A Prayer for Elections

Praying for peaceful elections is much like waging war to secure peace (see Iraq, Afghanistan). By their very nature elections are like min-wars. Vitriol, propaganda and insults (see Helen Zille dancing) are launched like missiles between warring political groupings. You may even find some leaders resorting to war dances (see helen Zille). In some cases, party members and supporters,their fair weather foot soldiers, take the whole idea of contesting elections to a dangerously literal level. Hit lists start emerging, competing councillors get into punch ups, ugly verbal exchanges take over at debates and intimidation become the order of the day. Cease fires are called, but hardly ever take hold. There are battle plans (see election manifestos) which give blue prints on strategies, yet are rarely based in reality. Pretty soon, the real purpose of elections are sullied and forgotten. Compare this to a real war scenario, the similarities are very evident, be it on a much smaller scale. Human rights are trampled on, election regulations and laws are shoved to one side and even the odd dead body crops up (see Andries Tatane, himself an indirect victim of political incompetence and the resulting anger thereof). There are always casualties of some kind and they are usually the voters.So, when religious leaders congregate to pray for peaceful elections, I laugh out aloud. They are usually joined by politicians (many of whom believe their parties will rule until that ever-elusive Jesus returns). They'll hold hands, close their eyes and be struck by piety. But when the reverend or Imam isn't looking, they're at each others throats. Many of these are the very same people who are quick to find faith over elections time, as they desperately employ every electioneering tactic they know to drum up support. There are parties who base their politics almost solely on religion(see the the likes of the Christian Democratic Party). While this may seem genuine and almost honourable, we all know how dangerous it can be if fundamentalism creeps into the political arena (see Iran, Afghanistan under the Taliban). So, by all means pray for peaceful elections, we need anything and everything to keep politicians in line. However, don't for a second believe sound religious principles can stand up to political opportunism and greed amid elections.

Happy Whatever Day!

Who is really free these days? Wasn't it some French philosopher who drone on about us being free, yet in chains everywhere? While my Std. 7 history escapes me, my common sense is very much still intact. And it tells me public holidays are as pointless as royal weddings are. Sure, we get to lie in a bit, an expected unexpected mini-holiday of sorts, which breaks the grinding monotony of work. So, why then am I writing this column from my desk at work on Freedom Day! Where did I buy my cappuccino this morning and who will fill my fuel tank later when I eventually leave work - Us schmucks to whom a public holiday is very much a dream. I'm generally not bitter about having to work on public holidays. I like my routine and having these pesky days off in the middle of a working week are as inconvenient as having to wake up 6am to go to work on a public holiday. Hang on, I've gone cross-eyed!
If it's freedom you crave or human rights you need, never fear, South Africa's calendar never strays too far away from an issue or historical event to celebrate. Of course, we don't necessarily celebrate Youth Day. June 16th 1976 is a day which remains rightly hallowed in our history books due to it's violent origins. So, we commemorate the day... in theory. The ANC Youth League has been known to throw some cracking parties on Youth Day, complete with really sombre gestures like musical entertainment, dancing and free food parcels. No one knows the history of this country better than kindergartners.
While we mark significant events in our country's history with public holidays (an excuse to stick it to the boss and the economy) I propose we introduce even more! How about Dubula Ibunu Day (or even week). Here's how the first rally will play out. Julius Malema will be escorted into FNB Stadium in a cavalcade of SUVs. His 18 para-military bodyguards, equipped with rocket launchers and Ray Bans with beat a path for him to his throne. Of course a rally just wouldn't be a rally if Jules didn't bluster forth an attack on imperialism, White people, capitalism, 2-ply toilet paper and the state of the Gulf of Mexico. This would be followed by his latest rendition of the 'Shoot the Boer' song 'Loot the poor. Hey, it rhymes! Another poignant moment in the country's history could be declared a public loaf day - Polokwane Day. We'll lie in our beds and reminisce about how uncomfortable old T-Boz looked as he awkwardly embraced his arch rival comrade, Jacob Zuma on stage after it his demise was officially announced in 2007 to a hostile and welcoming crowd of ANC delegates. We also like to focus on our national past times. There's an unofficial 'holiday' called Braai Day, which falls on Heritage Day.
Government would do well to introduce Corruption Day. An entire 24-hours can be devoted to looting and pillaging. Now, I'm not talking about our other national hobby, armed robbery. On Corruption Day, we plot and conspire against each other to steal surreptitiously and to stab each other in the back. I'm talking about the wholesale signing of dodgy tenders, re-routing social welfare funds to be deposited into your personal bank account (you of course don't even qualify for a grant).

