Monday, April 2, 2012

This land is my land, this land is your land... or is it?

In 1957 the American folk singer Woodie Guthrie wrote a folk song called 'This land is your land'.

With apologies to Guthrie, a current day version here in South Africa might read:

     This land is your land, this land is my land
     From Polokwane, to Cape Aghulas Lighthouse
     From the Gauteng maize farms, to the Swartland wheatfields
     This land you made I'll take from you

Before you go all racist on me, I'll be the first to admit the Dutch and English swiped a ton of South African land from Africans. That part is indisputable.

What does get me is that ALL land in this country is being claimed as belonging to Africans, and therefore must be returned to them forthwith.  This policy has led to a wholesale flight of white farmers to other countries and a massive decrease in land-productivity.

There are two problems here.  If one foregoes the willing-buyer-willing-seller arrangement, as is now being mooted by our President, how does one reward the current owner for the improvements he has made to the land?  If it can be proved that the current owner turned fallow bush into productive farmland, he has caused the land to appreciate in value.

Farming isn't for sissies.  Aside from the hard physical labour and long hours, it also takes money, equipment and know-how.  Successful farms are a business like any other.  They require insurance, maintenance and investment.  Often bank loans are needed to overcome droughts, floods or other calamities.  To make a decent living off a farm you need commercial scale equipment - tractors, ploughs, combine harvesters.  Cattle need to be dipped.  Sheep need to be sheared.  Wheat and maize must be planted, irrigated and harvested.

So you can't simply walk in and say, 'Hey, this belonged to my ancestors.  Your ancestors stole it from them and I want it back. Leave.'  On the face of it, that is blatantly unjust.

On the basis of recent history, over 80% of white-owned farmland in South Africa that has been returned to its ancestral owners is no longer productive.  Mostly, this is because the new owners don't have the agricultural knowledge or financial collateral, or both, to maintain the farm in its productive state.  Since democracy, we have actually moved from being a net exporter of grains to a net importer.

A better solution to this first problem would be a collaborative solution.  The ancestral owners can be assisted by the current owner to cutivate either a portion of the farm, or land adjacent, as productive farmland.  It is in the current owner's interests to empower the ancestral owners because he gets to keep his land, or a portion of it.  It is in the ancestral owners' interests as they get to expand the farming operation and earn a good living as commercial farmers, while maintaining the productivity of the land.  The two become co-dependent.

The second problem is the one raised recently in Parliament when the Honorable Deputy Minister of Agriculture pointed out that Africans had not migrated to the Cape when the Europeans arrived, so automatic claims of ancestral entitlement were invalid in this area.  To which our State President responded with dire warnings and threats.

Deputy Mulder was about as diplomatic as Hitler on a bad hair day, but unpopular as it may be, he is correct, and it's all got to do with the Portuguese.

Any anthropologist will tell you that African agriculturalists, although they had established some settlements earlier, started migrating south in significant numbers around the fifteen hundreds.  They farmed certain grains, tubers and cattle.  As they moved, they displaced the khoi and san hunter-gatherer tribes. (More about them later).

As they moved to the East African coast, they came into contact with Portuguese traders.  From them, they acquired something that would give them a strong foothold in the South: maize.  It was far easier to cultivate and process than the cassava and yams that they'd lived off up north, and it was much higher in carbohydrates.  For protein, they continued to depend on their main source of wealth: cattle.  The combination of maize and cattle gave rise to larger settlements, villages and towns, and an establishment of community on a scale never before seen in this area.  People settled the land.  There was no such thing as land management because it wasn't necessary.  Once cattle overgrazed an area, you simply moved them to another area.  There was so much land, the affected area had plenty of time to recover.

Back to the khoi and san.  As hunter-gatherers, they had survived in this region for thousands of years before the arrival of Africans by moving with migrating herds of wildlife - eland, wildebeest and so on.  Whatever roamed the land was fair game to hunt.  They had no concept of land settlement or that an animal could actually belong to someone.  So when the Africans arrived with herds of cattle, the khoi and san couldn't believe their luck. Huge herds of slow moving beasts that were far easier to shoot than even the biggest eland, and with enough meat on them to feed the whole clan.  Naturally the Africans didn't share this point of view.  They responded by ethnically cleansing the khoi and san from any land into which they moved.

