will not tolerate that.
”I don’t think 11% is possible. Half a loaf is better than none.”
George is not altogether comfortable with Stallion’s instructions not to wear a uniform: ”I mind when I wear plain clothes because it can happen that the police come and think I am a tsotsi. I can get shot or killed. Even the residents, when I’m wearing private clothes, they don’t trust us or know whether we are security or just disguised tsotsis.
”But the bigger problem is the other strikers. I use public transport, especially the train. They will moer me.”
George earns R1 800 after deductions and plans to start his own business because ”there is no future in security.
”Do you know a security guard whose children attend a multiracial school? I can’t afford a private school. My child is going to be a tsotsi because his parents are poor and not educated.”
In his mid-20s, Jabu* has been a guard for less than a year and is unsure if he belongs to a union. He first worked at a 30-person security company but now works for Stallion in Rosebank.
”When I worked at a boom, clients used to give us other instructions to make sure we are working hard, even though we were working hard. Like, go open the boom, stand the whole day. In this kind of job, when they give you an instruction, you can’t say no.
”Sometimes the client says ‘if you don’t do your job, we will find someone else’.”
Jabu says he would go on strike but needs the money: ”I understand the strikers’ demands and I think they are reasonable. I would go on strike but then there will be no one on duty here.”
If he had the money, he would study to become a paramedic.
‘Being a guard is fine, but the situation is dangerous. If there is any attack, we are the first person who is going to be attacked. The police or anyone else will come later.”
Sporting Satawu gear, James Adam joined the union rally at Johannesburg’s Library Gardens on Monday.
”Being on strike is very hard but I don’t even regret it because I can’t go back to the previous situation. It’s better that we struggle to achieve our goals.”
Adam has worked for Coin Security since 2001 and complains bitterly about pay and working conditions: ”Our salaries are very low. I was a grade C guard, getting R8,44 an hour, from the time I joined, and then they changed it without consultation. I found myself getting R7,63 an hour for grade D.
”Most of the places where we work, we have no water, so we have to go to the nearest garage, also for toilets. Then they say we are deserting.
”During the night, it’s cold and they ask us to buy our own heaters. When it is raining, they don’t provide umbrellas. You have to stand in the rain to deal with clients.”
Thabang* is a strike marshal who says security companies make unnecessary deductions from wages: ”Some members, each and every month the money is short. As a shop steward, I get R1 600; after deductions I go home with about R1 300. Some people go home with R906.”
He blames non-members for the strike violence: ”Some of us are members here, some are joiners on the way — tsotsis. They want to destroy the strike, we suspect the employers send them.”
Thabang does not think that Coin has a problem with Satawu. ”It is the fly- by-night ones that are scared. Big companies, I don’t think they are afraid.”
* Not their real names