After a while you stop noticing the accents… and then you realise that you’re the one with the funny accent when a punter at the place you work smiles in that awkward way because they didn’t understand a word you just said but are politely humouring you.
Another barfly, after arguing vehemently that England have a better Rugby World Cup track record, change from aggravated to jolly when they realise that you’re actually not from New Zealand but South Africa.
Then they ask if you’re a “kaffir lover”.
You frown and tell them (as though you’re talking to a naughty child) how derogatory that word is, and about how much the Apartheid government fucked up your country, and most of the time they apologise or at least look incredibly sheepish.
I don’t think it’s a racist thing when they say it. Or at least not in any vindictive, aggressive way. It’s more like them trying to find some kind of connection. I can only imagine – because of the terrible attempt at an Afrikaans accent – that they watched Lethal Weapon 2 a few too many times and it’s all they really know about us.
What I’ve learned about people is that no matter how good they’ve got it they’ll find something to moan about. If it’s not the weather or the busses, it’s (believe it or not, fellow Saffers) taxi drivers.
Like the “poverty stricken” rioters in London (who organised their hijinks via Blackberry!!!) people just don’t know how great they’ve got it. It’s all well and good to show starving African orphans on a tellybox Oxfam ad, but unless you’ve seen dishevelled streetkids and landmine-crippled beggars firsthand I don’t think you can appreciate the luck you’ve been saddled with.
For me Plymouth seems like Cape Town in the Winter, but minus not only the crime but also the underlying aggression that seems to sit just beneath the surface of everyone’s consciousness.
Of course, it’s only a bit wet and windy now (much milder than good ‘ol CT) and I’m sure when Winter really gets going I’ll eventually get annoyed with the kids in the park throwing snowballs at me when I’m walking the cat.
But up until then, it’s been less of a culture shock and more of a… well, let’s call it a pleasant ‘culture surprise’.
Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Little White Lies Are Okay If They're Little and You're White!
It’s about time we heard more about how racist and sexist Cape Town is.
We need to stop hiding the fact that Western Cape wives spend their days with a toothbrush scrubbing the kitchen floor while their husbands beat their black slaves in the back garden.
“Apartheid social engineering is far more expressed in [the Western Cape] with heightened fears within the white community, the insecurity among coloured compatriots and the frustrated aspirations of the African community,” said ANC WC secretary Songezo Mjongile.
Damn straight! The whites are terrified the MK Veterans and ANC Youth League are going to make good on their threat to make the Western Cape ungovernable, the coloureds are worried they’ll be redistributed due to their “overconcentration”, and the Africans nervous that if we go back to ANC rule the service delivery roll out will dry up forever.
Fears like these are ridiculous. And it’s about time those of us at the continent’s tip just accepted the facts.
Comrades Julius Malema and Jimmy Manyi have made it clear that social engineering is just another Apartheid tactic the ANC is keen to adopt – much like the Protection of Information bill; better known as the Secrecy Bill; and soon to be known as the How-We-Became-Zimbabwe Bill.
“Under the guise of good governance and a better service delivery record,” Mjongile continues, “a coded vocabulary of racism and sexism is rearing its ugly head…”
There is nothing more despicable than hiding your contempt for the Other behind competence and honesty.
Much better to wear your bigotry on your sleeve, as Juju, Manyi and our Ugandan ambassador Jon Qwelane are infamous for. Rather live in squalor knowing how those you put in power really feel.
But having strength in your convictions doesn’t just mean a cushy government job after a short spell in prison for corruption. Even our esteemed president Jacob Zuma, with his sordid sexual antics and comments about punching out gays in his youth, shows how committed our leaders are to backpedalling our freedoms.
What nerve the DA’s Theuns Botha has to tell our leaders to “stop stealing, stop corruption, stop infighting… Stop the bad practices the ANC is renowned for.”
Doesn’t he know that this is how dictatorships are built.
Seriously, Botha should just grow up and admit that the whites have had enough of this democracy lark and want to revert back to the way it was. Then we could all be on the same page and let the people decide what colour they want their oppressor to be.
We need to stop hiding the fact that Western Cape wives spend their days with a toothbrush scrubbing the kitchen floor while their husbands beat their black slaves in the back garden.
“Apartheid social engineering is far more expressed in [the Western Cape] with heightened fears within the white community, the insecurity among coloured compatriots and the frustrated aspirations of the African community,” said ANC WC secretary Songezo Mjongile.
