A Congolese guy I work with became incensed recently when someone asked if he was Nigerian. The reason, he said, was because “Nigerians are thieves and drug dealers.” This got me thinking that modern-day racism is little more than a reaction to a stereotype. Saying that all Africans are criminals is blatantly and obviously racist, but seeing that a large majority of criminals are African is an observation – the inequality and poverty that is the legacy of Apartheid and colonialism is obviously to blame, but to the narrow mind these factors are always ignored.
Working with the principle of stereotypes fuelling racism we need to all become aware that our actions not only are a reflection of our character but also perpetuate the formation of our demographic’s stereotype.
Every time a white employer mistreats a black member of staff they add to the cliché of the greedy, exploitative, white capitalist. When an Al-Qaeda suicide bomber detonates in a shopping mall they reinforce the image of the Muslim religion’s bloodthirsty nature.
Loyiso Nkohle, ANCYL Dullah Omar regional secretary, says, “We are going to destroy everything and make the city ungovernable,” because of what they term a violation of Africans’ human rights. The fact that the people involved broke an agreement with the Democratic Alliance is a moot point. As is the opinion that because the Western Cape is the only province in South Africa not controlled by the ANC there is a heavy helping of grapes of the sour variety. This is not the first time an association affiliated with the ruling party has threatened violent action against the most beautiful province – the MK Vets vowed anarchy just because the DA won the province.
Irrespective of the details surrounding the situation, the ANCYL specifically and black people in general need to realise that the threat of destruction for any reason within the structures of a democracy does nothing but strengthen the racist stereotype that African politics is based on the principles of intimidation and violence; an opinion that has been perpetuated by so many African governments.
It is sad that we judge and are judged this way, but it is the unfortunate reality. There are so many vastly different cultures in South Africa, with so many generalisations forming the basis of our “knowledge” of these other cultures. Until we are educated differently to properly form an all-encompassing South African identity so we can stand as one it will continue to be this way.
Threats and action perpetuated by the ANC Youth League and their ilk can only derail our dream of a nation united.
Taking the Funnies too Seriously
Published in The Argus 26 May, 2010
Jonathan Shapiro, aka: Zapiro, is back in his comfort zone. His cartoon depicting the Prophet Mohammed reclining anxiously and lamenting his followers’ lack of a funny bone to a psychologist is mild by his standards. He draws the president of South Africa, Jacob Zuma, with a shower on his head. He showed Lady Justice about to be raped. In one cartoon he refers to the SA Catholic bishops as a bunch of “pricks”. This latest work seems toned down by comparison.
The cartoon, to be honest, isn’t all that funny. But I think Zapiro knows the brilliance in it is not the cartoon itself but what it will reveal. If you think about it, this is not an attack on the Prophet himself but rather a commentary on those who threaten or perpetrate acts of violence in his name; so is all the fuss really about the egos of those followers being called humourless or is it because Zapiro dared depict the Prophet? This looks like a convenient excuse for bruised pride.
If the Prophet were alive today would he be so sensitive about caricature or his picture being displayed? Would he get bodyguards to smash paparazzi’s cameras like so many celebrities? Or would he, in his magnanimous wisdom, let it slide?
Many Muslims and non-Muslims are of the opinion that the cartoon is insensitive and disrespectful. Insensitive, maybe. But disrespectful? Frankly, pointing out that a certain demographic get more than a mite tense about something is an observation that has nothing to do with respect for other people’s beliefs or lack thereof. Beliefs mean nothing, it is your actions that define you. And since when have Muslim countries shown respect for others’ beliefs? If the Muslim religion has a reputation for violent intolerance it has only itself to blame.
The fact is that people secure in the righteousness of their beliefs will take criticism in their stride. The legitimacy of these beliefs will not be strengthened by intimidation or censorship.
Just ask the Apartheid regime; they didn’t like Zapiro either.
The Wild Life of Hammy Houdini
I had a cat that would sit on the balcony every morning and watch the sunrise. A mate of mine’s dog barks angrily every time The Parlotones plays on the radio. And our Russian dwarf hamster Joost (pronounced by Lucy: Juice-st) has twice now escaped from his cage and disappeared for a day or two.
The first time he pushed the cage door open. We figured he must have had a right nose around because we found little hamster poos in every room. After a thorough search he was discovered under, of course the heaviest, couch in the front room.
Lucy started leaning objects too heavy for a hamster to move against the cage door. I suggested buying a padlock; that thin line between the sublime and the ridiculous.
Now even though we take him out of the cage often and let him bimble around you must understand that a hamster’s life is quite mundane. There’s only so far a running wheel can take you, and the conversation has to be pretty dry:
“So how was your day?”
“Eh.”
…
“I hear the Stormers are doing well this season…”
So it’s no surprise the little bugger found a way to break out again.
Lucy called me Wednesday night and said, “Nath, Joost ain’t in the cage. The door hasn’t been opened so I don’t know how he got out.”