The Cape for free... I mean, free the Cape!

Election manifestos are pretty much wish lists. Some political parties thumb suck theirs, dressing them up with what they regard as promises, liberally wrapped in fancy words, like eradicate and moratorium. Parties who've done this whole election thing before will have saved their manifestos on flash drives, so expect rushed cut and paste jobs this year, where language is only slightly tweaked and political objectives are made to sound even more orotund, abstruse and, let's never forget, unobtainable. Poetic licence is tested when political jargon is mashed and mangled with theatrics. How many times have we heard 'Pushing back the frontiers of poverty' at rallies.
Of course elections have nothing to do with morals and ethics, otherwise Truman Prince would've been laid to rest in the cemetery of politics and Julius Malema would've had his jaw wired shut. Nope, it's all about lofty ideals and laughable promises. Honesty has never lived in the same neighbourhood as politics so that's never an issue. We're expected to join politicians and take leave of our senses and intelligence over this period.
But you got to love it when a party flagrantly abandons reality. I'm not even talking about the DA's persistent dreams of seeing Helen Zille delivering a State of the Nation (instead of Province) address. I'm talking about stripped down to the bone madness.
It's treacherous driving in Cape Town at the best of times. But try maintain your composure behind the wheel if you happen to come across one of the Cape Party's election posters. I still erupt into laughter each time I read them. 'Declare the Cape independent' scream their posters to unsuspecting motorists. Here's a political grouping (read: 2 guys and a fax machine) which has almost solely based it's entire existence on one ideal (and for the sake of my credibility I daren't call it anything else but that)on one bold, if not misguided manifesto point. Firstly, let me salute this party for being, well, for want of a better word, brave. I know parties are known to embellish and dress the truth up. But the Cape Party hasn't only abandoned is credibility, it's lost touch with reality.
Okay, so it's not exactly the strongest of issues to base a manifesto on. Neither is poverty eradication. At least the party's being honest, albeit amid peels of raucous laughter and derision at those nauseating televised roundtable debates. I've witnessed this with my own eyes. At one such debate the Party's, Jack Miller, courageously stated, without a hint of sarcasm, the time for the Cape to secede from the rest of the country is now. That's was in 2009. Now, I know it feels sometimes as if Cape Town is another planet compared to it's slick, arrogant, obnoxious distant neighbour, Johannesburg, but it's still very much part of the rest of the country, despite Zille's best efforts.
It seems the Cape Party hasn't even tried to reword it's manifesto for the 2011 local government polls. What's to reword, it's one sentence, really. Maybe 'declare' could've been substituted with 'demand' (the ANC has many a time demanded an end to corruption, as if that makes sense). There a bunch of synonyms for 'independent'. Maybe their party election budget didn't extend to a thesaurus.
The banner greeting you as you enter the party's web site says 'Free the Cape'. Even more bombastic. I love it! Maybe they are not so far from the paradox of politics as I thought. Perhaps they've hit the nail on the head. Politics is all about distant ideals and a detachment from reality. Spend just a day in Parliament, that greenhouse of lies and absurdity. It may be that the Cape Party is simply doing what most parties are thinking - being outrageously and ultimately hopelessly misguided.