Damn straight! The whites are terrified the MK Veterans and ANC Youth League are going to make good on their threat to make the Western Cape ungovernable, the coloureds are worried they’ll be redistributed due to their “overconcentration”, and the Africans nervous that if we go back to ANC rule the service delivery roll out will dry up forever.
Fears like these are ridiculous. And it’s about time those of us at the continent’s tip just accepted the facts.
Comrades Julius Malema and Jimmy Manyi have made it clear that social engineering is just another Apartheid tactic the ANC is keen to adopt – much like the Protection of Information bill; better known as the Secrecy Bill; and soon to be known as the How-We-Became-Zimbabwe Bill.
“Under the guise of good governance and a better service delivery record,” Mjongile continues, “a coded vocabulary of racism and sexism is rearing its ugly head…”
There is nothing more despicable than hiding your contempt for the Other behind competence and honesty.
Much better to wear your bigotry on your sleeve, as Juju, Manyi and our Ugandan ambassador Jon Qwelane are infamous for. Rather live in squalor knowing how those you put in power really feel.
But having strength in your convictions doesn’t just mean a cushy government job after a short spell in prison for corruption. Even our esteemed president Jacob Zuma, with his sordid sexual antics and comments about punching out gays in his youth, shows how committed our leaders are to backpedalling our freedoms.
What nerve the DA’s Theuns Botha has to tell our leaders to “stop stealing, stop corruption, stop infighting… Stop the bad practices the ANC is renowned for.”
Doesn’t he know that this is how dictatorships are built.
Seriously, Botha should just grow up and admit that the whites have had enough of this democracy lark and want to revert back to the way it was. Then we could all be on the same page and let the people decide what colour they want their oppressor to be.
Reservoir Hyenas
Looking at the photos of his court appearance, I reckon Julius Malema might just be the greatest politician South Africa has ever seen.
Like a Tarantino creation, he strutted into the Johannesburg High Court flanked by automatic weapon wielding bodyguards, afraid that the Afriforum tree-huggers might pop a cap in his taxpayer-fattened ass. Or maybe he was afraid that the “boers” he so wanted to “shoot” would do the job.
The case of hate speech has been brought against him by human rights group, Afriforum, for singing Ayesaba Amagwala, known as the ‘Kill the Boer’ song.
There were no angry Afrikaans protesters. No placards saying “kill the doos”. No “bloody agents” with “rubbish in [their] trousers” calling for his thick head. There were only ANCYL supporters out for some Malema magic – better than old Steven Seagal reruns on SABC any day.
But he knew that already, and calling him thick-headed is wrong.
Malema is smart enough to know that by making him a martyr would only make his legend greater. And without any real threat, he knows he needs to create a threat in the minds of his supporters. Even if the threat is a fiction, it still gives him power.
He is right to call the prosecution “Mickey Mouses”. Compared to the movie star that is Malema, they are lowly television continuity announcers.
Like Jacob Zuma, singing his machine gun song and dancing his way into power, Malema is a showman of the highest order.
He knows that the South African political arena is a circus; a show not meant to inform or educate, but to entertain. He knows the public is becoming bored with just comedy and drama, and in a successful effort to score points with his audience, has added an element of action to it all.
As long as he keeps his audience entertained they will keep watching, keep supporting.
I believe this boy will be president one day. And when that happens, we can expect the horror movie to begin.
Like a Tarantino creation, he strutted into the Johannesburg High Court flanked by automatic weapon wielding bodyguards, afraid that the Afriforum tree-huggers might pop a cap in his taxpayer-fattened ass. Or maybe he was afraid that the “boers” he so wanted to “shoot” would do the job.
The case of hate speech has been brought against him by human rights group, Afriforum, for singing Ayesaba Amagwala, known as the ‘Kill the Boer’ song.
There were no angry Afrikaans protesters. No placards saying “kill the doos”. No “bloody agents” with “rubbish in [their] trousers” calling for his thick head. There were only ANCYL supporters out for some Malema magic – better than old Steven Seagal reruns on SABC any day.
But he knew that already, and calling him thick-headed is wrong.
Malema is smart enough to know that by making him a martyr would only make his legend greater. And without any real threat, he knows he needs to create a threat in the minds of his supporters. Even if the threat is a fiction, it still gives him power.
