For many South Africans who rebuilt their lives in Southern California, a new book of essays by one of their own offers a rare, unflinching account of why they left, and of what they carried with them. “Barking at Dogs,” a collection just published by Leon Lazarus, examines the divisions that shaped everyday life in his native country and the lasting imprint they left on those who emigrated. The book is the subject of a recent interview published by Culture OC, whose mission is to engage with Orange County’s artistic and cultural communities by publishing news and critical analysis to encourage interest, participation, fellowship and dialogue. That interview can be found at https://cultureoc.org/south-african-writer-reveals-complexities-of-the-diaspora-in-o-c/.
At the heart of the collection is a story about rights and safety, and about how ordinary people lived under a system that controlled where they could be and when. Lazarus, who came to the United States in 2000 with his family, spent many years in Orange County and still works here. He spoke to Culture OC recently via Zoom from his home in San Diego. Now nearing retirement at around 60, he says the timing of the book was no accident. “You start thinking about things a little differently,” he told the publication, recalling a chance meeting with someone who attended a lecture he gave and suggested he join the San Diego Writers and Editors Guild. “And I gave it a try. And it kind of worked out.”
The essays open with an image that frames the whole collection. “South Africa had fault lines the way other countries have rivers and streams, and you learned early which ones you could cross and which ones you couldn’t,” Lazarus writes, listing English and Afrikaans, Jew and gentile, city and country, left and right, “with race running underneath all of it like the water table.” Then, he adds, “you emigrate, and some of those lines simply don’t survive the flight.”
His account of apartheid-era life is blunt. Black people were barred from white areas after a certain time of day unless they carried a pass. Without one, they risked being beaten, arrested and, sometimes, never seen again. Lazarus describes witnessing an older Black couple being beaten in front of him, an experience he says changed him. He also describes a quieter form of protection: his parents-in-law and others in the neighborhood hid people who were not allowed to be there, locking them in a back store room and padlocking it from the outside so that searching authorities would assume it was empty. “There were these weird moments where there was enormous bravery,” he says.
By contrast, his own position as a member of South Africa’s Jewish community was complicated. He recalls his father’s stories of Jewish children being attacked in parks by children of the Afrikaner Broederbond, which he describes as an underground movement allied with the Nazi government. “You enjoy the privileges of being white, but they still hate your guts because you’re a Jew,” he says, describing pervasive anti-Semitism.
What ultimately drove the family out, he explains, came down largely to public safety. After the border war, the release of Nelson Mandela, the Convention for a Democratic South Africa beginning in December 1991 and the first fair elections in 1994, there was hope. But thousands of former fighters returned home without income, and when change failed to arrive, guns became a source of income and crime skyrocketed. Lazarus and his wife both carried guns, and there were instances where they took up those weapons in self-defense. He never fired a shot, but says it came very close.
Meanwhile, in Orange County, Lazarus encountered many fellow white South African emigres, though his closest relationships over the years turned out to be with Americans. Still, he calls South Africans a great group to know, pointing to Saturday morning rugby gatherings complete with food, camaraderie and songs.
The book’s heavy subject matter is laced with humor, something readers often ask about. Lazarus compares it to war photographers and former soldiers who find the funniest moments in the darkest ones: “if you don’t, you kind of lose the plot.” Looking ahead, he is working on a post-apocalyptic novella, a couple of children’s books, and a young adult science fiction novel he admits needs heavy editing at 110,000 words. One way or another, he says, he is going to be busy.