Hullo Gary

Dear Gary, Firstly, damn you, damn you to Pofadder and back. How dare you emigrate without checking with me first! Here I thought you were an educated whitey with a slight (must be very slight) liberal bent, keen on helping build our democr...(hack, cough, splutter). Apologies. I'm back. I had milk coming out of my nose. Couldn't finish that sentence with a straight face. Laughter is not necessarily the best medicine. No, seriously. Screw you. One day you were mowing your lawn, hurling abuse at your domestic worker. Now you laying down tiles in Perth. Where did this sudden exodus-urge come from? Anyway, no worries. I'll forward all your post to Abu Dhabi and inform State Security of your departure. You left just in time, actually. Local government elections are here and you know what that means... A PUBLIC HOLIDAY! You're envious, I can feel it in my left testicle. You're regretting the big move, aren't you? You really wanted to stick it out for the municipal elections, come on, be honest. Nothing gets your juices flowing quite like those televised political debates on SABC over election times and brain dead politicians droning about the importance of voting. Voting schmoting. I'm braaing a snoek, getting pissed and walking around my place in my underpants on the 18th of May. How much of Julius are you guys hearing about down under? Do you even care? I can assure you he doesn't. I e-mailed his mate, Floyd, the other day informing him of your patriotic treachery. He actually responded (it must be election time when the ANCYL shows an interest in anything). Do you want to know what he said? I've transcribed part of his response. "Comrade, thank you for informing us of yet another turn coat. But if your comrade is white, it should come as no surprise. Good riddance to that imperialist friend of yours. His tendencies are best served to a white dominated, western (?) power such Australia. I trust you reporting this backward, unthinking (?) behaviour of our citizens, means we will be getting your vote...".Well, you get the idea. I'd started swallowing part of my tongue by that stage of the e-mail. Have you had a DA twit call you yet at 4am to ask if they can be sure of your vote? They should've called you. I've mailed 83 different people at the DA sending them your new contact details in Oz. They still hungry (read: desperate) for any lilly-white vote they can get, no matter how far. Didn't you vote for COPE in 2009? Don't be embarrassed to admit this. Lekota and Shilowa don't seem to be too embarrassed by themselves. Yup, they still at each others throats. You could always say one of the reasons you left was out of disgust with COPE's ongoing inner-rivalry. You couldn't COPE anymore. ROTFWL, LOL, OMG, or something like that. Moving on. Shell plans to unearth the whole of the Karoo! Have you heard? Shock, horror and some spittle to go with it. Every tree-hugger and dog is up in arms. I recall you once failed to wear shoes for a whole week. I thought perhaps maybe you'd gone green and thrown your lot in with the hippies and turned to Mother Earth for answers. Apparently Shell wants to do 'fracking' in the Karoo. With alarm in my eyes I looked fracking up. I suspect one web site (www.frackme.com) may be a bit off the mark with it';s understanding of fracking. I doubt it involves cucumbers and lubrication. Fracking. I just like saying it. Gary, do you still drive down under? Have they allowed you behind a car wheel? You mos know how they are, all weird and paranoid about driving what with their being things like road laws in that strange country with the outback, barrie reef and kangaroos here road laws have been diminished to mere guidelines. Who can afford to drive here , anyway. Another fuel price hike, another month. I threatened a petrol pump attendant (you may not have them where you are. Not enough people of colour that side to man petrol pumps, I suppose) the other day. He did nothing wrong. hH simply asked if he could fill it up. Fill it up! Are you mad?! Thta's like insulting my Mother. It costs the better part of my salary (the other half goes to my f@$*ing iPhone. That's a mail for another day) to fill up with fuel. I apologised to the petrol dude. He said something in an African language or French, I never know these days who's Congolese and who is a genuine South African. I think he was upset. Anyway, Gary, I'd sign off by saying I miss you... but I don't. LOL. Have fun in Oz. Don't chip a tooth trying to be too God fearing and law abiding. Remember, it's in your South African blood to drive drunk, disrespect women and not trust anyone who isn't of your own skin colour. Kindest regards R P.S. Thanks for never returning my hammer, you lent 6-years ago. What will I use now to scare away the beggars and Jehovah's Witnesses on Sunday mornings.