He is right to call the prosecution “Mickey Mouses”. Compared to the movie star that is Malema, they are lowly television continuity announcers.
Like Jacob Zuma, singing his machine gun song and dancing his way into power, Malema is a showman of the highest order.
He knows that the South African political arena is a circus; a show not meant to inform or educate, but to entertain. He knows the public is becoming bored with just comedy and drama, and in a successful effort to score points with his audience, has added an element of action to it all.
As long as he keeps his audience entertained they will keep watching, keep supporting.
I believe this boy will be president one day. And when that happens, we can expect the horror movie to begin.
Don't Touch Me On My 'Culture'
You can say what you want about our president, but the man certainly is virile.
With the wife-count sitting at three, he has no less than two fiancées. And on top of all that his extra-marital philandering is public knowledge.
God only knows how many kids he has, and I think the official count is somewhere around 22.
Zuma has excused his actions, saying, “That’s my culture!” and also mentioned that many western, monogamous politicians have mistresses.
The thing is, if you’re defending polygamy and attacking extra-marital affairs, how do you explain your own cheating ways? The reason we always see Zuma with that fat grin on his mug is because he somehow manages to have his cake and eat it.
Maybe it’s because his current wives really only care about the money and status that they don’t mind. Maybe being a woman within a polygamous culture makes you a bit more thick-skinned when it comes to your man sticking his dick into anything with a heartbeat. Maybe JZ actually is so damn charming that he manages to talk himself out of accountability for his indiscretions.
But playing the culture card is something I have a bit of a problem with.
Middle Eastern cultures allow family honour killings. Acts like virginity testing and female circumcision are excused as ‘part of our culture’.
In Mali, if a man leaves town and is worried his wife’s going to fool around, it is culturally acceptable for him to sew her vagina closed.
And why are all these ‘cultural’ beliefs patriarchal? Why isn’t it a case of ‘what’s good for the gander is good for the goose’? In this age of equality, why can’t a woman be let off the hook for infidelity as easily as a man is?
Am I being racist or ethnocentric for believing that it’s wrong for a man to be able to have as many sexual partners as he likes, while women must make do with just the one useless lump? It’s not the act of polygamy that I have such a beef with, it’s the unfairness of the whole set-up.
When you think about it, saying that men are allowed to do certain things but women aren’t is as bad as saying that whites are allowed to do certain things but blacks aren’t.
It’s as bad as excusing racism and intolerance as just part of our South African culture.
[If you found this post thought-provoking or mildly amusing, drop a blank email at chickenpost.addiction@gmail.com and get future links sent right to your inbox!]
With the wife-count sitting at three, he has no less than two fiancées. And on top of all that his extra-marital philandering is public knowledge.
God only knows how many kids he has, and I think the official count is somewhere around 22.
Zuma has excused his actions, saying, “That’s my culture!” and also mentioned that many western, monogamous politicians have mistresses.
The thing is, if you’re defending polygamy and attacking extra-marital affairs, how do you explain your own cheating ways? The reason we always see Zuma with that fat grin on his mug is because he somehow manages to have his cake and eat it.
Maybe it’s because his current wives really only care about the money and status that they don’t mind. Maybe being a woman within a polygamous culture makes you a bit more thick-skinned when it comes to your man sticking his dick into anything with a heartbeat. Maybe JZ actually is so damn charming that he manages to talk himself out of accountability for his indiscretions.
But playing the culture card is something I have a bit of a problem with.
Middle Eastern cultures allow family honour killings. Acts like virginity testing and female circumcision are excused as ‘part of our culture’.
In Mali, if a man leaves town and is worried his wife’s going to fool around, it is culturally acceptable for him to sew her vagina closed.
And why are all these ‘cultural’ beliefs patriarchal? Why isn’t it a case of ‘what’s good for the gander is good for the goose’? In this age of equality, why can’t a woman be let off the hook for infidelity as easily as a man is?
Am I being racist or ethnocentric for believing that it’s wrong for a man to be able to have as many sexual partners as he likes, while women must make do with just the one useless lump? It’s not the act of polygamy that I have such a beef with, it’s the unfairness of the whole set-up.
When you think about it, saying that men are allowed to do certain things but women aren’t is as bad as saying that whites are allowed to do certain things but blacks aren’t.
It’s as bad as excusing racism and intolerance as just part of our South African culture.
