I'd love to be a fly on the wall of President Jacob Zuma's office (or lounge, bathroom, chauffeured car, his new Nkandla office) when he does, what seem to have become regular, cabinet reshuffles. How does he choose where people will be 'deployed' to? What are the criteria (pulling straws, flipping coins)? I'm sure it must be tough. Or not. With the ANC's policy of 'cadre deployment' one could simply conclude it comes down to who's the most loyal and sycophantic. Cynical and reductionist answer, sure, but with the behaviour of some cabinet ministers, it's maybe the only conclusion, as dispirited and jaundiced as it is, we should and are able to come to.
It's also partly a case of who would be dumb/brave/desperate enough to accept an offer to become a government minister, especially one tasked with taking over a portfolio as damned as that of Public Works. I often wonder what were the reasons Thulas Nxesi agreed to taken a sip from that now suitably poisoned chalice that is the Public Works ministry. He's been in his position for just under a year, having 'inherited' the position of minister from Gwen Nkabinde-Mahlangu, who was sent packing after the SAPS building lease debacle further reinforced the damning downward spiral Public Works was following. In politics nothing happens quickly, so I'll forgive Nxesi, to a point, for not having been able to effectively rehabilitate his department. Up until last week I liked the language Nxesi was talking. Words like 'dysfunctional', 'disarray', 'urgent action' were used in seemingly frank and honest tones when Nxesi described the state the ministry has been in. I like tough love, particularly in government, purely because it allows no space for sentiment and emotions. And Nxesi appeared to be taking this approach, freeing himself of brain dead towing of party lines. That was until last Friday (5th October). Like Public Works ministers before him, Nxesi had developed a long face, scarred with a frown framed by a distinct irritated tone in his voice and a neurotic-paranoid state of mind. These have become symptoms of all Public Works bosses. He was dealing with yet another scandal involving the ministry. Sharp, trenchant questions from reporters on the now scandalous Nkandla project (or 'Zumaville' as we can cheekily label it) sent him into that corner where his predecessors and politicians generally go to whine, clumsily defend, accuse, skirt around the edges, pass-the-buck and awkwardly deny when confronted with sensitive matters. Very little came of that Friday press conference in the way of intelligible explainations as to why it's perfectly fine for taxpayers to be bankrolling the R200 million plus Nkandla development. Instead Nxesi adopted the attitude of his predecessors by crouching in the above-mentioned corner and blaming the media and everyone else for being sensationalistic, inflammatory, irresponsible. An opportunity to show he's different from those before him was squandered. He reinforced his threats of launching an investigation, not to determine if something is rotten with the whole issue, but ostensibly to reveal whistle blowers and pesky informants who keep 'leaking' information to the media and perpetuating the label of 'Public Work-less' which the department has come to be known as by many.
Nkandla is just one niggling concern involving Public Works. The cliche 'only the tip of the iceberg' sums it up perfectly when talking about the mountain of problems actually facing the department.
I made a point of recording the number of times the department has been mentioned in recent weeks at various Parliamentary Portfolio Committee meetings. And not it glowing terms. I distinctly recall a delegation of officials from Correctional Services outlining to a committee how the many problems with Public Works in turn impact on their job, in one way or another. For example, the building of a number of new prisons has been in some way impeded because of issues dogging Public Works. I've lost count how many times complaints surfaced in Police Portfolio Committee meetings directed at Public Works and how it's ongoing shortcomings are having a domino affect. At a Health Portfolio Committee gathering, the ailing ministry (Public Works that is) kept being brought up as an impediment of some kind to hospital refurbishment projects.
Everything in government overlaps at some point and clearly the botheration plaguing Public Works is not isolated. Much like corruption, it's dysfunction is becoming endemic. Nxesi may've been handed a poisoned chalice. However, instead of simply throwing the contents out, he's quite happy to continue sipping from the same container Stella Sigcau, Geoff Doidge and Gwen Nkabinde-Mahlangu drank from. He's quite content chasing whistle blowers , attacking the media and kow-towing to the ANC, where he could instead actually revive, at the very least, the Public Works department's soiled image. Much like the many government buildings and structures Public Works is responsible for (as part of its mandate), the department has itself become a ghetto-type tenement, inhabited by individuals who don't seem to care about the alarming state of disrepair it's in.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
A Study in Futility
Next to the prospect of Julius Malema becoming president, braaing being declared illegal, the wrath of a god and a sudden shortage of beer in the country, most of us understandably fear crime the most in South Africa. Having 'done time' in that cemented jungle of a 'prison' called Johannesburg, my neurosis (I'm white, we don't fear, we are neurotic!) is deeply rooted in falling victim to crime... again. It's a fear I have carried with me all the way to Cape Town.
A recent crime victim survey shows most of us are more afraid of falling prey to house-robbery. Strangely enough murder is listed as the fourth most feared crime (?!). Unless you're Canadian or an Aussie, much of the world comprehends and appreciates the anguish and fear which accompanies crime. The fact we carry out surveys to gauge our feelings (which I would've thought are glaringly obvious and don't require surveys) tells me, as a country prone to navel-gazing at the best and worst of times, we are maybe losing sight of the real impact crime has. I'm not talking about lofty theories on how crime levels can affect foreign investment and how authorities need to analyse themselves and their tactics. Those are important aspects, but one can easily become myopic by staring to closely at our belly buttons in search of 'answers'. Such surveys mean nothing to a person arched over the corpse of a loved one, gunned down by a criminal. And so the release of the of the ominously titled 'Shadow crime statistics report' by the Western Cape Community Safety Department will automatically send our eyes straight back to our navels, where we will find more fear, more agony, added anger and pain. According to this document one is more likely to be stabbed to death on a Sunday from midnight to 6 am during the Festive season in the Cape. If you're male, aged between 18 and 35, it's tickets for you... that's if you dare to venture in Nyanga or Khayelistha after dark. The purpose of such surveys/research escape me. Apart from fueling neuroses, building up existing stereotypes and sparking panic, I can't really find a real purpose for such 'studies'. Okay, so those tasked with keeping us safe will argue such research helps inform crime fighting strategies. Maybe. However, as just another Joe Nobody, I read such 'findigns' with arched eyebrows, whitened knuckles, a rapidly beating heart and a renewed sense of paranoia. Much like I used to drive around Joburg at night, checking over my shoulder and refusing to stop and red traffic lights, I now take my life into my own hands by going out after dark during the festive season on a Sunday (and I'm 34-years-old), which means I'm a dead target! That's the only conclusion I can draw from such piffle. That's how I as a regular citizen read the Shadow report on Crime, hatred, stereotypes and all things dodgy. It's fine to intellectualise crime. Established bodies such as the Institute for Security Studies have been doing it for years. But documents with words like 'shadow' in their titles and surveys gauging most the obvious of fears, mean nothing to the every-person. Give us tangible evidence that things are being done in real time, in the real world, free of pontificating and theories. Give us evidence that crime is being beaten. That's the reason behind the release of crime stats. Whether they are made public once or twice a year (the fodder of opposition parties) also means sweet fanny nothing to us - the targets and the victims.
