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On 21 September 2020, <\/span>We See You, <\/span><\/i>a \u2018POC feminist queer collective of artists and activists\u2019 announced their occupation of a mansion in Camps Bay, Cape Town, South Africa. After renting the home through Airbnb, the collective did not depart on their check-out date and began an approximately two-week-long occupation. Their objective<\/a> was to highlight the lack of safe housing for vulnerable people during the COVID-19 pandemic, in particular people who are LGBTQIA, and to protest housing and income inequality in Cape Town and across South Africa.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As with many present-day activist interventions or social movements, digital technology played a role in the execution and coverage of the We See You<\/em> occupation. Informed by research and theory on the relationship between activism and digital technology, this post will examine the <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i> occupation, and discuss how digital technology both advanced and challenged the collective\u2019s aims. A concluding section will reflect on whether digital technology has the potential to support activism and advance the national dialogue on land reform and inequality in South Africa \u2013 one of the country\u2019s biggest development challenges.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My approach and positionality\u00a0<\/b><\/h4>\n
As a South African, I followed the <\/span>We See You <\/span><\/i>occupation as it unfolded via Instagram, from my home in New York City. I was struck by the collective\u2019s strategy: while occupations of vacant public land or disused buildings are not uncommon in the country, their decision to occupy private property in an exclusive suburb was, at least to me, unheard of. In choosing to focus on this act of protest I reviewed existing coverage and analysis of <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i>. While the occupation received a lot of media coverage, there was insufficient insight into the collective\u2019s strategies to make a meaningful analysis possible. I therefore reached out to <\/span>We See You <\/span><\/i>and interviewed three of the individuals who participated in the planning and occupation \u2013 Xena Scullard, Vateka Halile, and Devaarne Muller. In addition to news coverage and interviews, I reviewed content and interactions on <\/span>We See You\u2019s<\/span><\/i> social media channels. <\/span><\/p>\n
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Context<\/b><\/h4>\n
It is beyond the scope of this post to properly situate the <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i> occupation in the context of South Africa\u2019s history of land dispossession and inequality, or within the context of global movements of squatting and occupation. However, a brief summary is necessary to understand <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i>\u2019s objectives and tactics.<\/span><\/p>\n
$\"\"$ The occupied home is located in Camps Bay (on the left), one of Cape Town’s most exclusive neighbourhoods. Cape Town, like most South African cities, is characterized by income and housing inequality. Credit: author’s own image<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
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The legacy of land dispossession\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/h6>\nOver 400 years of colonial and Apartheid policies designed to systematically dispossess black South Africans of land and the ability to own property continue to have a profound impact on the lives of people today (Ngcukaitobi, 2021). The World Bank<\/a> describes South Africa as having \u201cone of the highest, persistent inequality rates in the world\u201d which has been in part \u201cperpetuated by a legacy of exclusion and the nature of economic growth\u201d. Regardless of how one looks at available data, white South Africans, who make up less than 10 percent of the population, own the majority of individual-owned land<\/a>. During the COVID-19 pandemic, many South Africans \u2013 including some members of <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i> \u2013 lost their sources of income, as well as access to safe and dignified shelter<\/a>. Furthermore, in the city of Cape Town, certain media outlets<\/a> and the local government<\/a> have labeled people seeking access to land and shelter as invaders \u2013 a term that the <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i> collective rejected and wished to challenge:<\/span><\/p>\n
The homeless were being labeled as invaders\u2026but what are they invading? If you live in the city and you are demanding a safe space to live or a place with the bare minimum to survive, why is there this rule that you cannot demand that? It\u2019s a human right \u2013 Devaarne<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\u00a0<\/span>Solidarity with global occupations<\/span><\/i><\/h6>\n\u201cWe are in solidarity with occupations globally, but especially locally as police brutality illegally removes occupiers from their homes. #holdyourground\u201d. This tweet<\/a> from <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i>, posted the day their occupation began, clearly situates their act of protest within a bigger global movement of occupation and squatting. Throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, squatters and occupiers across the world have sought to meet urgent housing needs, to challenge the politics of who has the right to the city, to form communities, and to imagine alternative ways of being (Vasudevan, 2017).<\/span> In my interviews, members of the collective reflected on being inspired by other occupations and movements. However, beyond serving as inspiration, <\/span>We See You<\/span><\/i> did not have direct engagement with any of these global movements, and expressed some disappointment that this did not occur.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
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We See You <\/i><\/b>and the significance of Airbnb<\/b><\/h4>\nThe collective used the popular global platform for short-term rentals, Airbnb, to book a stay at the home in Camps Bay. I asked them whether this was the simplest way to gain access, or whether it was significant that the home was listed on Airbnb. Globally, the digital platform has been the target of many campaigns against gentrification and the rising cost of housing, particularly in popular tourist destinations like Barcelona<\/a> and New Orleans<\/a>. While Airbnb states that its presence in a city creates new sources of income generation for individuals, research has found that the platform can negatively impact communities by increasing rental costs and reallocating available housing from the long-term to the short-term market (<\/span>Barron et. al.,<\/span> 2019).\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
The collective members I spoke with explained that using Airbnb was strategically relevant to their messages about the lack of access to housing and inequality in Cape Town. They spoke about how platforms like Airbnb enable property owners to repurpose their spaces towards short-term, typically holiday rentals, while the city struggles with housing \u2013 and that these rentals are often empty. According to Inside Airbnb<\/a>, an activist project that uses data to analyze the platform\u2019s impact on the housing market, the high availability rate (88.4 percent) of listings in Cape Town suggests that owners are likely not present and that properties are being used specifically for short-term rental. Airbnb (2018, p.23) states that in South Africa, its platform provides an important way \u201cto make ends meet\u201d for its hosts. However, the fact that so many listings appear to be unoccupied by the owners, and therefore unlikely to be first homes, strongly suggests that the platform mostly benefits those who are already privileged and financially secure.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
Platforms like Airbnb may not be the types of digital platforms we immediately think of when discussing activism in the digitally networked era. However, as this example shows, digital platforms not only create new ways for activists to work, but they may also be driving new activist causes as they introduce or magnify societal inequalities.<\/span><\/p>\n
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Hear us.#weseeyou<\/a>#takeupspace<\/a>#webelonghere<\/a>#occupyhome<\/a>#holdyourground<\/a> pic.twitter.com\/bqhKgJkTB5<\/a><\/p>\n
— We See You (@WeSeeYou_2020) September 22, 2020<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n