By the sixteen hundreds when the Dutch were starting to settle in the Cape, Africans were thriving in what is now Zambia, Zimbabwe, and northern and eastern South Africa.  So why did the Dutch not find any Africans in the Cape?

Maize.

Maize is a summer rainfall crop.  It doesn't grow in winter rainfall areas.  Like the Western Cape.

That's why Africans didn't move south of the Fish River.  They also didn't move west of what is now the Eastern Cape because of the Karoo (a semi-desert region covering most of the Northern Cape).

This allowed the Europeans to settle in the Western Cape unchallenged.  They brought with them plenty of European crops that thrived in winter rainfall regions - mainly wheat and fruit, which was vital for the sailors using the Cape as a pit-stop to the East (the vitamin C in the fruit stopped them dying of scurvy, and the wheat provided bread rations for the ship's crew).

The Dutch also encountered the khoi and san.  And they reacted in much the same way as the Africans - by killing them en masse.  Or mating with them.  Remember this was a time when slavery was still accepted as a totally normal aspect of European society.  Khoi and San families became enslaved on the Dutch farms, and many of their women ended up being bedded by their masters (slaves had no rights and were simply the possessions of their owners).  The resulting offspring became the early ancestors of what we now call the coloured or mixed-race communities of the Western Cape.

The next big wave of immigrants to arrive were the French Huguenots.  By the end of the 17th century, roughly 200,000 Huguenots had been driven from Catholic France during a series of religious persecutions against protestants.  They mostly fled to the Americas and to South Africa.  Until then, the Dutch had been pottering around with wine, but the Huguenots were the ones who really established viticulture in the Cape.

The Dutch must have been a bit piqued by this one-upmanship by the French, because they responded by systematically destroying French culture in the Cape.  Huguenot settlers were forbidden to speak French and forced to speak Dutch.  That's why we have Franchoek (French Corner) in the Cape, where many of the wine farms still carry their original French names: La Motte, La Cotte, Cabriere, Provence, Chamonix, Dieu Donne and La Dauphine.  It's also why so many Afrikaners still have French surnames - Du Toit, Du Plessis, Labuschagne and Pienaar (from the French Pinard).

Things went swimmingly in the Cape for the next two hundred years or so until the next big influx of Europeans - the English.  By 1806 the English had become the new occupiers of the Western Cape, and not a few Dutch were pretty gatvol (pissed off) with their new rooinek (redneck) bosses - especially their decision to abolish slavery, so they upped sticks and moved north in a migration remembered as the Groot Trek (the Big Move), between the 1830s and 1840s.

This is when the kak (shit) really hit the fan.  Two cultures, both agriculturalists, both farming grains and cattle.  One growing ever more populous in the north, the other moving with their grains and cows slap bang into the same area.  Recipe for disaster.  To make matters worse, the English tried to counter this northern colonisation by the Dutch by enticing hundreds of English Settlers with promises of free land and untold riches.

So the 1820 Settlers arrived in the Eastern Cape and Natal.  Just what you need when a new military genius in the region, Shaka, son of Senzagakona, was starting to establish one of the greatest military empires in the south - the mighty Zulu.  From there on it got messy.  Isandlwana notwithstanding, the English stole most of Natal from the Zulu and the Eastern Cape from the Xhosa, while the Dutch established their Oranje and Transvaal republics further north, taking land from Moshoeshoe until all he had left is what is now the enclave kingdom of Lesotho, and forcing another military general, Cetshwayo, further and further back until he was deprived of everything, except the current small nation of Swaziland.

After the Brits defeated the Boers in the two Anglo Boer Wars (1880 - 1881 and 1899 - 1902), the Union of South Africa remained a Commonwealth realm of the crown until 1960, when the Nationalist Government under H F Verwoerd  lowered the voting age for whites to 18, and had also included the white voters of South West Africa, now Namibia, on the electoral roll. Afrikaners, who were more likely to favour a republic than English-speaking white South Africans, were also on average younger than them, with a higher birth rate. Similarly in South West Africa, the Afrikaners and German-speaking whites outnumbered English-speaking members.  The referendum was won by the Nats 52.3% to 47.7% and we became a republic on 5 Oct 1960.  South Africa rejoined the Commonwealth after becoming a democracy in 1994.

Three hundred years later, President Zuma (a Zulu) is conveniently forgetting that his ancestors' lands did not extend to the Cape.  This is a convenient amnesia because the Cape is becoming increasingly prized.  After Johannesburg, it's the next biggest economic hub in the country.