When 16 members of my family were held up, bound, assaulted, the women threatened with rape and children manhandled in 3 separate incidents over a period of just 2 years, all I felt was helpless, unbridled hatred towards, not just the offenders, but also 'law enforcement officials'. These relatives lived in 'security estates', in relatively well-off suburbs, replete with private security guards and patrols, for which they paid dearly each month. Yet they were held hostage in their own homes for hours and terrorised with seemingly no end in sight. Crime knows no boundaries, of course, but it seems intellectual musings on the nature, causes and effects of this scourge won't assist in easing the trauma. At best they simply provide content for journalists, ammunition for politicians and night-time reading material for police.
How do crime victim surveys help structure crime combating initiatives? I believe they don't. But if they do, it's minimal. In the real world police are themselves often left helpless in doing their jobs effectively. Reasons like being under-resourced and over-worked are glibly cited by people in suits in corner offices as to why we can't get a grip on crime. Then we are constantly reminded of the socio-economic nature of the problem and how it feeds desperation, which in turn can lead to crime being perpetrated. Again, we know this. W aren't (all) stupid. South Africans can't escape the grim reality of what often fuels crime. But again, surveys, studies, research - all this won't be effective in making us feel safer and making the country a better place.
A recent crime victim survey shows most of us are more afraid of falling prey to house-robbery. Strangely enough murder is listed as the fourth most feared crime (?!). Unless you're Canadian or an Aussie, much of the world comprehends and appreciates the anguish and fear which accompanies crime. The fact we carry out surveys to gauge our feelings (which I would've thought are glaringly obvious and don't require surveys) tells me, as a country prone to navel-gazing at the best and worst of times, we are maybe losing sight of the real impact crime has. I'm not talking about lofty theories on how crime levels can affect foreign investment and how authorities need to analyse themselves and their tactics. Those are important aspects, but one can easily become myopic by staring to closely at our belly buttons in search of 'answers'. Such surveys mean nothing to a person arched over the corpse of a loved one, gunned down by a criminal. And so the release of the of the ominously titled 'Shadow crime statistics report' by the Western Cape Community Safety Department will automatically send our eyes straight back to our navels, where we will find more fear, more agony, added anger and pain. According to this document one is more likely to be stabbed to death on a Sunday from midnight to 6 am during the Festive season in the Cape. If you're male, aged between 18 and 35, it's tickets for you... that's if you dare to venture in Nyanga or Khayelistha after dark. The purpose of such surveys/research escape me. Apart from fueling neuroses, building up existing stereotypes and sparking panic, I can't really find a real purpose for such 'studies'. Okay, so those tasked with keeping us safe will argue such research helps inform crime fighting strategies. Maybe. However, as just another Joe Nobody, I read such 'findigns' with arched eyebrows, whitened knuckles, a rapidly beating heart and a renewed sense of paranoia. Much like I used to drive around Joburg at night, checking over my shoulder and refusing to stop and red traffic lights, I now take my life into my own hands by going out after dark during the festive season on a Sunday (and I'm 34-years-old), which means I'm a dead target! That's the only conclusion I can draw from such piffle. That's how I as a regular citizen read the Shadow report on Crime, hatred, stereotypes and all things dodgy. It's fine to intellectualise crime. Established bodies such as the Institute for Security Studies have been doing it for years. But documents with words like 'shadow' in their titles and surveys gauging most the obvious of fears, mean nothing to the every-person. Give us tangible evidence that things are being done in real time, in the real world, free of pontificating and theories. Give us evidence that crime is being beaten. That's the reason behind the release of crime stats. Whether they are made public once or twice a year (the fodder of opposition parties) also means sweet fanny nothing to us - the targets and the victims.
When 16 members of my family were held up, bound, assaulted, the women threatened with rape and children manhandled in 3 separate incidents over a period of just 2 years, all I felt was helpless, unbridled hatred towards, not just the offenders, but also 'law enforcement officials'. These relatives lived in 'security estates', in relatively well-off suburbs, replete with private security guards and patrols, for which they paid dearly each month. Yet they were held hostage in their own homes for hours and terrorised with seemingly no end in sight. Crime knows no boundaries, of course, but it seems intellectual musings on the nature, causes and effects of this scourge won't assist in easing the trauma. At best they simply provide content for journalists, ammunition for politicians and night-time reading material for police.
How do crime victim surveys help structure crime combating initiatives? I believe they don't. But if they do, it's minimal. In the real world police are themselves often left helpless in doing their jobs effectively. Reasons like being under-resourced and over-worked are glibly cited by people in suits in corner offices as to why we can't get a grip on crime. Then we are constantly reminded of the socio-economic nature of the problem and how it feeds desperation, which in turn can lead to crime being perpetrated. Again, we know this. W aren't (all) stupid. South Africans can't escape the grim reality of what often fuels crime. But again, surveys, studies, research - all this won't be effective in making us feel safer and making the country a better place.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
A Country Down the Toilet
Count me as a mischievous journo, possibly with too much time on his hands, prone to staring at my navel and fishing for issues, but Tokyo Sexwale's recent briefing to the Human Settlements parliamentary portfolio committee smacked of a mini-State of the Nation address (SONA) or, at the very least, a dry run of sorts. He held a boardroom in the palm of his hands as he gave his synopsis of the country.
Cynically his words became a quote-a-minute, replete with drama, dressed up in his characteristic baritone voice delivering scenes of future-case scenarios dripping in dystopianism, which, some would argue (most of them from within the belly of that beast the ANC) amount to nothing more than surreptitious campaigning. But cynicism (mine included) aside, his reflections on how dysfunctional government has become was refreshing.
"Something is simmering that we must be able to take action to address so that we don't have other Marikanas," warned Sexwale, a remark almost certain to be included in quotable quotes of the week. Soon his 'home truths' as he put it, started looking like a State of the Nation in reverse. I say this because when presidents usual deliver their (executive) summaries of the state of a country, excpect flowery quotes, saccharine obsequiousness, mangled rationality and mind0numding rhetoric. Want to hear some more of Sexwale's topsy-turvy SONA? He had loads more to say. "The Marikanas will keep on repeating themselves over and over until we crumble," the wannabe Commander-in Chief lamented. I scanned the braordroom for signs of life in MPs as Sexwale spilled over with uncomfortable honesty. A stifled cringe appeared on the face of one member (was it the tuna croissant which didn't sitting well?). Reporters smiled, excited by the quality of the quotes which could jostle and compete for paper space (if Julius Malema could keep his trap shut long enough not to steal the limelight). Most listened in genuine rapt attention. Sexwale had them. His 'home truths' were seeming more like a backdrop to a president in waiting, a leader (of sorts) flexing his muscles in the run up to (can you guess?) Mangaung.
