Summary of “Dry, the beloved country”

In South Africa, sometimes, whites still say “They” both to refer to black people and to “Bad” people, like shitty politicians or criminals.
A 42-year-old Indian man, Riyaz Rawoot, labored for 14 months to create the spring’s infrastructure-a long contraption made of concrete, bricks, metal stands and PVC hosepipes that diverts water into 26 outlets before which an extraordinary diversity of people kneel with jugs, as if at a Communion rail.
“No!” a couple of people in the crowd-a group which more closely resembled South Africa’s on-paper demographics than anything I had ever previously seen-shouted.
Significantly more problematic was the fact that, in the townships and lower-middle-class neighborhoods, there are often many more people living in a single home than in the wealthy areas, and the city’s water restrictions don’t take the size of the household into account unless a resident undertakes an onerous appeals process.
“There’s a new mindset. A shift.” At meetings he attended for a group called the Water Crisis Coalition, whose membership is primarily people of color, he’s noticed Capetonians he doesn’t normally see coming to the townships-white folks, wealthy folks, even a Zionist.
At one Water Crisis Coalition meeting, white attendees praised a giant march people of color held in the 1960s to protest racial injustice, as an inspiration for how people can band together for change.
THE POWER VS. THE PEOPLE. I went to see Lance Greyling, Cape Town’s director of enterprise and investment, because he promised to tell me something few people understood about the drought.
Greyling told me he knew the government’s most dystopian claims were “Not exactly true.” The majority of people in Cape Town had reduced their water usage, though some hadn’t managed to get below the restriction.

The orginal article.