[If you found this post thought-provoking or mildly amusing, drop a blank email at chickenpost.addiction@gmail.com and get future links sent right to your inbox!]
Too Many Capeys in Cape Town?
What? You mean Juju Malema is NOT the only racist in the African National Congress? Colour me ‘not fucking surprised at all’.
Way back in 2010, Jimmy Manyi – chief ANC spokesman – told a television talk show audience that the Western Cape had an “over-concentration of coloureds” and that they should “spread in the rest of the country”.
For non-South African readers, a ‘coloured’ is a person defined by the previous Apartheid regime as too dark to be ‘white’ and too light to be ‘black’.
Instead of ‘coffee’ or ‘caramel’, they unimaginatively labelled them ‘coloured’ - kind of the in-betweeners; South Africa’s middle-children.
Mad Manyi continues: “So they must stop this over-concentration situation because they are in over-supply where they are, so you must look into the country and see where you can meet the supply.” – this is how our government’s head mouthpiece actually speaks.
As is the case with many ‘comrades’, a translation is in order.
What Jimmy Manyi seems to be implying is that we need a new kind of Group Areas Act in order to redistribute the much-loved ‘Capey’. Move them somewhere else so there’s more room for the darker-toned ANC supporters. It’s not just a war on whites that some in the ruling party want to wage, but a war on anyone deemed ‘not African enough’.
The real reason, no matter what the spin doctors in the ANC might tell us in the coming days, is because the ‘coloureds’ of the Western Cape just don’t seem to be voting the right way. They prefer the no nonsense, no corruption, no jobs-for-pals way the Democratic Alliance and partners run things.
Room on the dangerously creaking bandwagon is in short supply. Just about every opposition partygoer has flipped their taxpayer-purchased wigs, but these comments haven’t just pissed off non-blacks in general, even ones in the ruling party itself.
Trevor Manuel, former Minister of Finance but now just plain old Minister in the Presidency and one of the few respected members of ANC hierarchy, in an open letter, accused Manyi of being “a racist in the mould of HF Verwoerd” - ouch!
Independent Democrats parliamentary leader, Joe Mcgluwa, stated that the ANC “continue to be guided by a policy of narrow racial nationalism, and are even now trying to engage in social engineering that would push millions of coloured people out of the Western Cape,”
Western Cape Premier and head honchette of the DA, Helen Zille, has called for Manyi’s “immediate dismissal”, but the truth is she’s probably praying they keep him on – like wrapping votes in Quality Street paper and chucking them in a pram.
Gwede Mantashe, ANC secretary-general currently holding the reins of the bulging-eyed, frothy-mouthed, nostril-flaring steed that is South Africa, when approached for comment by Cape Argus reporters, curtly told them: “It’s none of your business.”
In other words, “Fuck off and stop interfering with our diabolical schemes.”
Way back in 2010, Jimmy Manyi – chief ANC spokesman – told a television talk show audience that the Western Cape had an “over-concentration of coloureds” and that they should “spread in the rest of the country”.
For non-South African readers, a ‘coloured’ is a person defined by the previous Apartheid regime as too dark to be ‘white’ and too light to be ‘black’.
Instead of ‘coffee’ or ‘caramel’, they unimaginatively labelled them ‘coloured’ - kind of the in-betweeners; South Africa’s middle-children.
Mad Manyi continues: “So they must stop this over-concentration situation because they are in over-supply where they are, so you must look into the country and see where you can meet the supply.” – this is how our government’s head mouthpiece actually speaks.
As is the case with many ‘comrades’, a translation is in order.
What Jimmy Manyi seems to be implying is that we need a new kind of Group Areas Act in order to redistribute the much-loved ‘Capey’. Move them somewhere else so there’s more room for the darker-toned ANC supporters. It’s not just a war on whites that some in the ruling party want to wage, but a war on anyone deemed ‘not African enough’.
The real reason, no matter what the spin doctors in the ANC might tell us in the coming days, is because the ‘coloureds’ of the Western Cape just don’t seem to be voting the right way. They prefer the no nonsense, no corruption, no jobs-for-pals way the Democratic Alliance and partners run things.
Room on the dangerously creaking bandwagon is in short supply. Just about every opposition partygoer has flipped their taxpayer-purchased wigs, but these comments haven’t just pissed off non-blacks in general, even ones in the ruling party itself.