From Marikana to the arms deal, Sexwale deftly drew parallels between how wrong the State can get it and how it needs to find direction. Was he the captain who was going to steer the ship back onto course? "It has come back to haunt us (the arms deal). It has caused such a lot of disquiet," he fretted. He added, "If you think it is disassociated from the problem (of sanitation provision problems) you'd be wrong." He went on to virtually wail if only a quarter of the money spent on the abortion of an arms deal was spent on things like housing for the poor we wouldn't have the problems we see today. Half an hour passed and Sexwale was still not done, sketching a country in distress. His intention was by that stage very clear - He was coming to save South Africa. "To Blame Apartheid is no longer wisdom," he said, "it's gone, the task now rests with us." Virtually everything he said could be applied to some aspect of the country's woes. From housing, and sanitation, to service protests and strikes Tokyo was laying it out - an uncomfortable scenario of government failures, set against the shading of a presidential campaign race.
His campaign for the heart, soul and small intestine of the ANC of course didn't start in that committee room in parliament last Friday. Tokyo has been eyeing the leadership of the ruling party and by proxy the country for years. I recall in the run up to the ANC's Polokwane conference Sexwale addressed students in Johannesburg, where he let rip with the usual politicking, complete with promises of delivery, assurances of not rocking the boat with radical policy changes and views on how things would be awesome and amazing if only he was the boss. We know how that turned out for him and now he's having another bite. Was it Tokyo's Mangaung Campaign Version 2.0 we witnessed in parliament last Friday? Methinks, absolutely!
As he hammered home 'home truths' as a backdrop to the release of the findings of a sanitation audit carried out my a ministerial task team. A more apt setting one would struggle to find! Like the provision of basic sanitation needs for the poor, which was itself in the poo (Forgive me this crude pun for I can't resist) too many other aspects of government delivery was going down the toilet (probably of the 'open air' persuation as seen in Makhaza). But is Sexwale truly, genuinely willing to get his hands dirty in fixing the problems, remains to be seen?
Cynically his words became a quote-a-minute, replete with drama, dressed up in his characteristic baritone voice delivering scenes of future-case scenarios dripping in dystopianism, which, some would argue (most of them from within the belly of that beast the ANC) amount to nothing more than surreptitious campaigning. But cynicism (mine included) aside, his reflections on how dysfunctional government has become was refreshing.
"Something is simmering that we must be able to take action to address so that we don't have other Marikanas," warned Sexwale, a remark almost certain to be included in quotable quotes of the week. Soon his 'home truths' as he put it, started looking like a State of the Nation in reverse. I say this because when presidents usual deliver their (executive) summaries of the state of a country, excpect flowery quotes, saccharine obsequiousness, mangled rationality and mind0numding rhetoric. Want to hear some more of Sexwale's topsy-turvy SONA? He had loads more to say. "The Marikanas will keep on repeating themselves over and over until we crumble," the wannabe Commander-in Chief lamented. I scanned the braordroom for signs of life in MPs as Sexwale spilled over with uncomfortable honesty. A stifled cringe appeared on the face of one member (was it the tuna croissant which didn't sitting well?). Reporters smiled, excited by the quality of the quotes which could jostle and compete for paper space (if Julius Malema could keep his trap shut long enough not to steal the limelight). Most listened in genuine rapt attention. Sexwale had them. His 'home truths' were seeming more like a backdrop to a president in waiting, a leader (of sorts) flexing his muscles in the run up to (can you guess?) Mangaung.
From Marikana to the arms deal, Sexwale deftly drew parallels between how wrong the State can get it and how it needs to find direction. Was he the captain who was going to steer the ship back onto course? "It has come back to haunt us (the arms deal). It has caused such a lot of disquiet," he fretted. He added, "If you think it is disassociated from the problem (of sanitation provision problems) you'd be wrong." He went on to virtually wail if only a quarter of the money spent on the abortion of an arms deal was spent on things like housing for the poor we wouldn't have the problems we see today. Half an hour passed and Sexwale was still not done, sketching a country in distress. His intention was by that stage very clear - He was coming to save South Africa. "To Blame Apartheid is no longer wisdom," he said, "it's gone, the task now rests with us." Virtually everything he said could be applied to some aspect of the country's woes. From housing, and sanitation, to service protests and strikes Tokyo was laying it out - an uncomfortable scenario of government failures, set against the shading of a presidential campaign race.
His campaign for the heart, soul and small intestine of the ANC of course didn't start in that committee room in parliament last Friday. Tokyo has been eyeing the leadership of the ruling party and by proxy the country for years. I recall in the run up to the ANC's Polokwane conference Sexwale addressed students in Johannesburg, where he let rip with the usual politicking, complete with promises of delivery, assurances of not rocking the boat with radical policy changes and views on how things would be awesome and amazing if only he was the boss. We know how that turned out for him and now he's having another bite. Was it Tokyo's Mangaung Campaign Version 2.0 we witnessed in parliament last Friday? Methinks, absolutely!
As he hammered home 'home truths' as a backdrop to the release of the findings of a sanitation audit carried out my a ministerial task team. A more apt setting one would struggle to find! Like the provision of basic sanitation needs for the poor, which was itself in the poo (Forgive me this crude pun for I can't resist) too many other aspects of government delivery was going down the toilet (probably of the 'open air' persuation as seen in Makhaza). But is Sexwale truly, genuinely willing to get his hands dirty in fixing the problems, remains to be seen?
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
How being Right can be so wrong.
I'm prone to cringing easily. I cringe at the sight of blood. I crumple my face amid cigarette smoke. The retching reflex, with its accompanying wince, is reserved for body odours and halitosis. For me to witness someone spitting, for example, is like watching a dog defecate as I eat: that's how yuck it is to me and how flawlessly and effortlessly I pull my face in horror in the presence of such uncouth behaviour. In Afrikaans - that language so filled with expression - there's a perfect word for my response to all things yucky - 'gril'. I struggle to find the appropriate English equivalent, safe to say cringe would be in the same linguisitic neighbourhood as gril. Although given the topic of this column, the unofficial Afrikaans idiomatic extension of 'gril' goes like this: Ek gril myself dood (I cringe myself to death), is apt. TV news has at times in recent weeks been dominated by the far right. From the sentencing of the Boeremag treason trialists to the sentencing of Chris Mahlangu, the convicted killer of the Grandaddy of South Africa's extreme right wing, Eugene Terre'Blanche, I've been confronted with what seems bizarrely frequent lapses in intelligence(not mine, let me emphasise) compliments of this shrunken sector of our society - the White far right.