Bring me my machine gun

If you think the heckling of Patricia De Lille at a Human Rights Day rally in Cape Town is preposterous, outrageous and uncalled for, think again. It's par for the course as we enter election time once again. This means we're all expected to lose our minds (those of us who hadn't already lost them)."This kind of behaviour doesn't promote tolerance of any other persons idea," half-heartedly droned an ANC MP in the national assembly in reaction to the incident. We know, buddy, politics is all about hugging trees, making nice with everyone and clapping hands cheerfully as if we were all at a scripture union camp. What the brain says, the hand doesn't necessarily do. So, if Luthuli House, that great national think tank of the ruling party, says make love not war, then of course it would be safe to say, this could be interpreted as, beat the crap out of anyone not wearing yellow, green and black. And that's what the ANC seems to relish in doing when confronted with elections. Except, it's beating itself up, instead. The rise of independent candidates from within it's own ranks is all the evidence you need that the party's arrogance is it's own worst enemy. Forget opposition parties. This time round, COSATU boss, Zwelinzima Vavi, even remarked "They are showing the ANC the middle finger". Careful. That kind of behaviour towards the ANC is could land you up in the back seat of a luxury, black SUV, commandeered by black suited goons, with silly little wires connected to their ears. A political ouma like Patty De Lille, knows the drill when confronted by heckling - just ignore it, because it gets worse. It's one of the few times where adults (supposed adults, at that,because going into politics is about as childish as eating snot) will abandon their adulthood. being able to tie your own shoelaces and count to 10 means nothing in the world of politics. Wait for it. When the rallies, community meetings, door-to-door campaign go into warp speed those political loafers and morons who drain our coffers, waffle all day but rarely make sense, those characters who are meant to run our country, will exchange their Gucci suits and Jimmy Choos for party t-shirts as they try to convince us we should waste... I mean, cast our votes for them. They'll dance and sing as they promise and deride each other. They'll fling mud in all directions except of course at themselves. They'll scorn, deplore, praise and tease each other. hey, it's every parties unspoken election manifesto - skulduggery, pettiness and stupidity. All eyes on Julius over this period, that King of bluster has already demonstrated his wily ability at being an idiot. Helen Zille was a cockroach last time round. Now she's a monkey. Shame, she'd din't get the memo - whitey's should never, ever dance. I have no idea how COPE will try to campaign. Lekota on a donkey cart with a loudhailer, might be above the party's budget. If donkey carts and megaphones are being dished out to his comrade, Shilowa may have to settle for a bicycle, one placard and a whistle simply to draw what little attention there is for COPE to him. Good luck pal. Come what may for COPE, one things for sure, they won't need to canvass against opposition parties. They seem quite happy at contesting their own make-believe elections among themselves.

The Battle of the Colours

There's a war in my pocket and it's bursting to get out. I can hear the agonising screams of the casualties (those who couldn't keep their mouths shut), the staccato of machine gunfire (their asinine comments), the rumbling of artillery fire (counter-comments and even more stupidity).The front line is drawing ever closer. Our 'Battle of the Bulge', with the enemy before us, behind us, everywhere! Derision and insults whizz by. Duck! Take cover! That was yet another close call!
No, friends, I'm not writing this from Libya or the Ivory Coast. I'm not hunkered down in a hotel room in Iraq, nor am I 'embedded' with allied forces in Afghanistan. The banal 'bunker' setting of my desk is where I'm waiting for the the 'enemy'. The problem is, much like the ironic paranoia sketched by J.M. Coetzee in 'Waiting for the Barbarians', I'm not too sure who the enemy actually is. I still haven't decided if it's even the traditional kind of foe.
Kuli Roberts marched out onto the battlefield, possibly still drunk from a previous victory (or party, more like it). She opened her mouth, stupid things were discharged like cannon shells and they exploded in glorious fashion. Roberts, ever the headline-junkie, inadvertently declared war on on an entire race, Coloured people, following on from a separate conflict sparked by the new lieutenant in charge of government miscommunication, Jimmy Manyi. His 'Oversupply of Coloureds in the Western Cape' was a quasi-diplomatic gaffe of note, one which would ensure peace talks between Black people and Coloured people remain strained in the Cape. Behind the Manyi debacle is a lilly-white, centre-right trade union, Solidarity. The organisation could easily be labelled an agitator for war, along with Manyi and Roberts. But my cynicism tells me it was simply a cheap publicity ploy. It was Solidarity which alerted all and sundry to Manyi's infamous comments. So, in my extended war metaphor, the union could be seen as Italy during WW2 - a nowhere little nation, keen to get in on a major conflict so as to raise it's profile. We all know how that worked out for Italy in the end. Everyone from Trevor Manuel, the ANCYL, DA and the ice cream seller on Clifton beach is now firing off their weapon-cum-mouths, more to make a noise and a nuisance of themselves than to actually hurt anyone. And this low-level, theoretical 'Race War' is playing itself out minus the likes of the maddened influence of a crazy Whitey like Eugene Terre'Blanche! Bizarre. Who needs the right, when the left, is becoming right? All the while us ordinary mlungus stand on the outskirts of the battlefield, perplexed, worried and confused. You mean we aren't to blame for this furore? You mean know one has tried to pin theisbitterly ugly racial spat on us? Even more bizarre. From our trenches, us Whitey's nervously peer over the edge, scouring this dirty landscape of non-sequiturs, racial innuendoes and hilariously unfunny stereotypes.
Is it a coincidence this watered-down war is taking place amid an election year? Is it a coincidence the stage for this mindless conflict is the Cape, where the DA is still struggling to win the hearts and minds of black voters, and where the so-called 'Coloured vote' is as sought after as as a cushy government job (uhum, paging Mr. Manyi)? All I know is that this White boy ain't coming up from his bunker just yet.