And frustratingly for Zuma and the ANC, it does not belong to them.  Western Cape voters don't vote with the same knee-jerk obedience to the ANC as their more northern cousins.  They don't feel the same allegiance and therefore voted another party into power to lead the Western Cape.  This, the ANC has never lived down.  They take it as a personal affront that they do not 'own' the Western Cape, with one of their spokespeople infamously saying that there was an "oversupply" of coloureds in the Western Cape.  Does he mean to forcibly re-locate them, as his former oppressors used to do during apartheid?

If the Western Cape should be returned to anybody, it should be to the coloureds, the mixed race descendants of the khoi and san who both Africans and Whites so systematically wiped off the face of the sub-continent.

But somehow I can't see President Zuma jumping at that option...

Saturday, November 5, 2011

CARS AND LIONS

By a truly weird twist of fate both our cars are in the panel-beater's yard at the same time.  Sandra's got bitten by lions and mine got reversed into a donga.  Only in Africa.

I'm not kidding about the lions.  When the insurance person read the claim form I think she allocated bonus points for entertainment value.  She must hear tons of tall tales but this one, I'm pretty sure, stood out from the crowd.  And it's true.

What do you do with overseas friends who don't have time to go to a game park but want to see lions?  Lion Park.  It's ten minutes from our house and they have lions in various fenced camps.  I don't know where they go to from the camps, but I've heard it may be to Limpopo province for canned lion hunting.  I hope not.  But if that is their sad fate, it's at least less damaging than shooting male lions in the wild.

Wild lion prides are ruled by an alpha male. Shoot him, and a wanna-be alpha male is likely to replace him - either from within the pride or from another pride in an adjacent territory.  In order to ensure his gene dominance, one of the first things a new alpha male does is to kill all the cubs in the pride, along with any lioness who tries to defend her cubs.

So think about that next time you see a male lion head on some dick-head trophy hunter's wall: that one head equals about 15 deaths in the pride.

Anyway, there we were driving the tourists around showing them the lions:
These guys were pretty chilled.  Adults.  Seen it all before.

Then we drove into the camp where the young lions were being kept, and they literally mobbed our car.
I'm not sure if it was the branding on the car that made us look like an overgrown zebra, or whether someone in the car smelled like antelope, but we became an instant lion-magnet.
Then the car started rocking.  The buggers were chewing our tyres and tyre-fenders!  I think it was the branding.  'Dude, it looks like zebra - sorta - but it tastes kinda weird.'  'Ya, dude, I know - try chew here, man.  It's also weird, but in a different way, like, know what I mean?'  'Ya, dude.  Fully.'

I couldn't drive away because I didn't what to cut short their already short lives by running them over.  I hooted and all that did was make them attack with more spirit. 'Dude, it's bellowing.  I think we've finally got it.  Bite harder.'

Eventually through a gradual build up of speed we were able to thread our way through these delinquents, except for one whose forepaws were on our back bumper. 'It's trying to run dudes, but don't stress, I've got it's hindquarters.'

Our final dash out the camp was with a young lion in hot pursuit, clinging to our back bumper, sprinting human-like with his rear legs while his front paws and rather large jaws attacked our rear windscreen-wiper.  Eventually diesel power won out and he abandoned the chase.

Our foreign visitor had been permanently cured of any further desire to view lions, thanks to his rear seat position which had afforded him an extremely close encounter with lion claws and canines.

The other car's damage was not as interesting - we returned from filming baited shark dives off KZN, and we reversed into a donga when dropping off the cameraman at his house out in the bush at the end of a really long and bumpy driveway.  Shit happens.

So there we were, two cars in need of repair.  First one to go in was Sandra's and our insurance allows for the provision of a hired courtesy car.  She got a 1400 Toyota Corolla.  Not bad, but underpowered.  Really underpowered.  A few days later my car also went in and I got a 1400 Hyundai i20.  Car of the Year last year, and I could see why.  Now we both make a beeline for the i20.  Even though the Corolla is bigger, a sedan, and from the outside looks more upmarket.  It's just kak to drive compared to the i20, which I can't believe has the same capacity engine.  Far more power, a much more solid feel on the road, actually feels bigger inside, and much more efficient air-con, which in November in Joburg you really learn to appreciate.  My car's a gasoline guzzling 4.2 litre Chrysler.  I feel like asking the panel beater to hold onto it and let me keep the i20.