At each of Mahlangu's court appearances the AWB roadshow pulled into town; over-utilised khakis, scuffed veldskoene, molested swastikas, nicotine stained teeth (those left in their mouths) and menacing sjamboks on full show. They belched out Die Stem, proclaimed their (mental) 'independence' from the rest of the country (and their senses), snarled, threatened and called for white supremacists to rise up against their black oppressors (I warned you of the momentary lapses of intelligence) to avenge the murder of their leader. I gril and cringe, hurl my body across rooms and hang my lilly-white head; not so much in shame, but in embarressment; for these buffoons. Yes, I said 'embarressment' because I share their hue of skin colour and feel they paint the rest of us sane white people much like a 2-year-old would finger paint - badly.
I share some strains of Afrikaans-ness too. But the good kind, the progressive kind, which sees the language and it's culture as forward-looking and an integral part of the nation's diversity. Right wingers do nothing to promote the culture they so dearly cherish and want to preserve. They damage, harass, molest and deform it with their brawling mentality of intolerance.
As a white South African, I can't hide from racism and it's beefy, ugly cousin the right wing. However, I have become inured to the mindlessness of racism, but remain acutely aware of how shameful I feel at times when having to witness the likes of the late Terre'Blanche's ilk
I try to meander towards diplomacy in describing this bunch, but can't seem to find a delicate way in addressing how absolutely moronic these people are.
With his beer boep seaping from his khaki cargo pants, a bearded right winger paraded outside the court where Mahlangu was sentenced with a black doll, a noose around its neck. I laughed. Not at the poor attempt at disparaging black people, but at the 'mean' face this individual put on as he virtually goose-stepped his way further into studpidity, his misplaced seriousness never once falling from his face. You see, that man is proud. Not of his Afrikaans heritage, but of his mindset. He's proud that he can hate, not just black people, but Jews, Indians, the British, in fact anyone who doesn't share his pea-brained approach to the world. That would include me, a white, non-believer, with an English tongue and adequately English skin so petrified of the sun. I don't even know this moron (wouldn't want to meet him anyway). I can say, however, if I ever had to cross his path, he'd probably pour the same amount of scorn on me as he would on a black person because I'm nothing like him. In other words, I can sing the whole of Nkosi Sikilele, indigenous languages and all. I have been known to wave a South African flag (the 'new' one) when struck by bouts of patriotism. Hey, I even have black friends so obviously I can't be racist (chuckle and chortle). I share only a skin colour with this man and related types. I'm grateful the similarities stop there.
I'm equally elated that I don't share a mindset with the ailing right wing of this country in the face of further examples of just how idiotic and embaressing they can be.Let me remind you of the time Andre Visagie, the former mouthpiece of that laughable minority of the 'militant 'backward, the AWB, tried to touch an eTV anchor, famously 'on his studio'. It was like an abdurd parade of uncomfortable intolerance, even with hints of deeply repressed homo-eroticism (By this, I refer to the khaki-clad youth who stoned onto the TV set to back up Visagie. It just seemed rather camp to me.) These white supremacists, so backed into their corners and besieged by their narrow-mindedness and perceived 'swart gevare', deal with reality much like a toddler does - by throwing tantrums and gurgling out threats made incomprehensible by myopic rage. Another far more brutal reminder of how right wingers and racists deal with societal differences comes in the form of a Muslim man being beaten to death allegedly by white men, all because he dared to challenge them over apparent derogatory comments about his beard. I cringe and sink my head into my hands. The extreme right will always resort to violence to literally hammer home their views. Such militancy knows not to look to intellect so as to make an informed point.. This form of militancy is shared by the the likes of Julius Malema and Co. Yes they occupy the furthest point of the political continuum far away the right. But Malema seems to only know how to spew anger, hatred and intolerance, much like white right wingers.
As for the Boeremag, well, where do a begin with this grouping of the more militant-minded morons of the wing to the far right. I recall vividly running across Soweto covering their infamous attempt at insurrection in 2002. Once it emerged it was a right wing plot, my mouth fell open, my eyes balooned from my skull. Was I really covering a real right wing attempt to overthrow a democratic government in South Africa in the 21st Century? Indeed I was. For a decade the Boeremag saga dragged on in court, showcasing the desperation of a super-tiny minority, it's brain so addled with religious fervor and misplaced anger towards, not just black people, but anyone who didn't talk, think and behave like it. The devil lay in the details that emerged during the sentencing of the plotters. They wanted to do away with the Rand, replacing it with a currency called the Veld. They were going to send black people packing out of the country. As for the pesky white liberals, well, they were going to be deployed to clean up informal settlements. The madness kept coming. And the intelligent of the country kept roaring with laughter.
I can't help but laugh when confronted, even indirectly, with right wingers. Half the reason I can chortle to myself is because I'm relieved I'm not one of them. Yet at times I find myself cackling and 'grilling myself dood', with hints of nervousness because I realise such types do exist and do have a minuscule of an ability to brainwash others into their downgraded mindset, in turn perpetuating stupidity and further ensuring my gril-reflex (much like a gag-reflex) stays intact.
At each of Mahlangu's court appearances the AWB roadshow pulled into town; over-utilised khakis, scuffed veldskoene, molested swastikas, nicotine stained teeth (those left in their mouths) and menacing sjamboks on full show. They belched out Die Stem, proclaimed their (mental) 'independence' from the rest of the country (and their senses), snarled, threatened and called for white supremacists to rise up against their black oppressors (I warned you of the momentary lapses of intelligence) to avenge the murder of their leader. I gril and cringe, hurl my body across rooms and hang my lilly-white head; not so much in shame, but in embarressment; for these buffoons. Yes, I said 'embarressment' because I share their hue of skin colour and feel they paint the rest of us sane white people much like a 2-year-old would finger paint - badly.
I share some strains of Afrikaans-ness too. But the good kind, the progressive kind, which sees the language and it's culture as forward-looking and an integral part of the nation's diversity. Right wingers do nothing to promote the culture they so dearly cherish and want to preserve. They damage, harass, molest and deform it with their brawling mentality of intolerance.
As a white South African, I can't hide from racism and it's beefy, ugly cousin the right wing. However, I have become inured to the mindlessness of racism, but remain acutely aware of how shameful I feel at times when having to witness the likes of the late Terre'Blanche's ilk
I try to meander towards diplomacy in describing this bunch, but can't seem to find a delicate way in addressing how absolutely moronic these people are.
