SOWETO,
South Africa It's just before midnight on Friday in the casualty
ward of Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital, and Joseph Armaroesi, who
has a bullet lodged in his foot, has been lying face down on a gurney
for nearly an hour. He bears the intense pain with the stoicism
of someone used to hard times and discomfort.
"Guns
should only be in the hands of police," says Armaroesi, 44,
as he waits his turn behind a man with multiple stab wounds and
before a man with a bullet in his shoulder. "There are too
many unlicensed guns. They are robbed from whites in town and used
against us."
It's
an argument that's hard to refute in the surgical pit
of the world's largest public hospital, located on the edge of Soweto,
one South Africa's most violent communities. The bare room is full
of patients some drunk, some unconscious, some with swollen
bruises and open gashes waiting on two battered wooden benches
and in a line of red metal gurneys.
Doctors
and nurses some of them foreigners who come here just to
gain the rare training in trauma that Soweto provides are
much too busy to clean up the blood splattered on the concrete floor.
On this night they will treat six gunshot victims and consider the
number low; on a busy night, they treat twice or three times as
many. Doctors here saw nearly 3,000 patients with gunshot wounds
last year.
The
hospital is on the front lines of a national debate over what to
do about the abundance of guns and gun violence in South Africa.
In
this country of striking economic and racial divisions, the murder
and armed robbery rates have increased by more than 50 percent in
the past decade. As many as 8 million firearms half of them
illegal circulate in the country of 40 million people. Guns
cause thirty deaths per day, according to police statistics, and
an increasingly vocal group of gun control lobbyists is saying that
the best way to lower the violent crime rates is to get rid of the
guns.
As
the lobbyists push Parliament to pass stricter gun laws, the resulting
controversy has revealed a deep core of fear about the future of
post-Apartheid South Africa.
Although
white South Africans seem to fret the most loudly about violent
crime, poor black neighborhoods like the one Armaroesi lives in
have the highest murder and attempted murder rates.
Armaroesi
could have been one of those murder statistics, but he says, "God
helped us not to run away."
He
was crossing the train tracks with a friend on his way home from
work like every other day, when he heard a voice behind him say,
Old men, hands up. When he turned, he saw four young
men with a gun, who demanded his money.
But
Armaroesi refused to raise his hands or relinquish his money. The
muggers shot him in the foot and ran away. They were scared by the
sound of their own gunshot, he says.
"It
makes me feel bad," he says. "If I had the power, I would
retaliate. But I don't know them."
Armaroesi,
a driver for a Johannesburg business, had never been shot before,
and he says the armed robbery is a sign of the times in South Africa.
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