Ignorance was bliss

A friend of mine wrote the following blog post and asked me to publish it in my blog. Since I tend to agree wholeheartedly with her assessment of the situation, I didn't hesitate to say ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY! And so, without further ado...

Ignorance was bliss

You know what I’d like? For the world to be fair. This morning I arrived in town for work and decided to go for breakfast at a lovely little café near to my office. This was idyllic, until I made the mistake of picking up a newspaper.

This newspaper informed me that, at this very minute, South Africa’s esteemed president,  Mr Jacob Zuma, is having his houses and offices revamped to include, amongst other things,  a steam room, a dressing room, wooden window frames and doors, and  a larger swimming pool. The reported amount that will be spent for this varies, but it hovers around R190 million. I kid you not.

YOU are less important than me.

This for the man who, more than anyone, has a responsibility to be aware of the situation in which the majority of his constituency find themselves; jobless, homeless and with no prospect of any help from the government. It was pointed out in the article that the money spent on the revamping of two already far-from-modest houses could have been spent on thousands of RDP houses for the millions of South Africans living in deplorable conditions in shacks, wendy-houses, or on the street. People who have had their names down on lists for these aforementioned houses since the dawn of democracy (ha ha) in 1994, but who have been told that there has been no money nor manpower to build the houses. And yet, for our dear president and his who-knows-how-many wives and mistresses (yes it’s a cheap shot, but bear with me) it seems that the money, builders and chandelier-fitters are in abundant supply. And let’s not pretend it will take fifteen years for this job to be done.

On the next page, we have ANC Youth League President Julius Malema, the county clown, spewing yet another racist insult, this time at Indians. Heck, at least the boers get a break. Oh, wait, what? No, it appears he found time in amongst the speech-making to sing a little song about killing white folk. Phew.

But poor people are just so BORING.

This isn’t the first, nor the last time that Juju has poured forth about how much he hates…well, everyone who doesn’t look like him, really. Remind you of something beginning with N and ending in P? Julius’s job seems to be to go out into areas of greatest need in South Africa, tell the people what they’re missing, rile them into a frenzy of anger (it’s understandable; they live, undeservedly, in squalor), tell them what they deserve, equip them with a sense of entitlement and rage…and then leave. After all that mud slinging, a vindicated Malema heads off back to his none-too-shabby abode and eats something expensive, while the frustrated people sit outside their shacks, still poor, still hungry, still jobless, and even more frustrated. Malema has told them what they already knew, but repeatedly fails to address any of the problems, even when he seemingly has the influence, power and finances (how many designer suits?) to make a change.

Shame. He doesn't know who he is.

My wish for these two, and indeed anyone who abuses their powerful situation, is for them to be regressed. Remember when you were a child (think back, aged ones) and you got a bit uppity, or tried to bully the smaller children? What happened? Someone bigger than you, presumably your parent, teacher, or the weedy kid’s scary older brother, gave you a klap. Or detention, or the cane, or a stern talking to, depending on how lax corporal punishment laws were when you were young. Either way, you emerged feeling rather sheepish, rather sore, and rather disinclined to do it again.

But when one is at the top of the proverbial food chain, no effective structures exist for discipline. Who is there to klap the greedy head of state, the potty-mouthed Youth League leader, the insane dictator (yes, Mugabe, I’m talking about you) or even the abusive Man of the House? Perhaps by the time they have reached that lofty perch, it is too late for them to be brought down. Perhaps in this case, prevention is better than cure. So if you happen upon a child shouting down his smaller friends in the sandpit, remember; your hand might just save the nation. Just try and explain that to his mother…