With his beer boep seaping from his khaki cargo pants, a bearded right winger paraded outside the court where Mahlangu was sentenced with a black doll, a noose around its neck. I laughed. Not at the poor attempt at disparaging black people, but at the 'mean' face this individual put on as he virtually goose-stepped his way further into studpidity, his misplaced seriousness never once falling from his face. You see, that man is proud. Not of his Afrikaans heritage, but of his mindset. He's proud that he can hate, not just black people, but Jews, Indians, the British, in fact anyone who doesn't share his pea-brained approach to the world. That would include me, a white, non-believer, with an English tongue and adequately English skin so petrified of the sun. I don't even know this moron (wouldn't want to meet him anyway). I can say, however, if I ever had to cross his path, he'd probably pour the same amount of scorn on me as he would on a black person because I'm nothing like him. In other words, I can sing the whole of Nkosi Sikilele, indigenous languages and all. I have been known to wave a South African flag (the 'new' one) when struck by bouts of patriotism. Hey, I even have black friends so obviously I can't be racist (chuckle and chortle). I share only a skin colour with this man and related types. I'm grateful the similarities stop there.
I'm equally elated that I don't share a mindset with the ailing right wing of this country in the face of further examples of just how idiotic and embaressing they can be.Let me remind you of the time Andre Visagie, the former mouthpiece of that laughable minority of the 'militant 'backward, the AWB, tried to touch an eTV anchor, famously 'on his studio'. It was like an abdurd parade of uncomfortable intolerance, even with hints of deeply repressed homo-eroticism (By this, I refer to the khaki-clad youth who stoned onto the TV set to back up Visagie. It just seemed rather camp to me.) These white supremacists, so backed into their corners and besieged by their narrow-mindedness and perceived 'swart gevare', deal with reality much like a toddler does - by throwing tantrums and gurgling out threats made incomprehensible by myopic rage. Another far more brutal reminder of how right wingers and racists deal with societal differences comes in the form of a Muslim man being beaten to death allegedly by white men, all because he dared to challenge them over apparent derogatory comments about his beard. I cringe and sink my head into my hands. The extreme right will always resort to violence to literally hammer home their views. Such militancy knows not to look to intellect so as to make an informed point.. This form of militancy is shared by the the likes of Julius Malema and Co. Yes they occupy the furthest point of the political continuum far away the right. But Malema seems to only know how to spew anger, hatred and intolerance, much like white right wingers.
As for the Boeremag, well, where do a begin with this grouping of the more militant-minded morons of the wing to the far right. I recall vividly running across Soweto covering their infamous attempt at insurrection in 2002. Once it emerged it was a right wing plot, my mouth fell open, my eyes balooned from my skull. Was I really covering a real right wing attempt to overthrow a democratic government in South Africa in the 21st Century? Indeed I was. For a decade the Boeremag saga dragged on in court, showcasing the desperation of a super-tiny minority, it's brain so addled with religious fervor and misplaced anger towards, not just black people, but anyone who didn't talk, think and behave like it. The devil lay in the details that emerged during the sentencing of the plotters. They wanted to do away with the Rand, replacing it with a currency called the Veld. They were going to send black people packing out of the country. As for the pesky white liberals, well, they were going to be deployed to clean up informal settlements. The madness kept coming. And the intelligent of the country kept roaring with laughter.
I can't help but laugh when confronted, even indirectly, with right wingers. Half the reason I can chortle to myself is because I'm relieved I'm not one of them. Yet at times I find myself cackling and 'grilling myself dood', with hints of nervousness because I realise such types do exist and do have a minuscule of an ability to brainwash others into their downgraded mindset, in turn perpetuating stupidity and further ensuring my gril-reflex (much like a gag-reflex) stays intact.
Friday, August 17, 2012
The Tragedy of Blaming
The dust has settled. The blood has congealed, the bodies stiffened into a grisly suspended animation, rigor mortis concluded amid wailing and tears. The cordons are in place, the investigators are on the ground now scouring and probing. And the questions swirl, boil and fly; the answers... may never be provided. As the country takes a step back from the battlefield that was a dust bowl of a piece of the veld, lost in the nebulous, brown, winter-killed geography of the North-West province, we now turn to pontification and analysis. Many don't have that luxury of building up some distance between emotions and reality, and must confront the unbridled bloodshed. Others will turn away, flinch when visuals of the shooting unfolding appear on before them. We will for months, years be dwelling, recalling and analysing the events of the 16th of August 2012, when a scene harrowingly similar to so many which unfolded in blood under apartheid, left a nation stunned.
I won't put the spotlight on what many have labelled a massacre. The blinding light has been there for days and won't move for many more to come. I want to look at what is now just a fraction of this tragedy - the role trade unions have played. Over the past few years, it's become a trademark (I want to say an ugly, disfiguring characteristic , but choose to temper myself) of trade unions in South Africa to, like many ordinary citizens, choose to look at others to blame for their negligence, arrogance and mistakes. Many unions seem to only be able to accuse others and clamour for denials whenever their members and workers resort to chaos. Never shall they realise 3 fingers point back at them each time they shift the blame, usually in a cringing desultory manner, onto others.
Take the security guard strike several years back where people hurled from trains if they were found not to be part of the industrial action; where for months non-striking guards dressed in 'civvies' when going to work for fear their uniforms will give them away to the grabbing hands of striking colleagues, deranged and hungry for some kind of skewed, misguided vengeance. When strikers in SATAWU garb during that very same industrial action ran amok in city centers, their leaders didn't even bother to stick their heads in the ground. They'd witness the rampage and then move on, all the while denying it could be their own members. I struggle to recall any violent strike-related protest march where the relevant union leaders have actually acknowledged their members could've, just maybe possibly been a party to mayhem. "It's not our members", I'd hear union bosses belch when asked to comment on strike-related unrest. Almost always they blame 'criminal elements' who have infiltrated their ranks to foment and stir up trouble.
Having covered more than a few violent demonstrations associated with strikes, I've seen with my own eyes union members smashing, beating, trashing, stoning, hurling and threatening their way through marches; hammering home their points and demands in mindless, anarchistic fashion. Never once have I heard a unionist admit their own are involved, even when evidence is provided. It's a foreign concept to our unions, where admitting to being in the wrong is substituted with an arrogant, bombastic stance akin to a Mugabe-esque scenario of blind drunk power infatuation.
In interviews, at press conferences the bosses reiterate, often clumsily, "It wasn't us." And that's that. The rest of their poorly formulated arguments result in nothing more but an abuse on common-sense, intelligence and rationality.