Moral of the story?  Beware of young lions if you drive stripey cars.  And don't judge a car by what it looks like.  Drive it first.  Sometimes the ugly duckling is the swan.

Monday, October 31, 2011

MILESTONES

I had a milestone experience recently that was poignant, sad, happy, and made a grown man cry tears.

Bloody hell.  Cowboys even cry now and then, but South African men?  Lash us with barbed wire and we'll laugh.  Apply shock treatment and we'll tell you it tickles.  Beat us at rugby and... okay okay we can get a bit choked up about that I'll admit, especially when it's done by those men in yellow from the nanny state down under.  But cry?  Come on man, that's for Manhattan metrosexuals and Los Angelinos trying to get in touch with their feminine side and Dallas Ole Boys at an Evangelical Rally.  Not us okes.  But I did.  Not as in buckets, but my cheeks were wet.

It's all about the passage of time, and suddenly realising an age has passed.  You'll never again see that unbridled joy when you hand over their first bicycle or full-size cricket bat.  You'll never again guide them as they try some new skill, see that awe as they gaze at some new wonder, watch them drive away in the bus on that first camp at the new school, console them as they fail and try again, celebrate and laugh with them as they make it through.

You look at parents with young kids and suddenly feel like you're lost.  That age with your kids has gone.

Don't get me wrong. I've got two extraordinarily awesome sons.  The one is a maverick entrepreneur networking genius.  The other is a really talented sportsman, scholar, also a helluva entrepreneur, a prankster and character of note.  They've got great values, amazing character and I could never be prouder of them.

St David's Marist Inanda recently held their Final Assembly for the Class of 2011.  Of which my younger son is a member.  My older son is a member of the class of 2009.  His Final Assembly was pretty emotional, but it didn't hit home then that this life would soon be over.  His younger brother still had another two years.

This time was different.  Suddenly we would no longer be sitting at the side of the rugby field or cricket pitch with the other parents.  We wouldn't be bellowing our lungs out as the boys in black and gold thundered towards the try-line.  We wouldn't be sharing wine and snacks at the oval and counting down the overs as they chased a score.  We wouldn't be going to the drama, cultural or fireworks events at the school.

So when the Class of 2011 stood on that stage and did Kalamazoomba for the last time as matrics, and their classmates in the hall returned the war-cry with equal vigour, I found myself with wet cheeks.

Next year both our boys will be in Cape Town and my wife and I will be doing what they call empty-nesting.

It will be a time of new challenges, new rhythms, and new opportunities.  But I will miss them.  No one quite prepares you for this.  I want them to go out there and make their way in the world.  Study.  Think.  Experience.  For them it's the next great adventure.

So why not for us?  Well, 'adventure' is a little over the top right now.  I'm still in the re-group phase.  But my mojo for the unfettered life is awaking and maybe 'adventure' won't be over the top in awhile.  Just give me awhile.  I've got to get used to this.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

EPIPHANY AT STR.CRD

By the standards of anyone below the age of 25, I’m a different species.

I like Vivaldi, Haydn, Bach and Beethoven.   My idea of chilling is listening to BBC Radio4 podcasts with a good glass of red wine.

So I was grumpy when I had to go film str.crd 2011.   Last thing I need on a weekend is doef doef music and lots of people who start their sentences with the word “like”.  On top of that the client’s marketing woman had said the str.crd video team would be filming their stall, so why were we actually going?  We decided we loved the BOS brand so we were going anyway.  Which turned out to be a good thing because whoever they were, the str.crd video okes never arrived.

NOTE: Oops, they did arrive.  My bad.  And filmed a great piece for BOS.  My apologies to str.crd and BOS.  View their video at: http://vimeo.com/30725244

So anyway, I'm expecting a tortuous day.

What I got, was a mainline jab of pure street and undiluted youth culture.  

Some of the most gravity-defying, adrenalin-pumping, flavourful people on the planet!  All over 25s like me should have to do this kind of thing on a regular basis as prescribed medicine.  