Trevor Manuel, former Minister of Finance but now just plain old Minister in the Presidency and one of the few respected members of ANC hierarchy, in an open letter, accused Manyi of being “a racist in the mould of HF Verwoerd” - ouch!
Independent Democrats parliamentary leader, Joe Mcgluwa, stated that the ANC “continue to be guided by a policy of narrow racial nationalism, and are even now trying to engage in social engineering that would push millions of coloured people out of the Western Cape,”
Western Cape Premier and head honchette of the DA, Helen Zille, has called for Manyi’s “immediate dismissal”, but the truth is she’s probably praying they keep him on – like wrapping votes in Quality Street paper and chucking them in a pram.
Gwede Mantashe, ANC secretary-general currently holding the reins of the bulging-eyed, frothy-mouthed, nostril-flaring steed that is South Africa, when approached for comment by Cape Argus reporters, curtly told them: “It’s none of your business.”
In other words, “Fuck off and stop interfering with our diabolical schemes.”
George Orwell is the Boogeyman!
Two stories my mom likes to tell: How I could fall asleep anywhere; and how when I was breastfeeding and she had company I would bite her nipples.
Luckily I’ve grown out of both breastfeeding and nipple-munching – which was the reaction to some kind of fearful anxiety about being stolen away from my mother, I suppose. When I'm afraid, I bite!
The falling asleep thing is still a trait I possess.
I’m notorious for dozing off in the cinema – usually when the movie’s a bit boring – and often I’m woken up by the person next to me when I start to snore.
Even though I fell asleep in Paranormal Activity, I still gave the sequel a look-in.
And it was good! Not like the first that, as my good friend Mark commented, wasn’t bad until they found the big chicken footprints all over the house – like Foghorn Leghorn broke in and made off with the stereo.
It’s so hard to find a decent scary movie these days – you’ve got to look for your jollies somewhere else. Personally, there’s not much that scares me more than a George Orwell novel.
Anyone who’s read 1984 will know just how terrifying the man’s mind was – makes the latest Stephen King read like a Hardy Boys.
The most recent that made me hug my teddy and check the front door was properly locked is Keep the Aspidistra Flying about a writer who falls into poverty when quits his ‘good’ job to pursue a career as a poet.
Go figure.
The protagonist “loathes dull, middle-class respectability and worship of money” and consistently bangs on about the ‘money-god’ that is the only deity people seem to follow.
Makes sense; money has much in common with the mythical Master of the Universe – it’s eternal, omnipotent, and everyone loves it.
I think governments know this and that’s why they put the president’s face on bank notes. They’re feisty, governments.
The face-on-the-money bit is the way a despot tells the world, “I’ve arrived!”
That’s why in America the big man can get away with just about anything. They know that money = god = our beloved leaders. Maybe not the current guy, it’s more of a general respect of the Cheese.
Of course, in SA we’ve got the Big 5 on our cash; which made me wonder whether that showed the importance of certain species.
Cheetah and lion – good.
Elephant and rhino– eh.
But then I thought, hold on, we’ve got Madiba’s face on the five Rand coin! Surely Nelson Mandela is more important to our identity as South Africans than the wildlife?
So my theory, like a punctured party balloon, made a lot of noise but eventually lay pathetic and flat on the floor.
Or maybe it’s not the usual nonsense. Maybe it’s because we’ve got game on our notes that the militant left wing always complain that whites care more about endangered animals than poor people.
Wealth is still divided unfairly in the favour of us pale natives, and coins are mostly used not to buy anything of value, but to tip the car guard or donate towards a bergie’s booze fund.
Could this be sending us a subliminal understanding? Is it the reason rich people don’t care about other people, only themselves, their money, and getting to the Kruger national park for the holidays?
Or is it because of some traditional, African tribal worship of animals?
Did you know that if you fold a fifty Rand note a certain way it looks like Eugene Terreblanche’s face?
It’s interesting to note that the Vatican City issues its own Euro with the Pope’s mug on it, not the hippy profile of Jesus.
Putting the faces of lower-level gods (presidents, animals) on the body of our actual god (money) scares me because it hints at the possibility that Church and State aren’t as separate as I hoped!
The rationale is surely that being associated with that-which-is-most-holy makes one holy by association (Welcome to the Department of Redundancy Department). Kind of like name-dropping in a way:
“I was hanging out with George Clooney the other night.”