“Oh well,” I sighed wisdomologically, “I’m sure we’ll find him somewhere.”
But we didn’t! He wasn’t under the bed, couches, I moved the frikken fridge and stove and he was nowhere to be found!
As an aside: Things in our house are prone to vanishing. It started with a packet of Chipniks that disappeared into thin air. Then the dvd remote in our bedroom mysteriously evaporated. We thought ghosts, or possibly alien investigating scientists, or even time travelling historians! The last straw was when my Sweetie Pie was gone from the fridge – there can’t be any other explanation.
I figured Joost must have squeezed through the bars (he’s not as much a fatsack as his cagemate, Julius), slipped under the front door (some rodents can flatten their bodies, dontcha know), and headed out into the big world to seek his fortune (which would probably amount to short stint as a Teazers’ bartender and then modest success as a continuity announcer on SABC).
Well, this is the scenario I posited to Lucy. What I really imagined was he’d run out the door to be devoured by the neighbour’s surly cat, Mogul. Or that the aliens had got him and were probing his small intestine.
Two days later Lucy and I get home from a bit of a bender after work. Lucy is sitting on the couch in the hallway while I’m making the tea and she hears a scratching coming from inside the couch. I lift it up and tear the bottom open to find Joost twitching his little, pink nose at me. He’s pale, traumatised, and when we put him back in the cage with Julius the fat bastard attacks him, piling up the trauma like pancakes on an American’s breakfast plate. They’re rolling around like furriness in a pinball machine. Trying to separate the two gets me a bleeding finger from Julius’ kung-fu death teeth, and I have to grab a tablespoon to separate them.
My theory is this: hamsters have got really tiny, Malema-sized brains (his name is Julius, coincidentally). Forty-eight hours without his buddy and he’s forgotten all about him. Maybe that’s the target market DStv’s going for, what with all the re-runs.
So now we’ve gone and had to buy another cage so we can sleep easy without worrying about waking up to a decapitated, half-eaten, very-much-dead hamster with the other one bathing in his blood. And we’re renaming Joost Indiana Jones and Julius possibly something like maybe Hannibal Lecter.
The first time he pushed the cage door open. We figured he must have had a right nose around because we found little hamster poos in every room. After a thorough search he was discovered under, of course the heaviest, couch in the front room.
Lucy started leaning objects too heavy for a hamster to move against the cage door. I suggested buying a padlock; that thin line between the sublime and the ridiculous.
Now even though we take him out of the cage often and let him bimble around you must understand that a hamster’s life is quite mundane. There’s only so far a running wheel can take you, and the conversation has to be pretty dry:
“So how was your day?”
“Eh.”
…
“I hear the Stormers are doing well this season…”
So it’s no surprise the little bugger found a way to break out again.
Lucy called me Wednesday night and said, “Nath, Joost ain’t in the cage. The door hasn’t been opened so I don’t know how he got out.”
“Oh well,” I sighed wisdomologically, “I’m sure we’ll find him somewhere.”
But we didn’t! He wasn’t under the bed, couches, I moved the frikken fridge and stove and he was nowhere to be found!
As an aside: Things in our house are prone to vanishing. It started with a packet of Chipniks that disappeared into thin air. Then the dvd remote in our bedroom mysteriously evaporated. We thought ghosts, or possibly alien investigating scientists, or even time travelling historians! The last straw was when my Sweetie Pie was gone from the fridge – there can’t be any other explanation.
I figured Joost must have squeezed through the bars (he’s not as much a fatsack as his cagemate, Julius), slipped under the front door (some rodents can flatten their bodies, dontcha know), and headed out into the big world to seek his fortune (which would probably amount to short stint as a Teazers’ bartender and then modest success as a continuity announcer on SABC).
Well, this is the scenario I posited to Lucy. What I really imagined was he’d run out the door to be devoured by the neighbour’s surly cat, Mogul. Or that the aliens had got him and were probing his small intestine.
Two days later Lucy and I get home from a bit of a bender after work. Lucy is sitting on the couch in the hallway while I’m making the tea and she hears a scratching coming from inside the couch. I lift it up and tear the bottom open to find Joost twitching his little, pink nose at me. He’s pale, traumatised, and when we put him back in the cage with Julius the fat bastard attacks him, piling up the trauma like pancakes on an American’s breakfast plate. They’re rolling around like furriness in a pinball machine. Trying to separate the two gets me a bleeding finger from Julius’ kung-fu death teeth, and I have to grab a tablespoon to separate them.
My theory is this: hamsters have got really tiny, Malema-sized brains (his name is Julius, coincidentally). Forty-eight hours without his buddy and he’s forgotten all about him. Maybe that’s the target market DStv’s going for, what with all the re-runs.
So now we’ve gone and had to buy another cage so we can sleep easy without worrying about waking up to a decapitated, half-eaten, very-much-dead hamster with the other one bathing in his blood. And we’re renaming Joost Indiana Jones and Julius possibly something like maybe Hannibal Lecter.
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