I met a chick who designed miniature clay pendant sneakers, a guy who is resurrecting old stills cameras – Lomography - that shoot on – gasp – film!  I met Du Toit Botes from Zipz shoes who has a shoe where the upper unzips from the sole so you can have three shoes-styles in one, all on the same day.  I interviewed Darryl Coetzee, a breakdance dude, and then picked up my jaw from the floor when I saw the insane stuff him and other b-dancers could do.
Design student goes BOS against the BOS wall
This is stuff national gymnasts would find challenging.  When I used to do gym (before the Ark was built), there was this thing called a pommel-horse, and you swung around it.  Darryl’s dudes where doing sicker moves that those, on the floor – no horse!
Pommel-horse stuff without the pommel...
They were doing back somersaults off another dude’s stomach.
"Hey Frank, you need a new pair of sneakers, dude..."
They can spin on their heads, like forever.  Like.  Oh God, I’m being infected…
"I can do this all day if you like..."
It's called a jumping-up-and-down-on-one-hand handstand
It was a weekend of demolition.  Demolition of my predjudices and paradigms that young people are shallow, easily influenced and don’t understand the real world.  They understand.  Profoundly.
 
I talked to some of the sharpest minds I’d met in ages.  These young adults have a far deeper insight to complex issues than I’d ever believed.  They were cool, interesting, funny, perceptive and irreverent.  They were talented – my God.  Such talent.  And hey, colour, race, all that shit – it’s so irrelevant.  The leaders of tomorrow don’t see the world through those eyes.  Their take on many issues was so incisive, so well informed that, even if I disagreed, I came away with fresh hope for this country’s future. 

This is not kneejerk sociology.  These are young people with well-formed and well-debated opinions, keen to throw them into the pool of robust discussion, hear other perspectives and form their own view of their world and their future.

Case in point: Mark Ong.  
Mark Ong a.k.a SBTG and his wife, Sue-Anne Lin
When I was Mark’s age my parents wanted me to work for the SABC (I didn’t take their advice, by the way).  What’s Mark’s profession?  Get this.  He hand-designs sneakers.  For a living.  Travels the world, with his beautiful wife, Sue-Anne.  Job description on business card?  Sneakerhead.  Well, no, his business-card is an amended US$100 bill, featuring his website: www.royalefam.com.  But I digress. 

Mark epitomises the cultural and economic climate of his generation: with far fewer options in terms of permanent employment, armed only with an edgy attitude and some skill, he simply employed himself. 

He couldn’t afford to keep replacing his skateboard damaged sneakers, so painted over them with his own designs.  Someone noticed the skill in the designs and suggested he enter a competition.  He does.  He wins.  Globally.  Nike says, ‘Hello, will you customise Nike sneakers?  Like, on a retainer?’  Like, is the Pope a Catholic?  

So Mark and Sue-Anne get to travel all around the world and design sneakers.  Already he’s made shoes for celebs like James Lavelle, Mike Shinoda and Joe Hahn from Linkin Park, and Q-tip.

He describes his works as “an unguided result of his life which depicts influences from skateboarding through the late 80’s to mid 90’s, military aesthetics and disciplines, and heavy metal and punk music from that era.”

So why sneakers?  (When I was small we just called them takkies).  Sneaker enthusiasm has a long history in youth culture.  Sneaker-wearers have blurred the lines between athletic gear and stylish streetwear, and sneaker manufacturers have responded by creating demand by producing limited-edition models, creating status out of scarcity and giving more control over what makes a product unique.  Custom sneakers is the logical outcome of that marketing strategy, and a pair of well-designed customised sneakers has big street cred.  One-of-a-kind, and massively cool. 

So what BOS Ice Tea did was hold a Sneaker Custom Workshop, hosted by Mark.  They threw in some highly talented students from the design faculties of Tuks, Wits and UJ, handed out a bunch of sneakers, gave them as much BOS tea as they could drink, and watched the magic unfold, as Mark and Sue-Anne showed them the basics and then drifted around giving hints and advice, as bland was transformed to bold, as cliché became cool, as mass-produced became personal design-manifesto. 
"You guys ready for this?"
"Ummm, is that the green paint or the fallout from my sneeze?"








Very clever marketing by BOS.  The brand gets major kudos with opinion-forming mavens and its legend continues to build in a highly credible storyline…

And thanks, everyone, for my personal epiphany.  James Joyce, go suck eggs.  This one’s mine.

Here's our video of str.crd.  Not edited by me - otherwise it would have had a Vivaldi sound track.  

No, I did the right thing and gave this to one of our very talented YOUNG editors here at TVPC Film and Media, whose short film, by the way, was nominated at the Cannes Film Festival this year.