“Big deal, my face is on the new eighteen Rand note.”
Although I like to believe differently, I know I’m not smart enough to dodge marketing manipulation and bureaucratic bullshit all the time. To think of how often my thought processes and ideas are steered by another’s agenda is terrifying.
It scares me so much I think I might bite the next nipple that passes by.
Luckily I’ve grown out of both breastfeeding and nipple-munching – which was the reaction to some kind of fearful anxiety about being stolen away from my mother, I suppose. When I'm afraid, I bite!
The falling asleep thing is still a trait I possess.
I’m notorious for dozing off in the cinema – usually when the movie’s a bit boring – and often I’m woken up by the person next to me when I start to snore.
Even though I fell asleep in Paranormal Activity, I still gave the sequel a look-in.
And it was good! Not like the first that, as my good friend Mark commented, wasn’t bad until they found the big chicken footprints all over the house – like Foghorn Leghorn broke in and made off with the stereo.
It’s so hard to find a decent scary movie these days – you’ve got to look for your jollies somewhere else. Personally, there’s not much that scares me more than a George Orwell novel.
Anyone who’s read 1984 will know just how terrifying the man’s mind was – makes the latest Stephen King read like a Hardy Boys.
The most recent that made me hug my teddy and check the front door was properly locked is Keep the Aspidistra Flying about a writer who falls into poverty when quits his ‘good’ job to pursue a career as a poet.
Go figure.
The protagonist “loathes dull, middle-class respectability and worship of money” and consistently bangs on about the ‘money-god’ that is the only deity people seem to follow.
Makes sense; money has much in common with the mythical Master of the Universe – it’s eternal, omnipotent, and everyone loves it.
I think governments know this and that’s why they put the president’s face on bank notes. They’re feisty, governments.
The face-on-the-money bit is the way a despot tells the world, “I’ve arrived!”
That’s why in America the big man can get away with just about anything. They know that money = god = our beloved leaders. Maybe not the current guy, it’s more of a general respect of the Cheese.
Of course, in SA we’ve got the Big 5 on our cash; which made me wonder whether that showed the importance of certain species.
Cheetah and lion – good.
Elephant and rhino– eh.
But then I thought, hold on, we’ve got Madiba’s face on the five Rand coin! Surely Nelson Mandela is more important to our identity as South Africans than the wildlife?
So my theory, like a punctured party balloon, made a lot of noise but eventually lay pathetic and flat on the floor.
Or maybe it’s not the usual nonsense. Maybe it’s because we’ve got game on our notes that the militant left wing always complain that whites care more about endangered animals than poor people.
Wealth is still divided unfairly in the favour of us pale natives, and coins are mostly used not to buy anything of value, but to tip the car guard or donate towards a bergie’s booze fund.
Could this be sending us a subliminal understanding? Is it the reason rich people don’t care about other people, only themselves, their money, and getting to the Kruger national park for the holidays?
Or is it because of some traditional, African tribal worship of animals?
Did you know that if you fold a fifty Rand note a certain way it looks like Eugene Terreblanche’s face?
It’s interesting to note that the Vatican City issues its own Euro with the Pope’s mug on it, not the hippy profile of Jesus.
Putting the faces of lower-level gods (presidents, animals) on the body of our actual god (money) scares me because it hints at the possibility that Church and State aren’t as separate as I hoped!
The rationale is surely that being associated with that-which-is-most-holy makes one holy by association (Welcome to the Department of Redundancy Department). Kind of like name-dropping in a way:
“I was hanging out with George Clooney the other night.”
“Big deal, my face is on the new eighteen Rand note.”
Although I like to believe differently, I know I’m not smart enough to dodge marketing manipulation and bureaucratic bullshit all the time. To think of how often my thought processes and ideas are steered by another’s agenda is terrifying.
It scares me so much I think I might bite the next nipple that passes by.
Is there a Doom spray for Litterbugs?
Is it okay to excuse someone’s behaviour, give them the benefit of the doubt, because they’re of a certain race?
I’m wondering because the other day while driving we saw the car in front of us throw an empty plastic bottle out their car window and into the street. Lucy, being English, was shocked; I just kind of shrugged and didn’t make too much of it, not because I am apathetic towards littering, but because the car was full of black people.
I assumed they were from an historically disadvantaged area that was probably rubbish-strewn. I assumed they had not such a great education and weren’t exposed to the Zeebi adverts I was as a kid telling us not to litter.