Here in the Independent (almost, but not quite) Homeland Of Zillestan we love our weather. In fact, we are obessessed with it. We analyse it from couches, exmaninign every nuance of forecasts on the Weather Channel. But Capetonian's only want to know one thing: How strong will the wind be the next day? Note, I posed this question with the assumption the wind will by default be strong or any derirvative of this. You only get two types of wind down south -wannabe-almost-but not quite-yet-still leaves-you-unbalanced strong and beatdown-brutal-don't stop until you cry strong. Bugger the news at 7, fast forward to 7:25 when the weather people, complete with carefully constructed hair, jarring American accents and shady smiles, take control. They euphemise 36 degrees in Spingbok For 5 minutes we citizens of this bold new state are their slaves, entranced by their hand movements which sweep over the country. The rest of the nation is not important to us Zille-ites at all. We only care if the sun will rise on the empire again the next day. Much like yanks many Capetonians couldn't tell you where Boshoff or Los Angeles is.
Entire weeks can be spoiled by this meterological phnomoment of satanic proportions. The Cape Doctor they call it. The only medcial practitioner I can liken the effects of ths devli wind to is Josef Mengele. Evil, cruel and gusty.

Goddamned wind! 400kms winds are the only downside of living in the capital of Zillestan, cape Town. Our obsession with the climate does partly stem from Al Gore's brilliant job of scaring the crap out of us. Climate change se moer. We have hurricanes of winds this side of the nation. winds a powerful as parliament (where intellignce goes to die and power thrives amid madness, corruption and greed). I cry a bit every time I emerge form the outdoors on a windy day in Slaapstad. I feel violated and need to be hugged. No problem there. Everyone loves to hug in this place. ray Bans, cut off jeans, styled hair and a good does of doos-ness accompanies this need to hug and be simunye with all in this gran city of wind, excess and pinkness. The Pink cash helps fuel Zillestand, don't you know? They offer incentives for gay people to settle this side. eever since Politiburo of Zumaville subconsiously started plotting the "Pink Solution" homosexuals have been seeking refuge under the mountain. And boy are we glad they chose Zillestan. Greenpoint has never been the same.

On the 4 days a year cape twon is being sodmised by the wind, we flock to the many beaches of this great capital of ours. We rush int he direction of sea salt on Vespas, in 4 x4s, Mini Coopers and skateboards hey clog up the already impossibly narrow roads tyo Clifton, Camps Bay, Llandudno, and so on. Buses of the less fortnate converge on Mnwabisi beach. This remnant of Apartheid beach segregation sees enough actiojn in a december weekend than a Seapoin brothel. Sharks, drownings, swimming in underpants, poo pullution, and dangerious deragned seagulls make it tough going for poor beachgoers. But at least the water isn't -22 degrees. Can a beach be a proper beach if you can't swim? capetonians don't care. It's really all about showing off abs and boobs. Who cares about the sea?

In Zillestan we speak differently. Not beign a lingust I can't adequately explaim in words how a capetonian accent sounds. I'll try though. Round your vowels and make generous use of words like Wow, serious and bru. Gestilculating helps as well. It's more about what capetonians choose to speak about. fashions, gym, how much money they don't have or do have. Down the drag on the N2 the sun is as bright, the wind as powerful, but the money, very rare.