Friday, August 12, 2011

TOYI TOYI, TENDERPRENEURS AND CONQUEST


"When you see that in order to produce, you need permission from men who produce nothing; when you see that money is flowing to those who deal not in goods but in favours; when you see that men get rich more easily by graft than work and your laws no longer protect you against them but protect them against you, you may know that your society is doomed." Atlas Shrugged – Ayn Rand
I’m not normally a fan of Ayn Rand, but if one examines that statement in the context of life under the current government in SA, I’d say we’re all well and truly stuffed.
What, you ask, brought us to this lamentable state of affairs?  Things were going so well in the nineties.  Madiba was not only our president but a true statesman.  We were the flavour of the month.  Then we got an Africanist, and if things couldn’t get worse, he was booted out and replaced by a Populist.  The slide has been both precipitous and ferocious in its erosion of human rights, freedom of expression, abuse of power, economic common-sense and social cohesion.
As a society we are verging on becoming more, not less fragmented than we were before democracy. 
The rich, which now include the new Platinum Class tenderpreneurs and BEE beneficiaries, the First Class new Black Diamond bourgeoisie, and the Business Class former-kasi-now-suburban entrepreneur, are getting richer, but the poor are not only staying poor: they’re getting poorer. 
You can’t say ‘a better life for all’ when ‘all’ refers only to that apple-skin thin layer of society that so visibly flaunt their new bling in the face of the poor as they flash past in their brand spanking Range Rovers.
I recently found myself behind one of the new money moguls in a queue at an iMac store.  His pink and yellow shirt with purple detail on the cuffs had a double-layered collar, triple cuffs and enough buttons to send an S&M fetishist into orgasm.  
His shoes blinded you with the combined reflection from patent leather and tiny inset mirrors.  The 18 carat gold hardware around his neck was heavy enough to fund a small country’s GDP.  His man-bag had Louis Vuitton logos on so large you could see them from the other side of the mall, and if you still didn’t get the message, his LV belt-buckle screamed it even louder from a midriff that threatened to swallow it whole, but for the fact that the buckle was the size of a frizbee.
But the final straw was what was on his wrists.  Not content with the two-tone Rolex on his left wrist, he also sported a gold Breitling on his right wrist!  Two watches?  What, one for cattle-class-time and the other for his fashionably-late-time?
It was this new consumerism that made me think about cultures and conquest, not only here in Africa but thousands of years ago, in Europe.  It’s got almost nothing to do with race, and a lot to do with power.  As a jeweller once told me, ‘You know the Golden Rule?  He who has the gold, rules.’
What happened to Africa under the colonialists had little or nothing to do with race.  The Scramble for Africa had everything to do with conquest and resources.  The colonials behaved no differently from oppressors over centuries of history.
Under the Caliphates, the Muslims did the same to most of North Africa, Southern Europe and the Middle East.  Before them, the Romans did exactly the same to the Goths, Gauls, Britons and the Middle East. Before them, Alexander the Great did it to most of Europe, North Africa, the Middle East and bits of India. And before him, the Egyptians did it to the rest of the Middle East, and before them the Persians and Assyrians did it too.  (Remind me to avoid buying real estate in the Middle East...)
So please, let's forget about race.
And nothing's that black and white - if you'll excuse the pun.  Not everything the "oppressors" of history do is bad.
Take the Romans: mass crucifixions, gladiators, slavery, horrible abuses. But they also gave us: the most efficient road network ever built (you can still use Roman roads in parts of Europe), aqueducts, a well-regulated civil society, efficient schooling, water-plumbing, under-floor heating, and if you've been to Law School you still study Justinian's Institutes to this day: the Roman Law system.  And what about Virgil, Seneca and Ovid?  The Romans did more than any other global power to civilize Europe.
How things have changed.  To the Romans, the Goths were the most barbaric savages of the lot.  (Okay maybe the Picts (Scots) as well, but the Goths were on their northern border and therefore more of an imminent threat).  Nowadays, the Italians have become better known (I've got to be careful how I say this because I'm married to one) for their pursuit of la dolce vita than their ability to run a country, much less an empire.  Pasta, wine and curvy women are far more important to the average Italian male than efficient government.
It's the former Goths - those "barbarians" in the Bundesrepublik - whose work-ethic and organisational skills are keeping Europe afloat financially.
But I digress.  What has all this to do with South Africa?  Lots.
Empire builders leave a legacy.  Rome left predominantly usable stuff not because they were unbeatable militarily (which they were almost all of the time), but because once they had conquered a territory, they followed up conquest with governance - highly skilled bureaucrats and creators of infrastructure. 
They built roads, implemented Roman Law (and enforced it ruthlessly), created structure, kept peace - the famous "Pax Romana".  Their ability to govern created civil society in every territory they ruled.
The Nats weren’t Romans, but their system of oppression carried many similarities.  They even called their capital Pretoria, after the Praetorian Guard – bodyguards to Caesar.  But no matter what horrors the apartheid regime was guilty of - and there are plenty - the one thing you cannot accuse them of is inefficiency.  They were racists, but they were methodical, organised racists, who ran efficient bureaucracies and created efficient infrastructure.  That’s why they lasted so long, in the face of years of international sanctions and pressure.
While I celebrate the defeat of apartheid, I also deeply regret the current government's inability to take that particular leaf from the book of their former oppressors: ability to govern. 
Almost two decades into our fledgling democracy, they are doing more and more of the bad things the whiteys under apartheid did, and less and less of the good.
Particularly in terms of ability to govern, the ruling party is leaving chaos in its wake - infrastructure is collapsing and bureaucracy is now mired in corruption and inefficiency because of cadre deployment.  If they showed any inclination to replace cadres with people - I really don't care what colour - who are  capable of doing their jobs, there may be hope.  
But as things now stand, I'm afraid I have to agree with the acerbic Ms Rand.
It's this short sightedness that will cost us dearly in the long term. I don't see any real maturity in government - it's as if they still haven't graduated from struggle politics (all this "counter-revolutionary" “anti-imperialist" crap from the likes of ANCYL) to what it takes to run a country: boring stuff like good bureaucrats and efficient infrastructure-maintenance?. 
That's what builds empires. Not toyi-toyi and tenderpreneurs.