Even in the days leading up the Marikana travesty, the two unions involved in the mess, NUM and AMCU, played the blame game down to the first bullet that was fired. In the wake of the tragedy, I still don't see any remarks which even vaguely indicate the two labour movements could've handled the matter better. Yes, some union officials did try to defuse the tensions, all in vain. But still, no acceptance that perhaps, just maybe they are partly to blame. How? The answer is as complicated and murky as the circumstances around the shooting. But it is still evident. The rival unions seemed to have spent more time blaming each other than trying to call negotiations, where a 'truce' could've been agreed to. Negotiations are certainly not foreign to unions. Yet the accusations flew, far away from negotiating tables. The two groupings seemed far more interested in calling press conferences where the blame-game continued and posturing contorted into disproportion rather than adopting a rational approach devoid of finger-pointing. Maybe it wouldn't have helped, talking and negotiating. Maybe I'm being too idealistic and optimistic to think that the country's labour movement is mature and well versed enough in obviating calamities. THey are far more eager to call strikes, 5to throw petrol onto fires, to grandstand and flex their muscles.
I believe at Marikana NUM and AMCU did just that - they aggravated an already dangerous situation, when they should've been more assiduous in talking to members and to each other.
Unions are often accused of being too powerful in this country. They could've used their power for good or at least to mitigate a disaster, which has become a blight on SA. 'The psychology of the mob' as one analyst has put it, did take over at Marikana. That and a healthy dose of madness. However, as quickly as the police are being blamed by some for being too trigger happy, the country must now turn to NUM and AMCU, not to necessarily only blame them for not taking a more responsible approach, but also to ask: Was the the posturing and the arguing worth it now that 34 people are dead?
I won't put the spotlight on what many have labelled a massacre. The blinding light has been there for days and won't move for many more to come. I want to look at what is now just a fraction of this tragedy - the role trade unions have played. Over the past few years, it's become a trademark (I want to say an ugly, disfiguring characteristic , but choose to temper myself) of trade unions in South Africa to, like many ordinary citizens, choose to look at others to blame for their negligence, arrogance and mistakes. Many unions seem to only be able to accuse others and clamour for denials whenever their members and workers resort to chaos. Never shall they realise 3 fingers point back at them each time they shift the blame, usually in a cringing desultory manner, onto others.
Take the security guard strike several years back where people hurled from trains if they were found not to be part of the industrial action; where for months non-striking guards dressed in 'civvies' when going to work for fear their uniforms will give them away to the grabbing hands of striking colleagues, deranged and hungry for some kind of skewed, misguided vengeance. When strikers in SATAWU garb during that very same industrial action ran amok in city centers, their leaders didn't even bother to stick their heads in the ground. They'd witness the rampage and then move on, all the while denying it could be their own members. I struggle to recall any violent strike-related protest march where the relevant union leaders have actually acknowledged their members could've, just maybe possibly been a party to mayhem. "It's not our members", I'd hear union bosses belch when asked to comment on strike-related unrest. Almost always they blame 'criminal elements' who have infiltrated their ranks to foment and stir up trouble.
Having covered more than a few violent demonstrations associated with strikes, I've seen with my own eyes union members smashing, beating, trashing, stoning, hurling and threatening their way through marches; hammering home their points and demands in mindless, anarchistic fashion. Never once have I heard a unionist admit their own are involved, even when evidence is provided. It's a foreign concept to our unions, where admitting to being in the wrong is substituted with an arrogant, bombastic stance akin to a Mugabe-esque scenario of blind drunk power infatuation.
In interviews, at press conferences the bosses reiterate, often clumsily, "It wasn't us." And that's that. The rest of their poorly formulated arguments result in nothing more but an abuse on common-sense, intelligence and rationality.
Even in the days leading up the Marikana travesty, the two unions involved in the mess, NUM and AMCU, played the blame game down to the first bullet that was fired. In the wake of the tragedy, I still don't see any remarks which even vaguely indicate the two labour movements could've handled the matter better. Yes, some union officials did try to defuse the tensions, all in vain. But still, no acceptance that perhaps, just maybe they are partly to blame. How? The answer is as complicated and murky as the circumstances around the shooting. But it is still evident. The rival unions seemed to have spent more time blaming each other than trying to call negotiations, where a 'truce' could've been agreed to. Negotiations are certainly not foreign to unions. Yet the accusations flew, far away from negotiating tables. The two groupings seemed far more interested in calling press conferences where the blame-game continued and posturing contorted into disproportion rather than adopting a rational approach devoid of finger-pointing. Maybe it wouldn't have helped, talking and negotiating. Maybe I'm being too idealistic and optimistic to think that the country's labour movement is mature and well versed enough in obviating calamities. THey are far more eager to call strikes, 5to throw petrol onto fires, to grandstand and flex their muscles.
I believe at Marikana NUM and AMCU did just that - they aggravated an already dangerous situation, when they should've been more assiduous in talking to members and to each other.
Unions are often accused of being too powerful in this country. They could've used their power for good or at least to mitigate a disaster, which has become a blight on SA. 'The psychology of the mob' as one analyst has put it, did take over at Marikana. That and a healthy dose of madness. However, as quickly as the police are being blamed by some for being too trigger happy, the country must now turn to NUM and AMCU, not to necessarily only blame them for not taking a more responsible approach, but also to ask: Was the the posturing and the arguing worth it now that 34 people are dead?
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Mirror, Mirror on the wall...
As bizarre as it is to continually have to hear and grudgingly abide the ANC and its playgroup, the Youth League, in the Western Cape keep insisting in orotund, asinine and chest-beating ways, that they will make the province 'ungovernable.' (I temporarily place the word in brackets for loss of a grip on reality in trying to determine how to interpret this intelligently). All this because the party is; rightfully so actually; frustrated and annoyed over poor service delivery in Cape townships. Nowhere in the country's nine provinces and more than 200 municipalities would even the most assiduous investigative reporter, researcher and opposition party spin doctor find a perfect delivery of services. In fact, I suggest (boldly!) that we do away with the word 'perfect' altogether, strike if from the vocabulary of local government and substitute it with a more real word, like 'satisfactory'.
Things are far from where they should ideally be in Cape Town and the Western Cape, much like the rest of the country. Poverty seethes and grows healthily in the form beggars, homeless people, street urchins and engulfing and townships looming on the fringes of the 'leafy, white suburbs' (as the ANCYL so ineloquently defines them). A personal example, down the street from my apartment in Woodstock, itself one of the Mother City's more salt-of-the-earth neighbourhood, there's proper, real life, patch of poverty - a grouping of shacks and wendyhouses, slap-bang in the middle of this fast gentrifying suburb. So believe you me, I am regularly reminded of that grim reality of penury shared by millions and how lucky I am to have evaded similar circumstances..
