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.
Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
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!]
Would You Touch My Brand New Boobs?
Standing in a luggage shop and my mate turns to me and says, “Nice fake boobs over there.”
I have a look, but can’t see who he’s talking about.
“Over there,” he insists, “Can’t you tell.”
Actually, I can’t. But it did make me wonder aloud, “Do women with breast enhancements mind men gawking at their rack?”
“Like a new pair of shoes,” matey says, “it’s flattering if one notices.”
I suppose he could be right. I once met an elderly lady, not a granny but a woman in her late forties, who, after a breast enlargement, encouraged people to “touch them, feel how firm they are!”
Many men obliged, but I thought it would be a bit weird to feel up some guy’s wife in front of him. The husband didn’t mind, though. In fact, he was standing by grinning with some kind of idiotic pride as a group groped.
I’ve always felt sympathy for very beautiful people. A lot of the time their beauty defines them, and as they get older and it inevitably crumbles their sense of self-worth falls apart too.
It is interesting to note that most cosmetic surgery practices have an in-house psychologist. This is to evaluate whether the reason behind the punter's facelift or liposuction will help with their insecurity or if there is a deeper problem.
Those with body dysmorphic disorder see themselves as fat or ugly no matter what, and will return to a surgeon again and again. The resident head-shrink is there to spot such customers and hopefully make some cash on a sideline business.
Part of the patriarchal conspiracy behind Barbie is that Ken has no junk at all. This is so that women will accept men with little or no pleasure package – merely a neat haircut, a nice wardrobe, and a chiselled chin.
Men are still sometimes insecure, because He-Man’s furry boxers clearly hid a bit of a bulge… and Skeletor was all-boner. But I have yet to encounter a man straight off the operating table extending the offer of touching his artificially-engorged cock.
Maybe it’s just the circles I move in.
[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!]
I have a look, but can’t see who he’s talking about.
“Over there,” he insists, “Can’t you tell.”
Actually, I can’t. But it did make me wonder aloud, “Do women with breast enhancements mind men gawking at their rack?”
“Like a new pair of shoes,” matey says, “it’s flattering if one notices.”
I suppose he could be right. I once met an elderly lady, not a granny but a woman in her late forties, who, after a breast enlargement, encouraged people to “touch them, feel how firm they are!”
Many men obliged, but I thought it would be a bit weird to feel up some guy’s wife in front of him. The husband didn’t mind, though. In fact, he was standing by grinning with some kind of idiotic pride as a group groped.
I’ve always felt sympathy for very beautiful people. A lot of the time their beauty defines them, and as they get older and it inevitably crumbles their sense of self-worth falls apart too.
It is interesting to note that most cosmetic surgery practices have an in-house psychologist. This is to evaluate whether the reason behind the punter's facelift or liposuction will help with their insecurity or if there is a deeper problem.
Those with body dysmorphic disorder see themselves as fat or ugly no matter what, and will return to a surgeon again and again. The resident head-shrink is there to spot such customers and hopefully make some cash on a sideline business.
Part of the patriarchal conspiracy behind Barbie is that Ken has no junk at all. This is so that women will accept men with little or no pleasure package – merely a neat haircut, a nice wardrobe, and a chiselled chin.
Men are still sometimes insecure, because He-Man’s furry boxers clearly hid a bit of a bulge… and Skeletor was all-boner. But I have yet to encounter a man straight off the operating table extending the offer of touching his artificially-engorged cock.
Maybe it’s just the circles I move in.
[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!]
Does this Zimmer Frame come with Cup Holders?
Mike Gayle writes in his novel Turning Thirty that hitting your thirties means never going down the pub unless you know there’s somewhere to sit.
It’s the decade when you begin to rethink your ideas about Clint Eastwood being the icon to emulate, and start to browse the section in Clicks with male moisturiser and L’Oreal eye-wrinkle cream. You tell yourself the receding hair at your temples isn’t that bad, and hang on to the hope in that Nicolas Cage is still cool in spite of it.