Friday, August 5, 2011

BEANCOUNTERS AND ARTISTS

There's an irritating ad on TV - I think it's Nedbank - that suggests that your investment is better off with them because they keep emotion and reason as far apart from each other as possible.

What unmitigated twaddle!  I'd trust this bunch less than I'd trust a donkey, and I'll tell you why:

The greatest scientists, philosophers, and dare I say, investment brokers, will tell you that their work is not a science.  It's a combination of having access to as many relevant facts as possible and acting logically in applying those facts, yes.

But it's ALSO, and often where the most noteworthy achievements happen, when you act on your gut.  Einstein had a dream.  Churchill got drunk.  And Coleridge - well yes he was a poet, I grant you, but we would never have had "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree..." if he hadn't been a regular imbiber of some pretty hallucinatory substances.

Not that I'm advocating that accountants, portfolio managers and financial advisers go out and toke on some weed (although their spouses might find them suddenly a lot more interesting), and not that I advocate getting high at all.  I don't do the stuff.

What I am trying to say is that life is not as black and white as the advert would have us think.  It's grey.  It's messy.  Intuition is an emotion.  And it functions in ways shrinks, brain surgeons and neurologists have been trying to understand for centuries - they still don't - and it still saves our butts in times of crisis in ways we will never consciously understand.  The last-minute cold-feet that saved you from marrying what would have been a wife from hell.  The hairs on the back of your neck that stopped you going in to business with someone who later turns out to be an unethical, dishonest cad.  The feeling (yes, I used the word) that stopped you from buying some shares the day before they tanked.

Read a book called "Steering by Starlight" by Martha Beck, and see how dreams affect reality.  All the time.  There are island communities that "dream" the fish to them.  And it works.

Wearing the blinkers of a logic-only world view will make you like a bipolar friend of a friend: he's impossibly rich, lonely, isolated, emotionless and unable to relate meaningfully to his spouse or children.  One part of his life is working.  The other parts that give meaning to that one part, are dysfunctional.

When we start to put our trust in purveyors of the "science" of life instead of in whole people who can flow between the science and the art of life, it's like asking Mr Bipolar to tell you how to repair your relationship with your family.  Ain't gonna happen.

The title of this blog comes from Hamlet (Act I Sc v), where the ghost of his father appears and asks Hamlet to avenge his death.  This is all too much for poor old Horatio.  Er ist total ausgeflippt, as they say in Munich.  He's been exposed to something outside his worldview and he's freaking out:

Horatio: "O day and night, this is wondrous strange!"