I assumed that they just didn’t know any better.
I sometimes struggle with my attitudes towards other races. Often I see behaviour that makes me sigh – getting offered “nice Charlie” every five steps by Nigerians in Long Street; being cut off by a taxi only to have it slam on the brakes in front of me – I sometimes think things that I know are wrong.
For every dodgy black person I’ve met, I know twenty that are good, honest people. And living in Cape Town I’ve met more than my fair share of dodgy whites.
But then I pick up the paper and read about Julius Malema’s latest racist rant and my mind boggles at the massive support he has, or my fiancée gets treated like dirt at work because she’s white and British and dealing with young South African blacks.
Witnessing the simple act of littering out a car window made me sigh.
I wondered if it was because they came from a township with Pick ‘n Pay packets flapping from every fence. But surely that would make them more aware of how horrible it is to have rubbish just dumped in the street? They were adults; surely their minds could make that connection.
Maybe it was an act of spite? Or defiance of some kind?
Maybe not-littering is something one needs to learn from an early age?
I think it is human nature to box people. Not punch them in the face, but to compartmentalise. Think about it next time you’re in a bad mood in traffic:
Old person driving too slow – fucking grannies should have to do their driving test again when they hit eighty!
Twenty-year-old sits on your arse when you’re doing 120 – fucking young prick should learn how to drive!
Taxi almost kills you – fucking guy probably bought his license!
Psychologists tell us that racists only see the stereotypical behaviour and not the actions that go against the prejudicial beliefs. The hard part is being honest enough with ourselves to know when we are letting the cliché feed racist thoughts.
So what does my reaction to the plastic bottle out the car window tell me about myself? Am I racist for justifying the action? Am I apathetic when it comes to certain races because I think that’s just the way they behave?
In school they told us that when we saw someone littering we should point and shout, “Litterbug! Litterbug!” loudly until the offender picked their rubbish up and deposited it in the bin.
Maybe I should just start doing that again.
I’m wondering because the other day while driving we saw the car in front of us throw an empty plastic bottle out their car window and into the street. Lucy, being English, was shocked; I just kind of shrugged and didn’t make too much of it, not because I am apathetic towards littering, but because the car was full of black people.
I assumed they were from an historically disadvantaged area that was probably rubbish-strewn. I assumed they had not such a great education and weren’t exposed to the Zeebi adverts I was as a kid telling us not to litter.
I assumed that they just didn’t know any better.
I sometimes struggle with my attitudes towards other races. Often I see behaviour that makes me sigh – getting offered “nice Charlie” every five steps by Nigerians in Long Street; being cut off by a taxi only to have it slam on the brakes in front of me – I sometimes think things that I know are wrong.
For every dodgy black person I’ve met, I know twenty that are good, honest people. And living in Cape Town I’ve met more than my fair share of dodgy whites.
But then I pick up the paper and read about Julius Malema’s latest racist rant and my mind boggles at the massive support he has, or my fiancée gets treated like dirt at work because she’s white and British and dealing with young South African blacks.
Witnessing the simple act of littering out a car window made me sigh.
I wondered if it was because they came from a township with Pick ‘n Pay packets flapping from every fence. But surely that would make them more aware of how horrible it is to have rubbish just dumped in the street? They were adults; surely their minds could make that connection.
Maybe it was an act of spite? Or defiance of some kind?
Maybe not-littering is something one needs to learn from an early age?
I think it is human nature to box people. Not punch them in the face, but to compartmentalise. Think about it next time you’re in a bad mood in traffic:
Old person driving too slow – fucking grannies should have to do their driving test again when they hit eighty!
Twenty-year-old sits on your arse when you’re doing 120 – fucking young prick should learn how to drive!
Taxi almost kills you – fucking guy probably bought his license!
Psychologists tell us that racists only see the stereotypical behaviour and not the actions that go against the prejudicial beliefs. The hard part is being honest enough with ourselves to know when we are letting the cliché feed racist thoughts.
So what does my reaction to the plastic bottle out the car window tell me about myself? Am I racist for justifying the action? Am I apathetic when it comes to certain races because I think that’s just the way they behave?
In school they told us that when we saw someone littering we should point and shout, “Litterbug! Litterbug!” loudly until the offender picked their rubbish up and deposited it in the bin.
Maybe I should just start doing that again.
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