Men drew the long end of the stick in this regard. We are often told that we get better looking or at least appear more distinguished as we get older. I can only thank the patriarchal, sexist Illuminati for organising this facet of our social psyche.
The thirties aren’t all bad, and I guess it’s got a lot to do with perspective.
Gone is the immature insecurity of one’s twenties. We’ve learned enough about the opposite sex to stop being such bumbling retards in their presence, replaced feigned confidence with acceptance or actual aplomb, and know enough about life to understand that wisdom is not measured by our successes but by the number of mistakes we’ve made.
You stop arguing with your parents about what you should be doing with your life, and realise that the only thing you should be doing is something that brings you some sense of purpose. As you edge closer to middle-age and eventually death, the fact that money and status are ridiculous endeavours is knowledge secreted from your soul.
But it’s not all shits and giggles. You start to make ‘that noise’ when you bend down to pick something off the floor, and it often takes more than one try to get off the couch. The years of beer culminate around your protesting belly, and the comfort of Crocs causes one to reconsider their trendiness.
Also, in the early stages of thirtyhood, a crushing despair of “what have I done with my life?” can set in.
All others fears are put on the back burner, and the terror of growing old alone starts to scratch at the door. It is the age when men discard the idea of being a player and strive to settle down.
As you hack your way through the years like a lost explorer in a confounding, ever-changing jungle, the direction of your life more often than not changes. This is scary and many will urge you to stay on course.
This biting, clawing feeling can be early onset mid-life crisis, or a reaction to a spiritual emptiness one might feel upon the realisation that so much of what they thought they knew turned out to be bollocks.
So just when you’ve thrown out so many childish insecurities, a set of nicely wrapped new ones is opened.
… now where’d I put that facial scrub.
It’s the decade when you begin to rethink your ideas about Clint Eastwood being the icon to emulate, and start to browse the section in Clicks with male moisturiser and L’Oreal eye-wrinkle cream. You tell yourself the receding hair at your temples isn’t that bad, and hang on to the hope in that Nicolas Cage is still cool in spite of it.
Men drew the long end of the stick in this regard. We are often told that we get better looking or at least appear more distinguished as we get older. I can only thank the patriarchal, sexist Illuminati for organising this facet of our social psyche.
The thirties aren’t all bad, and I guess it’s got a lot to do with perspective.
Gone is the immature insecurity of one’s twenties. We’ve learned enough about the opposite sex to stop being such bumbling retards in their presence, replaced feigned confidence with acceptance or actual aplomb, and know enough about life to understand that wisdom is not measured by our successes but by the number of mistakes we’ve made.
You stop arguing with your parents about what you should be doing with your life, and realise that the only thing you should be doing is something that brings you some sense of purpose. As you edge closer to middle-age and eventually death, the fact that money and status are ridiculous endeavours is knowledge secreted from your soul.
But it’s not all shits and giggles. You start to make ‘that noise’ when you bend down to pick something off the floor, and it often takes more than one try to get off the couch. The years of beer culminate around your protesting belly, and the comfort of Crocs causes one to reconsider their trendiness.
Also, in the early stages of thirtyhood, a crushing despair of “what have I done with my life?” can set in.
All others fears are put on the back burner, and the terror of growing old alone starts to scratch at the door. It is the age when men discard the idea of being a player and strive to settle down.
As you hack your way through the years like a lost explorer in a confounding, ever-changing jungle, the direction of your life more often than not changes. This is scary and many will urge you to stay on course.
This biting, clawing feeling can be early onset mid-life crisis, or a reaction to a spiritual emptiness one might feel upon the realisation that so much of what they thought they knew turned out to be bollocks.
So just when you’ve thrown out so many childish insecurities, a set of nicely wrapped new ones is opened.
… now where’d I put that facial scrub.
A Country of Boys
When I was growing up my mother always told me, “Manners make a man.” She told me this so often that it must have stuck, and it has guided my behaviour throughout my life.
There is the myth in Africa that to be considered a “real man” one must have as many sexual partners as possible, callously disregarding a woman’s worth, as though they are mere meaty morsels to be devoured.