Hamlet?  He's chilled.  A ghost?  Cool.  Let's hear what it has to say:

Hamlet: "And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy..."

Hamlet is saying to Horatio that what you think you know is not what there is to know.  If something comes out of left field, don't freak out.  Suss it out.  Understand it, even though you may not agree with it.

Actuaries are really bright kids who hit varsities with a string of distinctions and then become responsible for making decisions that will impact billions of dollars, euros, etc.  So why are they so consistently wrong?  What's with the geniuses that they could not predict 2008?  That with the experience of 2008 they could not predict what's happening now, in 2011 - a recession, I believe, that will make 2008 look like a walk in the park and will probably be a lot closer to the 1931 Depression.  Hey, I'm not the expert - but then the experts seem to be missing it by a mile quite consistently nowdays.  I'm just acting on my gut.

God used a donkey (Numbers 22:28) when all else failed.  He did so because there was a deadline.  His message needed to be heard NOW, but everyone was too busy.  So He used a donkey.

I fear that in the case of bean-counters, financial advisers and their ilk, they may prove more of a challenge to Him than an ass.

Monday, August 1, 2011

SNOW and STUFF

Wow.  Now Juju wants to effect regime-change in Botswana.  Only months ago he was saying we cannot influence the affairs of another sovereign nation (Zimbabwe & Libya).  I guess that's only when you agree with them.  Hypocrisy?  Naah!

The real issue is Khama is offering the US a military base in sub-Saharan Africa.  Given what Juju has seen the US and Nato allies do to Brother Leader in Libya, the LAST thing Juju wants on our borders is a squadron of F22 Raptors and Cruise missiles.

Why?  Because, if he comes to power, he's going to do to SA exactly what Gadaffi did to Libya and Mugabe did to Zim.  (Which makes the prospect of a US base at Gaborone not such a bad idea.)

That's why Juju's elders need to tell him to shut up and sit down.  But they won't.  Sigh.  We need a new President.  Urgently.  Get thee to the polling booths, come 2012...

On to other matters.  Note to self: when filming in Lesotho in sub-zero temperatures, make sure you leave enough time for the camera to acclimatize when taking said camera out of blizzard and filming in warm interior.

Spent fifteen minutes frantically roasting camera in front of roaring log fire so lens wouldn't fog up ("Has your video thingy caught a cold, love?", said the plump mom from Manchester, sipping her gluhwein.).  Not great for the camera I know, but when you need to get the shot, you do tend to act a bit weird.
Opposite applies as well: the next day we moved from interior back to blizzard and I needed to use the long lens.  Fogged up the minute I took it out of its case.  Buried it in the snow for half an hour and it still didn't unfog in time.

So what did I do?  Intrepid camerman that I am, I slung the rig under one arm, caught the ski-lift up the slope with the other, and inserted myself between the uprights of one of the Giant Slalom gates, about half-way down the slope, just under a massive incline.  Skiers swore at me as they ripped past at about 100km/h, narrowly missing me and the gate.


Didn't make me the most popular person among the athletes, but the footage was terrific...

They don't know this, but seeing them do that at such close quarters gave me enormous respect for them.

You try coming down a slope at bone-breaking speeds, and clipping your turns to the minimum so your shins and arms hit those plastic gate-poles like a rifle-shot.  Yes, they have shin- and elbow-guards, but it's a bit like having a face-guard and being hit by Mike Tyson.  You're still going to feel it.

And yet you continue to hurl yourself at those gates all the way down...  That's a madness you have to admire.  Sheer aggro bullheadedness in the face of what to me seemed certain death.

And yet at the bottom, they're all humble and smiley and "yeah man I'm stoked - good run, I reckon."  Hats off to you, dudes.  Understated macho.  Bloomin' marvelous.


Promo for TV broadcast:

Broadcast times:
Premier Broadcast:         Mon 15 Aug        21h30, Supersport Channel 7

Repeat Broadcasts:     Tue 16 Aug          15h00, Supersport Channel 7
                                       Wed 17 Aug        11h00, Supersport Channel 5
                                       Thu 18 Aug          22h30, Supersport Channel 6
                                        Fri 19 Aug           06h20, Supersport Channel 7
                                        Tue 23 Aug          08h30, Supersport Channel 6
                                        Thu 25 Aug          15h00, Supersport Channel 7
                                        Fri 26 Aug            20h30, Supersport Channel 6