But why of lordy why doesn't the ANC, which (mis)rules the Eastern Cape, a close, uncomfortable neighbour of Zillestan (that now cliched mocking conflation of the Western Cape and its feisty premier, Hellen Zille often employed in public speeches by tripartite alliance leaders) kick up a bit of a fuss and a huff over the seemingly never-ending deterioration of even the most basic of services in that province? Why don't they also resolve; as the party in the Western Cape has - to evaluate all ANC councillors and members of the provincial legislature to gauge their performance - a refreshingly concrete, constructive way to try and improve service provision and, of course not to forget that other cynical ulterior motive, to win back the Cape come the next elections. Why can't the ANC kindergarteners, who liberally puff out their chests and threateningly whine over inadequate service delivery in the Cape, also turn the mirror on the Eastern Cape, where surely that dire state the region finds itself imprisoned in will stare miserably straight back at them? Why not threaten to make that province ungovernable too, if your real concerns are over service delivery and not winning that perpetual political-football game that is the Western Cape.
Week after week newsrooms are bombarded with tales of woe when it comes to the Western Cape's eastern 'bumpkin' cousin and its emaciated condition. Yet no protest marches are being rustled and bussed in by the ruling ANC in the province to the local legislature to issue ultimatums, lists of grievances and memoranda of demands, all of which can be summed up in one blustering, over-inflated threat by the League as "Or else we'll make the province ungovernable!" Could this lack of a backlash by the League there be because just maybe it's too embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed, of the abysmal state of the Eastern Cape? Maybe it's because the League daren't adjust the mirror too much for fear of accidentally focusing squarely on the ANC and how it can't seem to rehabilitate the province? The true reflection would be too ugly a sight for the League to bare.
A rare exception to the above-illustrated hypocrisy of the ANCYL, is the body's Limpopo branch actually taking a stand on a service delivery dilemma there by speaking out over the textbook dumping scandal. The League has spoken in angry tones on the fiasco, but as far as I can determine it has never once threatened Cassel Mathale's administration with tantrum-moans of making Limpopo 'ungovernable' because of poor delivery. Nope, there too is a truth perhaps just a bit too sore to endure. And so the ANCYL clumsily and conveniently avoids provinces where the burning issues of rolling out services are as ugly as can be seen in the Cape, where the DA does makes mistakes. But rarely without the ANC doing the same and in some cases makes uglier mistakes.
Things are far from where they should ideally be in Cape Town and the Western Cape, much like the rest of the country. Poverty seethes and grows healthily in the form beggars, homeless people, street urchins and engulfing and townships looming on the fringes of the 'leafy, white suburbs' (as the ANCYL so ineloquently defines them). A personal example, down the street from my apartment in Woodstock, itself one of the Mother City's more salt-of-the-earth neighbourhood, there's proper, real life, patch of poverty - a grouping of shacks and wendyhouses, slap-bang in the middle of this fast gentrifying suburb. So believe you me, I am regularly reminded of that grim reality of penury shared by millions and how lucky I am to have evaded similar circumstances..
But why of lordy why doesn't the ANC, which (mis)rules the Eastern Cape, a close, uncomfortable neighbour of Zillestan (that now cliched mocking conflation of the Western Cape and its feisty premier, Hellen Zille often employed in public speeches by tripartite alliance leaders) kick up a bit of a fuss and a huff over the seemingly never-ending deterioration of even the most basic of services in that province? Why don't they also resolve; as the party in the Western Cape has - to evaluate all ANC councillors and members of the provincial legislature to gauge their performance - a refreshingly concrete, constructive way to try and improve service provision and, of course not to forget that other cynical ulterior motive, to win back the Cape come the next elections. Why can't the ANC kindergarteners, who liberally puff out their chests and threateningly whine over inadequate service delivery in the Cape, also turn the mirror on the Eastern Cape, where surely that dire state the region finds itself imprisoned in will stare miserably straight back at them? Why not threaten to make that province ungovernable too, if your real concerns are over service delivery and not winning that perpetual political-football game that is the Western Cape.
Week after week newsrooms are bombarded with tales of woe when it comes to the Western Cape's eastern 'bumpkin' cousin and its emaciated condition. Yet no protest marches are being rustled and bussed in by the ruling ANC in the province to the local legislature to issue ultimatums, lists of grievances and memoranda of demands, all of which can be summed up in one blustering, over-inflated threat by the League as "Or else we'll make the province ungovernable!" Could this lack of a backlash by the League there be because just maybe it's too embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed, of the abysmal state of the Eastern Cape? Maybe it's because the League daren't adjust the mirror too much for fear of accidentally focusing squarely on the ANC and how it can't seem to rehabilitate the province? The true reflection would be too ugly a sight for the League to bare.
A rare exception to the above-illustrated hypocrisy of the ANCYL, is the body's Limpopo branch actually taking a stand on a service delivery dilemma there by speaking out over the textbook dumping scandal. The League has spoken in angry tones on the fiasco, but as far as I can determine it has never once threatened Cassel Mathale's administration with tantrum-moans of making Limpopo 'ungovernable' because of poor delivery. Nope, there too is a truth perhaps just a bit too sore to endure. And so the ANCYL clumsily and conveniently avoids provinces where the burning issues of rolling out services are as ugly as can be seen in the Cape, where the DA does makes mistakes. But rarely without the ANC doing the same and in some cases makes uglier mistakes.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Let the Games begin!
We may be kicking and stroking our way to gold in a few events at the London Olympic Games, but I doubt we'll be able to score the 12 medals SASCOC has so over-optimistically set out to achieve (or am I'm being just too pessimistic?). Never fear. As a country, we have excelled in other areas and activities, mostly of them seemingly of the non-sporting persuasion, yet executed with such precision and perfection, in such glorious, awe-inspiring fashion and technique many of us are self-proclaimed Olympians in our own right; even if it's not at the traditional Olympics or in the form of any recognised activity.
Take corruption. In the alternative Olympics of a parallel netherworld a Team SA of some kind would soar to victory, breaking records aplenty along the way. The arenas and venues would be the seats of power such as Parliament and the Union Buildings. The competitors? These would be drawn from the growing masses of politicians, those paragons of futility, the almost-but-not-quite athletes who have broken too many records to count in the field of graft. These Games are not limited to just politicians. Of course in the spirit of the Olympics, everyday Joe and Jane Nobodies also compete. This sport involves different styles. There's Stealing, Cheating, Lying and Back-stabbing. Excel in these and you not only become the champion of the world, but also impressively wealthy. The stock standard commentary would go something like this: And off they go! In lane one we have MP Steel off to a great start, edging into the lead. In lane two Tender Preneur has taken up second position followed by Eets Miright and I.M Fatcat, who are fast gaining ground... You see where I'm going with this.
The criteria of this lesser-known sporting spectacle would differ greatly from the authentic Games where traditional athletes exert immense displays of power and talent and sporting prowess. The most obvious and common criteria for, shall we dub them the Parallel Olympics, is power. But it wouldn't be gauged, recorded, timed and measured along the same lines as the real Olympics, where power is usually seen in how fast one can run, how high you can jump, how often you can achieve victory. To win, competitors are expected to gain as much power as possible, by any means necessary.