Men on this continent appear to think that the number of women they impregnate, the number of children they “father”, somehow proves their strength. I must add that the actions of our president, Jacob Zuma, do nothing but perpetuate this behaviour.The truth is that any boy can make a baby, but it takes a man to be a father.
I believe that the measure of a man is the respect he shows to women; particularly the woman he is courting, in a relationship with, or married to.
The behaviour that stems from this belief is more than the mere façade of opening car doors or writing love letters when courting a lady; it is not a ploy to obtain love or sex. True, deep respect will not falter or be hidden when in the company of boorish male friends or colleagues.
This idea is proved when I observe the actions of my friend, Mark, a true English gentleman who stands when a lady arrives or departs a table, and compare it to the gorilla stomping down Long Street who throws his arm around a woman he does not know and dribbles, “I want to make you my wife.”
It is no wonder that Mark is adored by the women he knows and respects, while the “little boy” on Long Street is left with a disgusted dismissal to slouch off with his equally insignificant male cohorts.
This abhorrent view of women as objects solely for male sexual consumption, with little meaningful worth, appears endemic on our continent, in our country’s culture, regardless of the fact that it is the majority of women who raise and feed the children, while the father is either unemployed or absent.
These actions scar our society deeply. It is so bad that South African women seem to just have accepted it as a part of life – the way it has always been and will forever be.
This attitude spreads disease, amasses the population, and leaves the children of our country with a despicable model of male behaviour – a model which they will go on to imitate.
The responsibility of changing this facet of our culture lies with both men and women because these roles in society are learned from those who raise us.
Men must adopt an attitude of respect and treat any behaviour or comment to the contrary with the contempt it deserves.
And women must raise their children to know that a man is more than a walking penis, and that their duty is to be more than a pathetic propagator of the population.
It cannot be said enough: the measure of a man is the respect he shows to women.
Right now we are living in a country of boys – our president’s irresponsible, immature behaviour includes him in this sample. The question is, can we become a country of men?
There is the myth in Africa that to be considered a “real man” one must have as many sexual partners as possible, callously disregarding a woman’s worth, as though they are mere meaty morsels to be devoured.
Men on this continent appear to think that the number of women they impregnate, the number of children they “father”, somehow proves their strength. I must add that the actions of our president, Jacob Zuma, do nothing but perpetuate this behaviour.The truth is that any boy can make a baby, but it takes a man to be a father.
I believe that the measure of a man is the respect he shows to women; particularly the woman he is courting, in a relationship with, or married to.
The behaviour that stems from this belief is more than the mere façade of opening car doors or writing love letters when courting a lady; it is not a ploy to obtain love or sex. True, deep respect will not falter or be hidden when in the company of boorish male friends or colleagues.
This idea is proved when I observe the actions of my friend, Mark, a true English gentleman who stands when a lady arrives or departs a table, and compare it to the gorilla stomping down Long Street who throws his arm around a woman he does not know and dribbles, “I want to make you my wife.”
It is no wonder that Mark is adored by the women he knows and respects, while the “little boy” on Long Street is left with a disgusted dismissal to slouch off with his equally insignificant male cohorts.
This abhorrent view of women as objects solely for male sexual consumption, with little meaningful worth, appears endemic on our continent, in our country’s culture, regardless of the fact that it is the majority of women who raise and feed the children, while the father is either unemployed or absent.
These actions scar our society deeply. It is so bad that South African women seem to just have accepted it as a part of life – the way it has always been and will forever be.
This attitude spreads disease, amasses the population, and leaves the children of our country with a despicable model of male behaviour – a model which they will go on to imitate.
The responsibility of changing this facet of our culture lies with both men and women because these roles in society are learned from those who raise us.
Men must adopt an attitude of respect and treat any behaviour or comment to the contrary with the contempt it deserves.
And women must raise their children to know that a man is more than a walking penis, and that their duty is to be more than a pathetic propagator of the population.
It cannot be said enough: the measure of a man is the respect he shows to women.
Right now we are living in a country of boys – our president’s irresponsible, immature behaviour includes him in this sample. The question is, can we become a country of men?
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