The Parallel Olympics would showcase sports, which have never enjoyed the glamour and adoration showered on the traditional events of the real Olympics the world has come to know. Nonetheless, the events are taken as seriously as other perplexing activities like jukskei, handball and curling.
Take the event of Sitting Around. On the surface it's a pointless challenge to the untrained, unappreciative eye. The aim: To simply out-sit your competitors and excel in doing as little as possible. Judges take into account posture and sitting styles. The crossing of legs and folding of arms are all considered and scored. MPs seem to excel in this, putting on impressive displays of indifference and sloth, all of which add to the scoring.Where would professional Sitters train? Parliament is the main training ground, but only for those competitors of the advantaged kind, who've been able to have their training professionally funded (often in surreptitious, dubious ways) and overseen. Other competitors are found all around us, on the sides of roads and streets, where they languish on their backsides, waiting for jobs, brandishing cardboard signs pleading for donations and employment. In informal settlements - where so-called 'Development Training Programmes' are being rolled out - the disadvantaged have been hard at 'work' for years training, honing their talent at sitting and waiting.
Many South Africans excel at the often-overlooked sport of Object Throwing. Again the roads and streets of everyday society serves as the training venues for these sportspeople. At the Parallel Olympics contestants compete in rounds where different projectiles must be hurled as far as possible. First, a stone must be thrown at a moving target (usually a person resembling a police officer or a vehicle). Secondly, the highly technical Petrol Bomb throwing event is judged on how competitors ignite Molotov cocktails. They must then ensure the incendiary projectile is successfully thrown without going out. They are scored on distance thrown and whether the projectile ignites after making contact with a target.
Another sorely ignored activity, which has is origins in Object Throwing is Protesto-Police Wrestling. The aim of the game is for a competitor to try and avoid fellow contestants who must catch them. The ensuing flinging, contorting, slipping, flipping, arching and flailing (all of theses are actual positions/techniques used in the sport) are scored along strict criteria, which is itself based on the ultimate goal of avoiding being pinned down and 'apprehended'.
Substance Consumption has become a hugely popular event in SA, but also the most dangerous. The objective entails contestants consuming as much alcohol as possible during certain time periods. They are scored on this and how they conduct themselves behind the wheel of a vehicle. The finesse in the swerving, and jumping of lanes and stop streets serve as hotly contested criteria. Contestants must then alight from their vehicles and try to convince judges they are intoxicated, all the while ensuring they hide the slurring, the red eyes and mask the stench of booze.
While the Parallell Olympics may not have superceded the hype and popularity of the real Olympic Games, you'll find it's far more accessible to the every-person, with many of us striving, battling, exerting ourselves to mind boggling degrees to become the best. Some of us are already professional Parallelympians, we just don't know it.
Take corruption. In the alternative Olympics of a parallel netherworld a Team SA of some kind would soar to victory, breaking records aplenty along the way. The arenas and venues would be the seats of power such as Parliament and the Union Buildings. The competitors? These would be drawn from the growing masses of politicians, those paragons of futility, the almost-but-not-quite athletes who have broken too many records to count in the field of graft. These Games are not limited to just politicians. Of course in the spirit of the Olympics, everyday Joe and Jane Nobodies also compete. This sport involves different styles. There's Stealing, Cheating, Lying and Back-stabbing. Excel in these and you not only become the champion of the world, but also impressively wealthy. The stock standard commentary would go something like this: And off they go! In lane one we have MP Steel off to a great start, edging into the lead. In lane two Tender Preneur has taken up second position followed by Eets Miright and I.M Fatcat, who are fast gaining ground... You see where I'm going with this.
The criteria of this lesser-known sporting spectacle would differ greatly from the authentic Games where traditional athletes exert immense displays of power and talent and sporting prowess. The most obvious and common criteria for, shall we dub them the Parallel Olympics, is power. But it wouldn't be gauged, recorded, timed and measured along the same lines as the real Olympics, where power is usually seen in how fast one can run, how high you can jump, how often you can achieve victory. To win, competitors are expected to gain as much power as possible, by any means necessary.
The Parallel Olympics would showcase sports, which have never enjoyed the glamour and adoration showered on the traditional events of the real Olympics the world has come to know. Nonetheless, the events are taken as seriously as other perplexing activities like jukskei, handball and curling.
Take the event of Sitting Around. On the surface it's a pointless challenge to the untrained, unappreciative eye. The aim: To simply out-sit your competitors and excel in doing as little as possible. Judges take into account posture and sitting styles. The crossing of legs and folding of arms are all considered and scored. MPs seem to excel in this, putting on impressive displays of indifference and sloth, all of which add to the scoring.Where would professional Sitters train? Parliament is the main training ground, but only for those competitors of the advantaged kind, who've been able to have their training professionally funded (often in surreptitious, dubious ways) and overseen. Other competitors are found all around us, on the sides of roads and streets, where they languish on their backsides, waiting for jobs, brandishing cardboard signs pleading for donations and employment. In informal settlements - where so-called 'Development Training Programmes' are being rolled out - the disadvantaged have been hard at 'work' for years training, honing their talent at sitting and waiting.
Many South Africans excel at the often-overlooked sport of Object Throwing. Again the roads and streets of everyday society serves as the training venues for these sportspeople. At the Parallel Olympics contestants compete in rounds where different projectiles must be hurled as far as possible. First, a stone must be thrown at a moving target (usually a person resembling a police officer or a vehicle). Secondly, the highly technical Petrol Bomb throwing event is judged on how competitors ignite Molotov cocktails. They must then ensure the incendiary projectile is successfully thrown without going out. They are scored on distance thrown and whether the projectile ignites after making contact with a target.
Another sorely ignored activity, which has is origins in Object Throwing is Protesto-Police Wrestling. The aim of the game is for a competitor to try and avoid fellow contestants who must catch them. The ensuing flinging, contorting, slipping, flipping, arching and flailing (all of theses are actual positions/techniques used in the sport) are scored along strict criteria, which is itself based on the ultimate goal of avoiding being pinned down and 'apprehended'.
Substance Consumption has become a hugely popular event in SA, but also the most dangerous. The objective entails contestants consuming as much alcohol as possible during certain time periods. They are scored on this and how they conduct themselves behind the wheel of a vehicle. The finesse in the swerving, and jumping of lanes and stop streets serve as hotly contested criteria. Contestants must then alight from their vehicles and try to convince judges they are intoxicated, all the while ensuring they hide the slurring, the red eyes and mask the stench of booze.
While the Parallell Olympics may not have superceded the hype and popularity of the real Olympic Games, you'll find it's far more accessible to the every-person, with many of us striving, battling, exerting ourselves to mind boggling degrees to become the best. Some of us are already professional Parallelympians, we just don't know it.
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